Chapter X: Conclusion: Of the Account of the Royal Library. the Library of the Arsenal (6)

[186] The above quotation is incomplete; for the passage alluded to runs
thus.--"Where is the painter so well sorting his colours, that could
paint these faire eyes that are the _windows of the body, and glasses
of the soul_." The continuation is in a very picturesque style. See
the _Theatre or Rule of the World_, p. 236-7, quoted in a recent
(1808) edition of _More's Utopia_, vol. ii. p. 143. But _Primaudaye's
French Academy_, Lond. 1605, 4to. runs very much in the same strain.

[187] A little graphic history belongs to this picture. I obtained a most
beautiful and accurate copy of it by M. Le Coeuré, on a reduced scale:
from which Mr. J. Thomson made an Engraving, as a PRIVATE PLATE, and
only 75 copies were struck off. The plate was then destroyed; the
impressions selling for a guinea. They are now so rare as to be worth
treble that sum: and proofs upon India paper, before the letter, may
be worth £5. 5s. Three proofs only were struck off of the plate in its
_mutilated_ state; of which my friends Mr. Haslewood and Mr. G. H.
Freeling rejoice in their possession of a copy. The drawing, by
Coeuré, was sold for 20 guineas at the sale of my drawings, by Mr.
Evans, in 1822, but it has been subsequently sold for only _nine_
guineas; and of which my worthy friend A. Nicholson, Esq.--"a good
man, and a true"--is in the possession.

Subsequently, the ABOVE ORIGINAL picture was sold; and I was too happy
to procure it for the gallery at Althorp for _twelve_ guineas only!

[188] [A magnificent whole length portrait of this first DUKE DE GUISE,
painted by PORBUS--with a warmth and vigour of touch, throughout,
which are not unworthy of Titian--now adorns the very fine gallery at
Althorp: where is also a whole length portrait of ANNE OF AUSTRIA, by
Mignard. Both pictures are from the same Collection; and are each
probably the masterpiece of the artist. They are of the size of life.]

[189] [Mr. Craufurd died at Paris in 1821.]

[190] ["Amateurs, connaisseurs, examinateurs, auteurs de revues du Salon,
parodistes même, vous n'entendez rien à ce genre de critique; prenez
M. Dibdin pour modèle: voila' la _bonne école_!" CHAPELET, vol.
iv. p. 200. My translator shall here have the full benefit of his own
bombastical nonsense.]

_LETTER XI._

NOTICE OF M. WILLEMIN'S MONUMENS FRANÇAIS INÉDITS. MISCELLANEOUS ANTIQUITIES. PRESENT STATE OF THE FINE ARTS. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS UPON THE NATIONAL CHARACTER.

_July 8, 1818_.

I rejoice that it is in my power once more--and certainly for the last time, from hence--to address you upon a few subjects, which, from your earlier replies to my Paris letters, you seem to think that I have lost sight of. These subjects, relate chiefly to ANTIQUITIES. Be assured that I have never, for one moment, been indifferent to them; but in the vast bibliographical field which the public libraries of this place held out for my perambulation, it was impossible, in the first instance, not to take advantage of the curious, and probably useful information, to be derived from thence.

I must begin therefore by telling you that I had often heard of the unassuming and assiduous author of the _Monumens Français Inédits_, and was resolved to pay him a visit. I found him in the _Rue Babile_ towards the eastern end of the Rue St. Honoré, living on the third floor. Several young females were in the ante-room, colouring the plates of that work; which are chiefly in outline and in aqua-tint. Each livraison contains six plates, at twelve francs the livraison. The form is folio, and about twenty-eight numbers are printed.[191] There is something in them of every thing: furniture, dresses, houses, castles, churches, stained glass, paintings, and sculpture. Illuminated MSS. are as freely laid under contribution as are the outsides and insides of buildings, of whatsoever description. Indeed I hardly ever visited the Public Library without finding M. Willemin busied, with his pencil and tracing paper, with some ancient illuminated MS. The style of art in the publication here noticed, is, upon the whole, feeble; but as the price of the work is moderate, no purchaser can reasonably complain. The variety and quantity of the embellishments will always render M. Willemin's work an acceptable inmate in every well-chosen library. I recommend it to you strongly; premising, that the author professedly discards all pretension to profound or very critical antiquarian learning.

