SABBATHS ... as spent in Paris. They are nearly the same throughout all
France. As Bonaparte had no respect for religion itself, so he had less for
the forms connected with the upholding of it. Parades, battles, and
campaigns--were all that he cared about: and the Parisians, if they
supplied him with men and money--the _materiel_ for the execution of these
objects--were left to pray, preach, dance, or work, just as they pleased on
the Sabbath day. The present King,[12] as you well know, attempted the
introduction of something like an _English Sabbath_: but it would not do.
When the French read and understand GRAHAME[13] as well as they do THOMSON,
they will peradventure lend a ready and helping hand towards the completion
of this laudable plan. At present, there is much which hurts the eye and
ear of a well-educated and well-principled Englishman. There is a partial
shutting up of the shops before twelve; but after mid-day the shop-windows
are uniformly closed throughout Paris. Meanwhile the cart, the cabriolet,
the crier of herbs and of other marketable produce--the sound of the whip
or of the carpenter's saw and hammer--the shelling of peas in the open air,
and the plentiful strewing of the pod hard by--together with sundry, other
offensive and littering accompaniments--all strike you as disagreeable
deviations from what you have been accustomed to witness at home. Add to
this, the half-dirty attire--the unshaven beard of the men, and the unkempt
locks of the women--produce further revolting sensations. It is not till
past mid-day that the noise of labour ceases, and that the toilette is put
into a complete state for the captivation of the beholder. By four or five
o'clock the streets become half thinned. On a Sunday, every body rushes
into the country. The tradesman has his little villa, and the gentleman and
man of fortune his more capacious rural domain; and those, who aspire
neither to the one or the other, resort to the _Bois de Boulogne_ and the
_Champs Elysées_, or to the gardens of _Beaujon_, and _Tivoli_--or to the
yet more attractive magnificence of the palace and fountains of
_Versailles_--where, in one or the other of these places, they carouse, or
disport themselves--in promenades, or dancing groups--till
... Majores.. cadunt de montibus umbræ.
This, generally and fairly speaking, is a summer Sabbath in the metropolis
of France.
Unconscionable as you may have deemed the length of this epistle, I must
nevertheless extend it by the mention of what I conceive to be a very
essential feature both of beauty and utility in the street scenery of
Paris. It is of the FOUNTAINS that I am now about to speak; and of some of
which a slight mention has been already made. I yet adhere to the
preference given to that in the _Palais Royal_; considered with reference
to the management of the water. It is indeed a purely aqueous exhibition,
in which architecture and sculpture have nothing to do. Not so are the more
imposing fountains of the MARCHÉ DES INNOCENS, DE GRENELLE, and the
BOULEVARD BONDY. For the first of these,[14] the celebrated _Lescot_, abbé
de Clagny, was the designer of the general form; and the more celebrated
Jean Goujon the sculptor of the figures in bas-relief. It was re-touched
and perfected in 1551, and originally stood in the angle of the two
streets, of _aux Fers_ and _St. Denis_, presenting only two façades to the
beholder. It was restored and beautified in 1708; and in 1788 it changed
both its form and its position by being transported to the present spot--
the _Marché des Innocens_--the market for vegetables. Two other similar
sides were then added, making it a square: but the original performances of
Goujon, which are considered almost as his master-piece, attract infinitely
more admiration than the more recent ones of Pajou. Goujon's figures are
doubtless very delicately and successfully executed. The water bubbles up
in the centre of the square, beneath the arch, in small sheets, or masses;
and its first and second subsequent falls, also in sheets, have a very
beautiful effect. They are like pieces of thin, transparent ice, tumbling
upon each other; but the _lead_, of which the lower half of the fountain is
composed--as the reservoir of the water--might have been advantageously
exchanged for _marble_. The lion at each corner of the pedestal, squirting
water into a sarcophagus-shaped reservoir, has a very absurd appearance.
Upon the whole, this fountain is well deserving of particular attention.
The inscription upon it is FONTIVM NYMPHIS; but perhaps, critically
speaking, it is now in too exposed a situation for the character of it's
ornaments. A retired, rural, umbrageous recess, beneath larch and pine--
whose boughs
Wave high and murmur in the hollow wind--
seems to be the kind of position fitted for the reception of a fountain of
this character.
The FONTAINE DE GRENELLE is almost entirely architectural; and gives an
idea of a public office, rather than of a conduit. You look above--to the
right and the left--but no water appears. At last, almost by accident, you
look down, quite at its base, and observe two insignificant streams
trickling from the head of an animal. The central figure in front is a
representation of the city of Paris: the recumbent figures, on each side,
represent, the one the Seine, the other the Marne. Above, there are four
figures which represent the four Seasons. This fountain, the work of
Bouchardon, was erected in 1739 upon the site of what formed a part of an
old convent. A more simple, and a more striking fountain, to my taste, is
that of the ECOLE DE CHIRURGIE; in which a comparatively large column of
water rushes down precipitously between two Doric pillars--which form the
central ones of four--in an elegant façade.
Yet more simple, more graceful, and more capacious, is the fountain of the
BOULEVARD BONDY--which I first saw sparkling beneath the lustre of a full
moon. This is, in every sense of the word, a fountain. A constant but
gentle undulation of water, from three aqueous terraces, surmounted by
three basins, gradually diminishing in size, strike you with peculiar
gratification--view it from whatever quarter you will: but seen in the
neighbourhood of _trees_, the effect, in weather like this, is absolutely
heart-refreshing. The only objectionable part of this elegant structure, on
the score of art, are the lions, and their positions. In the first place,
it is difficult to comprehend why the mouth of a _lion_ is introduced as a
channel for the transmission of water; and, in the second place, these
lions should have occupied the basement portion of the structure. This
beautiful fountain, of which the water is supplied by the _Canal d'Ourcq_,
was finished only about seven or eight years ago. Nor let the FOUNTAIN OF
TRIUMPH or VICTORY, in the _Place du Châtelet_, be forgotten. It is a
column, surmounted by a gilt statue of Victory, with four figures towards
its pedestal. The four jets-d'eau, from its base,--which are sufficiently
insignificant--empty themselves into a circular basin; but the shaft of the
column, to my eye, is not free from affectation. The names of some of
Bonaparte's principal victories are inscribed upon that part of the column
which faces the Pont au Change. There is a classical air of elegance about
this fountain, which is fifty feet in height.
But where is the ELEPHANT Fountain?--methinks I hear you exclaim. It is yet
little more than in embryo: that is to say, the plaster-cast of it only is
visible--with the model, on a smaller scale, completed in all its parts, by
the side of it. It is really a stupendous affair.[15] On entering the
temporary shed erected for its construction, on the site of the Bastille, I
was almost breathless with astonishment for a moment. Imagine an enormous
figure of the unwieldy elephant, _full fifty feet high!_ You see it, in the
front, foreshortened--as you enter; and as the head is the bulkiest portion
of the animal, you may imagine something of the probable resulting effect.
Certainly it is most imposing. The visitor, who wishes to make himself
acquainted with the older, and more original, national character of the
French--whether as respects manners, dresses, domestic occupations, and
public places of resort--will take up his residence in the _Rue du Bac_, or
at the _Hotel des Bourbons_; within twenty minutes walk of the more curious
objects which are to be found in the Quartiers Saint André des Arcs, du
Luxembourg, and Saint Germain des Près. Ere he commence his morning
perambulations, he will look well at his map, and to what is described, in
the route which he is to take, in the works of Landon and of Legrand, or of
other equally accurate topographers. Two things he ought invariably to bear
in mind: the first, not to undertake too much, for the sake of saying how
_many_ things he has seen:--and the second, to make himself thoroughly
master of what he _does_ see. All this is very easily accomplished: and a
fare of thirty sous will take you, at starting, to almost any part of
Paris, however remote: from whence you may shape your course homewards at
leisure, and with little fatigue. Such a visitor will, however, sigh, ere
he set out on his journey, on being told that the old Gothic church of _St.
André-des-Arcs_--the Abbey of _St. Victor_--the churches of the
_Bernardins_, and of _St. Etienne des Près_, the _Cloisters_ of _the
Cordeliers_, and the _Convent of the Celestins_ ... exist no longer ... or,
that their remains are mere shadows of shades! But in the three quarters of
Paris, above mentioned, he will gather much curious information--in spite
of the havoc and waste which the Revolution has made; and on his return to
his own country he will reflect, with pride and satisfaction, on the result
of his enterprise and perseverance.