For himself, M. Willemin is among the most enthusiastic, but most modest, of his antiquarian brethren. He has seen better days. His abode and manners afford evidence that he was once surrounded by comparative affluence and respectability. A picture of his deceased wife hung over the chimney-piece. The back-ground evinced a gaily furnished apartment. "Yes, Sir, (said M.W.--on observing that I noticed it) such was _once_ my room, and its _chief ornament_"--Of course I construed the latter to be his late wife. "Alas! (resumed he) in better days, I had six splendid cabinets filled with curiosities. I have now--not a single one! Such is life." He admitted that his publication brought him a very trifling profit; and that, out of his own country, he considered the _London_ market as the most advantageous to him. A large broken phial, containing water and a fleur-de-lis in full bloom, was the only, ornament of his mantle piece. "Have you no curiosities of any kind--(said I to him) for sale?" "None--" replied he; but he had _drawings_ of a few. "Have the kindness to shew me some of these drawings"--and forthwith appeared the case and _pocket-knife of Diane de Poictiers_, drawn from the original by Langlois. "Where is the original?" observed I, hastily. "Ha, Sir, you are not singular in your question. A nobleman of your country was almost losing his wits because he could not purchase it:--and yet, this original was once to be obtained for _twenty louis_!" I confess I was glad to obtain the drawing of Langlois for two napoleons. It is minutely and prettily executed, and apparently with great fidelity.

M. Willemin proceeded to shew me a few more drawings for his national work, telling me precisely what he _meant_, and what he did _not_ mean, to publish. His own drawings with a pen are, some of them, of a masterly execution; and although of a less brilliant and less classical style than those of LE NOIR, M. Willemin is still an artist of whom his country will always have reason to be proud. I bought several drawings of him.[192] One represents the sculptured figures upon the outside of the _grand portal_ of the _Cathedral of Chartres._ These figures seem to be of the thirteenth century. The other drawing is of a rich piece of _fayence_, or of painted and glazed earthenware dish, and about the middle of the sixteenth century: of which I remember to have seen some very curious specimens at Denon's. But nothing can be more singular, and at the same time more beautiful of its kind, than the present specimen--supposed to be the work of the famous Bernard Palissy. Paris is full of such treasures.

Of all cities, PARIS is probably that which abounds with rich and curious relics of ancient art. Its churches, its palaces, its public buildings-- sometimes grotesque and sometimes magnificent--furnish alike subjects for admiration and materials for collection. But the genius of the French does not lie in this pursuit. From the commencement of the sixteenth century, the ANTIQUITIES OF PARIS might have supplied a critical antiquary with matter for a publication which could have been second only to the immortal work of Piranesi. But with the exception of Montfaucon, (which I admit to be a most splendid exception) and recently of MILLIN and LE NOIR, France hardly boasts of an indigenous Antiquary. In our own country, we have good reason to be proud of this department of literature. The names of Leland, Camden, Cotton, Dugdale, Gibson, Tanner, Gough, and Lysons, place us even upon a level with the antiquarians of Italy. It was only the other day that M. Willemin was urging me, on my return to England, to take _Beauvais_ in my way, in order to pay a visit to Madame la Comtesse de G., living at a chateau about three leagues from that place. She possesses a collection of carved wood, in bas-reliefs, porches, stair-cases, &c. all from a neighbouring dilapidated abbey; and, among other things, one singular piece of sculpture, descriptive of the temptation of St Anthony. He had reason to think that the Countess might be more successfully tempted than was the Saint just mentioned; in other words, that these things were to be had rather for "money" than for "love."

For specimens of the costume of the lower classes, the _south_ side of the Seine must be chiefly visited. The great streets which lead thither are those of _St. Victor, St. Jaques_, and _De La Harpe_. Mr. Lewis had frequently strolled to this quarter of Paris; and his attention was one morning particularly directed to a group of _Blanchisseuses_--who were halting beneath their burdens to have a little gossip with each other. See how characteristically he has treated the subject.

One of the causes of the want of encouragement in NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES, among the French, may arise from the natural love of the people for what is gay and gaudy, rather than for what is grave and instructive. And yet, when will nations learn that few things tend so strongly to keep alive a pure spirit of PATRIOTISM as _such_ a study or pursuit? As we reverence the past, so do we anticipate the future. To love what our forefathers have done in arts, in arms, or in learning, is to lay the surest foundation for a proper respect for our own memories in after ages. But with Millin, I fear, the study of Archaeology will sleep soundly, if not expire, among the Parisians. VISCONTI has doubtless left a splendid name behind him here; but Visconti was an Italian. No; my friend--the ARTS have recently taken an exclusive turn for the admiration, even to adoration, of portrait and historical painters: No LYSONSES, no BLORES, no MACKENZIES are patronised either at Paris or in the other great cities of France. I must however make an honourable exception in favour of the direction given to the splendid talents of MADAME JAQUOTOT. And I cannot, in common justice, omit, on this occasion, paying a very sincere tribute of respect to the PRESENT KING[193]--who has really been instrumental to this direction. I have lately paid this clever lady a morning visit, with a letter of introduction from our common friend M. Langlès. As I was very courteously received, I begged that I might only see such specimens of her art as would give her the least possible trouble, and afford me at the same time an opportunity of judging of her talents.