To my whimsically formed taste, OLD PARIS has in it very much to delight,
and afford valuable information. Not that I would decry the absolute
splendor, gaiety, comfort, and interminable variety, which prevail in its
more modern and fashionable quarters. And certainly one may fairly say,
that, on either side the Seine, Paris is a city in which an Englishman,--
who is resolved to be in good humour with all about him, and to shew that
civility to others which he is sure to receive from the better educated
classes of society here--cannot fail to find himself pleased, perfectly at
ease, and well contented with his fare. Compared with the older part of
London, the more ancient division of Paris is infinitely more interesting,
and of a finer architectural construction. The conical roofs every now and
then remind you of the times of Francis I.; and the clustered arabesques,
upon pilasters, or running between the bolder projections of the façades,
confirm you in the chronology of the buildings. But time, caprice, fashion,
or poverty, will, in less than half a century, materially change both the
substance and surfaces of things. It is here, as at Rouen--you bewail the
work of destruction which has oftentimes converted cloisters into
workshops, and consecrated edifices into warehouses of every description.
Human nature and the fate of human works are every where the same. Let two
more centuries revolve, and the THUILERIES and the LOUVRE may possibly be
as the BASTILLE and the TEMPLE.
Such, to my feelings, is Paris--considered only with reference to its
_local_: for I have really done little more than perambulate its streets,
and survey its house-tops--with the important exceptions to be detailed in
the succeeding letters from hence. Of the treasures contained _beneath_
some of those "housetops"--more especially of such as are found in the
shape of a BOOK--whether as a MS. or a Printed Volume--prepare to receive
some particulars in my next.
[1] [Several Notes in this volume having reference to MONS. CRAPELET, a
Printer of very considerable eminence at Paris, it may be proper to
inform the Reader that that portion of this Tour, which may be said to
have a more exclusive reference to France, usually speaking--including
the notice of Strasbourg--was almost entirely translated by Mons.
Crapelet himself. An exception however must be made to those parts
which relate to the _King's Private Library_ at Paris, and to
_Strasbourg_: these having been executed by different pens, evidently
in the hands of individuals of less wrongheadedness and acrimony of
feeling than the Parisian Printer. Mons. Crapelet has prefixed a
Preface to his labours, in which he tells the world, that, using my
more favourite metaphorical style of expression, "a CRUSADE has risen
up against the INFIDEL DIBDIN."
Metaphorical as may be this style, it is yet somewhat alarming: for,
most assuredly, when I entered and quitted the "beau pays" of France,
I had imagined myself to have been a courteous, a grateful, and, under
all points of view, an ORTHODOX Visitor. It seems however, from the
language of the French Typographer, that I acted under a gross
delusion; and that it was necessary to have recourse to his sharp-set
sickle to cut away all the tares which I had sown in the soil of his
country. Upon the motive and the merit of his labours, I have already
given my unbiassed opinion.[A] Here, it is only necessary to observe,
that I have not, consciously, falsified his opinions, or undervalued
his worth. Let the Reader judge between us.
[A] Vide Preface.
[2] [They have now entirely lost the recollection, as well as the sight, of
them.]
[3] ["The Parisians would doubtless very willingly get rid of such a horrid
spectacle in the streets and places of the Metropolis: besides, it is
not unattended with danger to the Actors themselves."--CRAPELET.]
[4] ["And will continue to be so, it is feared--to the regret of all
Frenchmen--for a long time. It is however the beginning of a new
reign. The building of some new Edifices will doubtless be undertaken.
But if the King were to order the _finishing_ of all the public
Buildings of Paris, the epoch of the reign of Charles X. would
assuredly be the most memorable for Arts, and the embellishment of the
Capital." CRAPELET. 1825.]
[5] [It is now completed: but seven years elapsed, after the above
description, before the building was in all respects considered to be
finished.]
[6] [A most admirable view of this Market Place, with its picturesque
fountain in the centre, was painted by the younger Mr. Chalon, and
exhibited at Somerset House. A well executed _print_ of such a
thoroughly characteristic performance might, one would imagine, sell
prosperously on either side of the channel.]
[7] [This building, which may perhaps be better known as that of the
_Opera_, is now rased to the ground--in consequence of the
assassination of the Duke de Berri there, in February, 1820, on his
stepping into his carriage on quitting the Opera. But five years were
suffered to elapse before the work of demolition was quite completed.
And when will the monument to the Duke's memory be raised?--CRAPELET.]
[8] [It is now entirely demolished, to make way for a large and commodious
Street which gives a complete view of the church of St. Stephen.
CRAPELET.]
[9] The views of it, as it appeared in the XVIth century, represent it
nearly surrounded by a wall and a moat. It takes its name as having
been originally situated _in the fields_.
[10] [Two years ago was placed, upon the top of this small lantern, a gilt
cross, thirty-eight feet high: 41 of English measurement: and the
church has been consecrated to the Catholic service. CRAPELET. Thus,
the criticism of an English traveller, in 1818, was not entirely void
of foundation.]
[11] [Our public buildings, which have continued long in an unfinished
state, strike the eyes of foreigners more vividly than they do our
own: but it is impossible to face the front of St. Sulpice without
partaking of the sentiment of the author. CRAPELET.]
[12] [Louis XVIII.]
[13] [_read and understand_ GRAHAME.]--Mr. Grahame is both a very readable
and understandable author. He has reason to be proud of his poem
called the SABBATH: for it is one of the sweetest and one of the
purest of modern times. His _scene_ however is laid in the country,
and not in the metropolis. The very opening of this poem refreshes the
heart--and prepares us for the more edifying portions of it, connected
with the performance of the religious offices of our country. This
beautiful work will LIVE as long as sensibility, and taste, and a
virtuous feeling, shall possess the bosoms of a British Public.
[14] See the note p. 20, ante.
[15] It is now completed.
_LETTER II._
GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE DU ROI. THE LIBRARIANS.
_Hôtel des Colonies, Rue de Richelieu_.
The moment is at length arrived when you are to receive from me an account
of some of the principal treasures contained in the ROYAL LIBRARY of Paris.
I say "_some_":--because, in an epistolary communication, consistently with
my time, and general objects of research--it must be considered only as a
slight selection, compared with what a longer residence, and a more general
examination of the contents of such a collection, might furnish. Yet,
limited as my view may have been, the objects of that view are at once rich
and rare, and likely to afford all true sons of BIBLIOMANIA and VIRTU the
most lively gratification. This is a bold avowal: but I fear not to make
it, and: the sequel shall be the test of its modesty and truth.
You observe, I have dated my letter from a different quarter. In fact, the
distance of my former residence from the Bibliothèque du Roi--coupled with
the oppressive heat of the weather--rendered my morning excursions thither
rather uncomfortable; and instead of going to work with elastic spirits,
and an untired frame, both Mr. Lewis and myself felt jaded and oppressed
upon our arrival. We are now, on the contrary, scarcely fifty yards from
the grand door of entrance into the library. But this is only tantalizing
you. To the LIBRARY, therefore, at once let us go. The exterior and
interior, as to architectural appearance, are rather of a sorry
description: heavy; comparatively low, without ornament, and of a dark and
dingy tint. Towards the street, it has the melancholy air of a workhouse.
But none of the apartments, in which the books are contained, look into
this street; so that, consequently, little inconvenience is experienced
from the incessant motion and rattling of carts and carriages--the Rue de
Richelieu being probably the most frequented in Paris. Yet, repulsive as
may be this exterior, it was observed to me--on my suggesting what a fine
situation the quadrangle of the Louvre would make for the reception of the
royal library--that, it might be questioned whether even _that_ quadrangle
were large enough to contain it;--and that the present building, however
heavy and ungracious of aspect, was better calculated for its present
purpose than probably any other in Paris. In the centre of the edifice--for
it is a square, or rather a parallelogram-shaped building--stands a bronze
naked figure of Diana; stiff and meagre both in design and execution. It is
of the size of life; but surely a statue of _Minerva_ would have been a
little more appropriate? On entering the principal door, in the street just
mentioned, you turn to the right, and mount a large stone staircase--after
attending to the request, printed in large characters, of "_Essuyez vos
Souliers_"--as fixed against the wall. This entrance goes directly to the
collection of PRINTED BOOKS. On reaching the first floor, you go straight
forward, within folding doors; and the first room, of considerable extent,
immediately receives you. The light is uniformly admitted by large windows,
to the right, looking into the quadrangle before mentioned.