Madame Jaquotot was as liberal in the display of her productions, as she was agreeable and polite in her conversation. I saw all her performances. Her copies of Leonardo da Vinci and Guido, in black crayons, are beautiful of their kind; but her enamel copies, upon porcelaine, of the _Portraits of the more celebrated Characters of France_--executed at the desire and expense of his Majesty--perfectly delighted me. The plan is as excellent as its execution is perfect. But such performances have not been accomplished without a heavy previous expense, on the score of experiments. I was told that the artist had sunk a sum little short of five or six hundred pounds sterling, in the different processes for trying and fixing her colours. But she seems now to walk upon firm ground, and has nothing but an abundant harvest to look forward to. Indeed, for every portrait, square, or oval, (although scarcely more than _three inches_ in height) she receives a hundred louis d'or. This is a truly princely remuneration: but I do not consider it overpaid. Some of the earlier portraits are taken from illuminated manuscripts; and, among them, I quickly recognised that of my old friend _Anne of Brittany_,--head and shoulders only: very brilliant and characteristic--but Mr. Lewis is "yet a painter."

As all these bijoux (amounting perhaps to twelve or fifteen in number) were displayed before me, I fancied I was conversing with the very Originals themselves. The whole length of _Henri IV_., of the same size as the original in the Louvre, is probably the chef d'oeuvre of Madame Jaquotot. It is exquisitely perfect. When she comes down to the reign of Louis XIV., she has necessarily recourse to the originals of PETITOT; of which the Louvre contains a precious glazed case, enclosing about four or five dozen, of them. Here again the copyist treads closely upon the heels of her predecessor; while her portrait of _Anne of Austria_ comes fully up to every thing we discover in the original. Upon the whole, I spent a pleasant and most instructive hour with this accomplished lady; and sincerely wish that all talents, like hers, may receive a similar direction and meet with an equally liberal reward. You must not fail to bear in mind that, in my humble judgment, this department of art belongs strictly to NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES.

For _one_, who would turn his horse's head towards Madame Jaquotot's dwelling, in the _Rue Jacob_, fifty would fly with rapture to view a whole length by GÉRARD, or a group by DAVID. In portrait painting, and historical composition, these are the peculiar heroes. None dare walk within their circle: although I think GIRODET may sometimes venture to measure swords with the latter. Would you believe it? The other day, when dining with some smart, lively, young Parisians, I was compelled to defend RAFFAELLE against David? the latter being considered by them _superior_ to the Italian artist in a _knowledge of drawing_. Proh pudor! This will remind you of Jervas's celebrated piece of nonsensical flattery to himself--when, on Pope's complimenting that artist upon one of his portraits, he compassionately exclaimed "_Poor little Tit_!"--Surely all these national prejudices are as unwise as they are disgusting. Of Gérard, I would wish to speak with respect; but an artist, who receives from fifteen to twenty thousand francs for the painting of a whole length portrait, stands upon an eminence which exposes him to the observation of every man. In the same degree, also, does his elevation provoke the criticism of every man. But, however respectfully I may wish to speak of Gérard, I do not, in my conscience, consider him superior to what may be called the _second rate_ class of portrait-painters in England.[194] His outline is often hard, and full of affectation of a knowledge of drawing: his colouring is as frequently severe and metallic, and there is rarely any expression of mind or soul in his faces. I saw at Laugier's the other day, his portrait of Madame de Stael--painted from _recollection_. He certainly had _forgotten_ how to _colour_ when he executed it. Forster (a very clever, sensible, and amiable young man) is busied, or rather has just finished, the engraving of a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, by the same painter. What has depended upon _him_ has been charmingly done: but the figure of the great Original--instead of giving you the notion of the FIRST CAPTAIN OF HIS AGE[195]--is a poor, trussed-up, unmeaning piece of composition: looking-out of the canvas with a pair of eyes, which, instead of seeming to anticipate and frustrate (as they _have_ done) the movements of his adversary, as if by magic, betray an almost torpidity or vacancy of expression! The attitude is equally unnatural and ungraceful. Another defect, to my eye, in Gérard's portraits, is, the quantity of flaunting colour and glare of varnish with which his canvas is covered.

The French cognoscenti swear by "the _swearing of the Horatii_" of David. I saw a reduced copy of the large picture at the Luxembourg, by the artist himself--at Didot's: and it was while discussing the comparative merits and demerits of this famous production, that I ventured to observe that Raffaelle would have drawn the hands better. A simultaneous shout of opposition followed the remark. I could scarcely preserve common gravity or decorum: but as my antagonists were serious, I was also resolved to enact a serious part. It is not necessary to trouble you with a summary of my remarks; although I am persuaded I never talked so much French, without interruption, for so long a space of time. However, my opponents admitted, with a little reluctance, that, if the hands of the Horatii were not ill drawn, the _position_ of them was sufficiently affected. I then drew their attention, to the _Cupid and Psyche_ of the same master, in the collection of the Marquis of Sommariva, (in the notice of which my last letter was pretty liberal) but I had here a less obstinate battle to encounter. It certainly appeared (they admitted) that David did not improve as he became older.

Among the Painters of eminence I must not forget to mention LAURENT. The French are not very fond of him, and certainly they under-rate his talents. As a colourist, some of his satins may vie with those of Vanderwerf. He paints portraits, in small, as well as fancy-subjects. Of the former, that of his daughter is beautifully executed. Of the latter, his _Young Falconer_ is a production of the most captivating kind. But it is his _Joan of Arc_ which runs away with the prize of admiration. The Government have purchased the house in which that celebrated female was born,[196] and over the door of which an ancient statue of her is to be seen. Laurent's portrait is also purchased to be placed over the chimney-piece of the room; and it is intended to supply furniture, of the character which it originally might have possessed.

But if France cannot now boast her Mignard, Rigaud, or the Poussins, she has reason to be proud of her present race of _Engravers_. Of these, DESNOYERS evidently takes the lead. He is just now in Italy, and I shall probably not see him--having twice called in vain. I own undisguisedly that I am charmed with all his performances; and especially with his sacred subjects from Raffaelle:--whom, it is just possible, he may consider to be a somewhat better draftsman than David. There is hardly any thing but what he adorns by his touch. He may consider the whole length portrait of _Bonaparte_ to be his chef-d'oeuvre; but his _Vierge au Linge, Vierge dite la Belle Jardinière_,--and perhaps, still finer, that called _au Donataire_--are infinitely preferable, to my taste. The portrait has too much of detail. It is a combination of little parts; of flowered robes, with a cabinet-like background: every thing being almost mechanical, and the shield of the ex-Emperor having all the elaborate minutiæ of Grignion. I am heretic enough to prefer the famous whole length of poor Louis XVI, by Bervic after Callet: there is such a flow of line and gracefulness of expression in this latter performance! But Desnoyers has uncommon force, as well as sweetness and tenderness, in the management of historical subjects: although I think that his recent production of _Eliezer and Rebecca_, from _Nicolo Poussin_, is unhappy--as to choice. His females have great elegance. His line never flows more freely than in the treatment of his female figures; yet he has nothing of the style of finishing of our STRANGE. His _Francis_ I, and _Marguerite de Valois_ is, to my eye, one of the most finished, successful, and interesting of his performances. It is throughout a charming picture, and should hang over half the mantle pieces in the kingdom. His portrait of _Talleyrand_ is brilliant; but there are parts very much too black. It will bear no comparison with the glorious portrait of our _John Hunter_, by Sharp--from Sir J. Reynolds. Desnoyers engraves only for himself: that is to say, he is the sole proprietor of his performances, and report speaks him to be in the receipt of some twenty-five thousand francs per annum. He deserves all he has gained--both in fortune and reputation.

MASSARD works in the same school with Desnoyers. He is harder in his style of outline as well as of finishing; but he understands his subject thoroughly, and treats it with skill and effect. ANDOUIN is lately come out with a whole length portrait of the present king: a palpable copy, as to composition, of that of his late brother. There are parts of the detail most exquisitely managed, but the countenance is rather too severely marked. LIGNON is the prince of portrait-engravers. His head of _Mademoiselle Mars_--though, upon the whole, exhibiting a flat, and unmeaning countenance, when we consider that it represents the first comic actress in Europe--is a master-piece of graphic art. It is wrought with infinite care, brilliancy, and accuracy. The lace, over the lady's shoulder, may bid defiance even to what Drevet and Masson have effected of the like kind. The eyes and the gems of Mademoiselle Mars seem to sparkle with a rival lustre; but the countenance is too flat, and the nose wants elevation and beauty. For this latter, however, neither Gérard nor Lignon are amenable to criticism. Upon the whole, it is a very surprising performance. If I were called upon to notice Lignon's chef d'oeuvre, I would mention the frontispiece to the magnificent impression of _Camoens' Lusiad_, containing the head of the author, surrounded by an arabesque border of the most surprising brilliancy of composition and execution. You must however remember, that it is in the splendid work entitled LE MUSÉE FRANÇAIS, that many fine specimens of all the artists just mentioned are to be found. There is no occasion to be more particular in the present place.