You pass through this room--where scarcely any body lingers--and enter the
second, where are placed the EDITIONES PRINCIPES, and other volumes printed
in the fifteenth century. To an _experienced_ eye, the first view of the
contents of this second room is absolutely magical; Such copies of such
rare, precious, magnificent, and long-sought after impressions!... It is
fairy-land throughout. There stands the _first Homer_, unshorn by the
binder; a little above, is the first _Roman edition of Eustathius's_
Commentary upon that poet, in gorgeous red morocco, but printed UPON
VELLUM! A Budæus _Greek Lexicon_ (Francis I.'s own copy) also UPON VELLUM!
The _Virgils, Ovids, Plinies_ ... and, above all, the _Bibles_--But I check
myself; in order to conduct you regularly through the apartments, ere you
sit down with me before each volume which I may open. In this second-room
are two small tables, rarely occupied, but at one or the other of which I
was stationed (by the kind offices of M. Van Praet) for fourteen days--with
almost every thing that was exquisite and rare, in the old book-way, behind
and before me. Let us however gradually move onwards. You pass into the
third room. Here is the grand rendezvous of readers. Six circular or rather
oval tables, each capable of accommodating twelve students, and each
generally occupied by the full number, strike your eye in a very pleasing
manner, in the centre of this apparently interminable vista of printed
volumes.
But I must call your particular attention to the _foreground_ of this
magical book-view. To the left of this third room, on entering, you observe
a well-dressed Gentleman (of somewhat shorter stature than the author of
this description) busied behind a table; taking down and putting up
volumes: inscribing names, and numbers, and titles, in a large folio
volume; giving orders on all sides; and putting several pairs of legs into
motion in consequence of those orders--while his own are perhaps the least
spared of any. This gentleman is no less a personage than the celebrated
Monsieur VAN PRAET; one of the chief librarians in the department of the
printed books. His aspect is mild and pleasant; while his smart attire
frequently forms a striking contrast to habiliments and personal
appearances of a very different, and less conciliating description, by
which he is surrounded.[16] M. Van Praet must be now approaching his
sixtieth year; but his age sits bravely upon him--for his step is rapid and
firm, and his physiognomical expression indicative of a much less
protracted period of existence.[17] He is a Fleming by birth; and, even in
shewing his first Eustathius, or first Pliny, UPON VELLUM, you may observe
the natural enthusiasm of a Frenchman tempered by the graver emotions of a
native of the Netherlands.
This distinguished Bibliographer (of whom, somewhat more in a future
epistle) has now continued nearly forty years in his present situation; and
when infirmity, or other causes, shall compel him to quit it, France will
never replace him by one possessing more appropriate talents! He doats upon
the objects committed to his trust. He lives almost entirely among his dear
books ... either on the first floor or on the ground floor: for when the
hour of departure, two o'clock, arrives, M. Van Praet betakes him to the
quieter book realms below--where, surrounded by _Grolier, De Thou_, and
_Diane de Poictiers_, copies, he disports him till his dinner hour of four
or five--and 'as the evening shades prevail,' away hies he to his favourite
'_Théatre des Italiens_,' and the scientific treat of Italian music. This I
know, however--and this I will say--in regard to the amiable and excellent
gentleman under description--that, if I were King of France, Mons. Van
Praet should be desired to sit in a roomy, morocco-bottomed, mahogany arm
chair--not to stir therefrom--but to issue out his edicts, for the delivery
of books, to the several athletic myrmidons under his command. Of course
there must be occasional exceptions to this rigid, but upon the whole
salutary, "Ordonnance du Roy." Indeed I have reason to mention a most
flattering exception to it--in my own favour: for M. Van Praet would come
into the second room, (just mentioned) and with his own hands supply me
with half a score volumes at a time--of such as I wished to examine. But,
generally speaking, this worthy and obliging creature is too lavish of his
own personal exertions. He knows, to be sure, all the bye-passes, and
abrupt ascents and descents; and if he be out of sight--in a moment,
through some secret aperture, he returns as quickly through another equally
unseen passage. Upon an average, I set his bibliomaniacal peregrinations
down at the rate of a full French league per day. It is the absence of all
pretension and quackery--the quiet, unobtrusive manner in which he opens
his well-charged battery of information upon you--but, more than all, the
glorious honours which are due to him, for having assisted to rescue the
book treasures of the Abbey of St. Germain des Près from destruction,
during the horrors of the Revolution--that cannot fail to secure to him the
esteem of the living, and the gratitude of posterity.
[Illustration: GOLD MEDAL OF LOUIS XII.
From the Cabinet des Medailles at Paris.]