I must not omit the notice of FORSTER and LAUGIER: both of whom I have visited more than once. At the same time, I beg it may be distinctly understood that the omission of the names of _other_ engravers is no implication that they are passed over as being unworthy of regard. On the contrary, there are several whom I could mention who might take precedence even of the two last noticed. Some of Forster's academic figures, which gained him the prize, are very skilfully treated; both as to drawing and finishing. His print of _Titian's Mistress_ exhibits, in the face and bosom of the female, a power and richness of effect which may contend with some of the best efforts of Desnoyers's burin. The reflex-light, in the mirror behind, is admirably managed; but the figure of Titian, and the lower parts of his Mistress--especially the arms and hands--are coarse, black, and inharmonious. His _Wellington_ is a fine performance, as to mechanical skill. M. Bénard, the well-known print-seller to his Majesty, living on the _Boulevards Italiens_, laughed with me the other day at the rival Wellington--painted by Lawrence, and engraved by Bromley,--as a piece of very inferior art! But men may laugh on the wrong side of the face. I consider, however, that what has depended upon Forster, has been done with equal ability and truth. Undoubtedly the great failing of the picture is, that it can hardly be said to have even a faint resemblance of the original.

M. Laugier has not yet reached his full powers of maturity; but what he has done is remarkable for feeling and force. His _Daphne and Chloe_, and _Hero and Leander_ are early performances, but they are full of promise, and abound in excellences. Colour and feeling are their chief merit. The latter print has the shadows too dark. The former is more transparent, more tender, and in better keeping. The foreground has, in some parts, the crispness and richness of Woollett. They tell me that it is a rare print, and that only 250 copies were struck off--at the expense of the Society of Arts. Laugier has recently executed a very elaborate print of Leander, just in the act of reaching the shore--(where his mistress is trembling for his arrival in a lighted watch-tower) but about to be buried in the overwhelming waves. The composition of the figure is as replete with affectation, as its position is unnatural, if not impossible. The waves seem to be suspended over him--on purpose to shew off his limbs to every degree of advantage. He is perfectly canopied by their "gracefully-curled tops." The engraving itself is elaborate to excess: but too stiff, even to a metallic effect. It can never be popular with us; and will, I fear, find but few purchasers in the richly garnished repertoire of the worthy Colnaghi. Indeed it is a painful, and almost repulsive, subject. Laugier's portrait of _Le Vicomte de Chateaubriand_ exhibits his prevailing error of giving blackness, rather than depth, to his shadows. Black hair, a black cravat, and black collar to the coat--with the lower part of the background almost "gloomy as night"--are not good accessories. This worthy engraver lives at present with his wife, an agreeable and unaffected little woman, up four pair of stairs, in the _Rue de Paradis_. I told him--and as I thought with the true spirit of prediction--that, on a second visit to Paris I should find him descended--full two stories: in proportion as he was ascending in fortune and fame.

The French are either not fond of, or they do not much patronise, engraving in the _stippling_ manner: "_au poinctilliet_"--as they term it. Roger is their chief artist in this department. He is clever, undoubtedly; but his shadows are too black, and the lighter parts of his subjects want brilliancy. What he does "en petit," is better than what he does upon a larger scale." In _mezzotint_ the Parisians have not a single artist particularly deserving of commendation. They are perhaps as indifferent as we are somewhat too extravagantly attached, to it. Speaking of the FRENCH SCHOOL OF ENGRAVING, in a general and summary manner--especially of the line engravers--one must admit that there is a great variety of talent; combined with equal knowledge of drawing and of execution; but the general effect is too frequently hard, glittering, and metallic. The draperies have sometimes the severity of armour; and the accessories, of furniture or other objects, are frequently too highly and elaborately finished. Nor is the flesh always free from the appearance of marble. But the names I have mentioned, although not entirely without some of these defects, have great and more than counter-balancing excellences.

In the midst of all the graphic splendour of modern Paris, it was delightful music to my ears to hear WILKIE and RAIMBACH so highly extolled by M. Bénard. "Ha, votre _Wilkie_--voilà un génie distingué!" Who could say "nay?" But let BURNET have his share of graphic praise; for the _Blind Fiddler_ owes its popularity throughout Europe to _his_ burin. They have recently copied our friend Wilkie's productions on a small scale, in aqua-tint; cleverly enough--for three francs a piece. I told Benard that the Duke of Wellington had recently bespoke a picture from Mr. Wilkie's pencil. "What is the subject to be?"--demanded he, quickly. I replied, in the very simplicity of my heart, "Soldiers regaling themselves, on receiving the news of the victory of Waterloo." Mons. Bénard was paralised for one little moment: but rallying quickly, he answered, with perfect truth, as I conceive "_Comment donc_, TOUT EST WATERLOO, _chez vous!_" M. Bénard spoke very naturally, and I will not find fault with him for such a response; for he is an obliging, knowing, and a very pleasant tradesman to do business with. He admits, readily and warmly, that we have great artists, both as painters and engravers; and pointing to Sharpe's _John Hunter_ and _The Doctors of the Church_--which happened to be hanging just before us--he observed that "these, efforts had never been surpassed by his own countrymen." I told him (while conversing about the respective merits of the British and French Schools of Engraving) that it appeared to me, that in France, there was no fine feeling for LANDSCAPE ENGRAVING; and that, as to ANTIQUARIAN art, what had been produced in the publications of Mr. Britton, and in the two fine topographical works--Mr. Clutterbuck's Hertfordshire," and. Mr. Surtees' Durham--exhibited such specimens of the burin, in that department, as could scarcely be hoped to be excelled.[197] M. Bénard did not very strenuously combat these observations. The great mart for _Printselling_ is the Boulevards; and more especially that of the _Boulevards Italiens_. A stranger can have no conception of the gaiety and brilliance of the print-shops, and print-stalls, in this neighbourhood. Let him first visit it in the morning about nine o'clock; with the sun-beams sparkling among the foliage of the trees, and the incessant movements of the populace below, who are about commencing another day's pilgrimage of human life. A pleasant air is stirring at this time; and the freshness arising from the watering of the footpath--but more particularly the fragrance from innumerable bouquets, with mignonette, rose trees, and lilacs--extended in fair array--is altogether quite charming and singularly characteristic. But my present business is with prints. You see them, hanging in the open air--framed and not framed--for some quarter of a mile: with the intermediate space filled by piles of calf-bound volumes and sets of apparently countless folios. Here are _Moreri, Bayle_, the _Dictionnaire de Trévoux, Charpentier_, and the interminable _Encyclopédie_: all very tempting of their kind, and in price:--but all utterly unpurchasable--on account of the heavy duties of importation, arising from their weight.

However--again I say--my present business is with _Prints_. Generally speaking, these prints are pleasing in their manner of execution, reasonable in price, and of endless variety. But the perpetual intrusion of subjects of studied nudity is really at times quite disgusting. It is surprising (as I think I before remarked to you) with what utter indifference and apathy, even females, of respectable appearance and dress, will be gazing upon these subjects; and now that the art of _lithography_ is become fashionable, the print-shops of Paris will be deluged with an inundation of these odious representations, which threaten equally to debase the art and to corrupt morals. This cheap and wholesale circulation of what is mischievous, and of really most miserable execution, is much to be deplored. Even in the better part of art, lithography will have a pernicious effect. Not only a well-educated and distinguished engraver will find, in the long run his business slackening from the reduced prices at which prints. are sold, but a _bad taste_ will necessarily be the result: for the generality of purchasers, not caring for comparative excellence in art, will be well pleased to give _one_ franc, for what, before, they could not obtain under _three_ or _five_. Hence we may date the decline and downfall of art itself. I was surprised, the other day, at hearing DENON talk so strongly in favour of lithography. I told him "it was a bastard art; and I rejoiced, in common with every man of taste or feeling, that _that_ art had not made its appearance before the publication of his work upon Egypt." It may do well for

"The whisker'd pandour and the fierce hussar"--

or it may, in the hands of such a clever artist as VERNET, be managed with good effect in representations of skirmishes of horse and foot--groups of banditti--a ruined battlement, or mouldering tower--overhanging rocks-- rushing torrents--or umbrageous trees--but, in the higher department of art, as connected with portrait and historical engraving, it cannot, I apprehend, attain to any marked excellence.[198] Portraits however--of a particular description--_may_ be treated with tolerable success; but when you come to put lithographic engraving in opposition to that of _line_--the _latter_ will always and necessarily be

... velut inter ignes
LUNA minores!

I cannot take leave of A CITY, in which I have tarried so long, and with so much advantage to myself, without saying one word about the manners, customs, and little peculiarities of character of those with whom I have been recently associating. Yet the national character is pretty nearly the same at Rouen and at Caen, as at Paris; except that you do not meet with those insults from the _canaille_ which are but too frequent at these first-mentioned places. Every body here is busy and active, yet very few. have any thing _to do_--in the way of what an Englishman would call _business_. The thoughtful brow, the abstracted, look, the hurried step.. which you see along Cheapside and Cornhill ... are here of comparatively rare appearance. Yet every body is "sur le pavé." Every body seems to live out of doors. How the _ménage_ goes on--and: how domestic education is regulated--strikes the inexperienced eye of an Englishman as a thing quite inconceivable. The temperature of Paris is no doubt very fine, although it has been of late unprecedentedly hot; and a French workman, or labourer, enjoys, out of doors--from morning till night those meals, which, with us, are usually partaken of within. The public places of entertainment are pretty sure to receive a prodigious proportion of the population of Paris every evening. A mechanic, or artisan, will devote two thirds of his daily gains to the participation of this pleasure. His dinner will consist of the most meagre fare--at the lowest possible price--provided, in the evening, he can hear _Talma_ declaim, _or Albert_ warble, or see _Pol_ leap, or _Bigotini_ entrance a wondering audience by the grace of her movements, and the pathos of her dumb shew, in _Nina._

The preceding strikes me as the general complexion of character of three fourths of the Parisians: but then they are gay, and cheerful, and apparently happy. If they have not the phlegm of the German, or the thoughtfulness of ourselves, they are less cold, and less insensible to the passing occurrences of life. A little pleases them, and they give in return much more than they receive. One thing, however, cannot fail to strike and surprise an attentive observer of national character. With all their quickness, enthusiasm, and activity, the mass of French people want that admirable quality which I unfeignedly think is the particular characteristic of ourselves:--I mean, _common sense_. In the midst of their architectural splendor--while their rooms are refulgent with gilding and plate-glass; while their mantle-pieces sparkle with or-molu clocks; or their tables are decorated with vases, and artificial flowers of the most exquisite workmanship--and while their carpets and curtains betray occasionally all the voluptuousness of eastern pomp ... you can scarcely obtain egress or ingress into the respective apartments, from the wretchedness of their _locks_ and _keys!_ Mechanical studies or improvements should seem to be almost entirely uncultivated--for those who remember France nearly half a century ago, tell me that it was pretty much then as it is now. Another thing discomposes the sensitive nerves of the English; especially those of our notable housewives. I allude to the rubbishing appearance of their _grates_--and the dingy and sometimes disgusting aspect of carpets and flowered furniture. A good mahogany dining table is a perfect rarity[199]--and let him, who stands upon a chair to take down a quarto or octavo, beware how he encounter a broken shin or bruised elbow, from the perpendicularity of the legs of that same chair.

The same want of common-sense, cleanliness, and convenience--is visible in nearly the whole of the French ménage. Again, in the streets--their cabriolet drivers and hackney coachmen are sometimes the most furious of their tribe. I rescued, the other day, an old and respectable gentleman-- with the cross of St. Louis appendant to his button-hole--from a situation, in which, but for such a rescue, he must have been absolutely knocked down and rode over. He shook his cane at the offender; and, thanking me very heartily for my protection, observed, "these rascals improve daily in their studied insult of all good Frenchmen." The want of _trottoirs_ is a serious and even absurd want; as it might be so readily supplied. Their carts are obviously ill-constructed, and especially in the caps of the wheels; which, in a narrow street--as those of Paris usually are--unnecessarily occupy a _foot_ of room, where scarcely an _inch_ can be spared. The rubbish piled against the posts, in different parts of the street, is as disgusting as it is obviously inconvenient. A police "ordonnance" would obviate all this in twenty-four hours.

Yet in many important respects the Parisian multitude read a lesson to ourselves. In their public places of resort, the French are wonderfully decorous; and along the streets, no lady is insulted by the impudence of either sex. You are sure to walk in peace, if you conduct yourself peaceably. I had intended to say a word upon morals: and religion; but the subject, while it is of the highest moment, is beyond the reach of a traveller whose stay is necessarily short, and whose occupations, upon the whole, have been confined rather among the dead than the living.

Farewell, therefore, to PARIS. I have purchased a very commodious travelling carriage; to which a pair of post-horses will be attached in a couple of days--and then, for upwards of three hundred miles of journey--towards STRASBOURG! No schoolboy ever longed for a holiday more ardently than I do for the relaxation which this journey will afford me. A thousand hearty farewells!

[191] [The work is now perfect in 3 volumes.]

[192] [I here annex a fac-simile of his autograph from the foot of the
account for these drawings.]

[193] Then, Louis XVIII.

[194] ["Sir T. Lawrence, who painted the portrait of the late Duke de
Richlieu, which was seen at the last exhibition, is undoubtedly of the
first class of British Portrait painters; but, according to Mr.
Dibdin's judgment, many artists would have preferred to have sided
with our Gérard." CRAPELET. vol. iv. 220. I confess I do not
understand this reasoning: nor perhaps will my readers.]

[195] [Here, Mons. Crapelet drily and pithily says, "Translated from the
English." What then? Can there be the smallest shadow of doubt about
the truth of the above assertion? None--with Posterity.]

[196] At Domremi, in Lorraine.

[197] When Desnoyers was over here, in 1819, he unequivocally expressed his
rapture about our antiquarian engravings--especially of Gothic
churches. Mr. Wild's _Lincoln Cathedral_ produced a succession of
ecstatic remarks. "When your fine engravings of this kind come over to
Paris we get little committees to sit upon them"--observed Desnoyers
to an engraver--who communicated the fact to the author.

[198] [The experience of ten years has confirmed THE TRUTH of the above
remark.]

[199] [Not so now! Mahogany, according to M. Crapelet, is every where at
Paris, and at the lowest prices.]

_LETTER XII._

PARIS TO STRASBOURG.

_Hotel de l'Esprit, Strasbourg, July 20, 1818_.

I can hardly describe to you the gratification I felt on quitting the "trein-trein".of Paris for the long, and upon the whole interesting, journey to the place whence I date this despatch. My love of rural sights, and of rural enjoyments of almost every kind, has been only equalled by my admiration of the stupendous Cathedral of this celebrated city. But not a word about the city of Strasbourg itself, for the present. My description, both of _that_ and of its _curiosities_, will be properly reserved for another letter; when I shall necessarily have had more leisure and fitter opportunities for the execution of the task. On the eleventh of this month, precisely at ten o'clock, the rattling of the hoofs of two lusty post horses--together with the cracking of an _experimental_ flourish or two of the postilion's whip--were heard in the court-yard of the Hôtel des Colonies. Nothing can exceed the punctuality of the Poste Royale in the attendance of the horses at the precise hour of ordering them. Travellers, and especially those from our _own_ country, are not _quite_ so punctual in availing themselves of this regularity; but if you keep the horses for the better part of an hour before you start, you must pay something extra for your tardiness. Of all people, the _English_ are likely to receive the most useful lesson from this wholesome regulation. By a quarter past ten, Mr. Lewis and myself having mounted our voiture, and given the signal for departure, received the "derniers adieux" of Madame the hostess, and of the whole corps of attendants. On leaving the gates of the hotel, the postilion put forth all his energies in sundry loud smackings of his whip; and as we went at a cautious pace through the narrower streets, towards the _Barriers of St. Martin_, I could not but think, with inward satisfaction, that, on visiting and leaving a city, so renowned as Paris, for the _first_ time, I had gleaned more intellectual fruit than I had presumed to hope for; and that I had made acquaintances which might probably ripen into a long and steady friendship. In short, my own memoranda, together with the drawings of Messrs. Lewis and Coeuré, were results, which convinced me that my time had not been mispent, and that my objects of research were not quite undeserving of being recorded. Few reflections give one so much pleasure, on leaving, a city--where there are so many thousand temptations to abuse time and to destroy character.

The day of our departure was very fine, tending rather to heat. In a little half hour we cleared the barrier of St. Martin, and found ourselves on the broad, open, route royale--bordered by poplars and limes. To the right, was the pretty village of _Belleville:_ to the left, at the distance of some six or eight English miles, we observed _Montmorenci, St. Germain en Laye_, and, considerably nearer, _St. Denis_. All these places, together with _Versailles,_ I had previously visited--Montmorenci and St. Denis twice-- and intended to have given you an account of them; but you could have received from me scarcely any thing more than what the pages of the commonest tour would have supplied you with. We first changed horses at _Bondy_, the forest of which was once very extensive and much celebrated. You now behold little more than a formal avenue of trees. The _Castle of Raincy_, situated in this forest, is to the right, well-wooded--and the property of the Duke of Orleans. _Ville-Parisis_ was the next prettiest spot, in our route to _Claye_, where we again changed horses. The whole route, from _Ville-Parisis_ to _Meaux_, was exceedingly pleasing and even picturesque. At Meaux we dined, and have reason to remember the extravagant charges of the woman who kept the inn. The heat of the day was now becoming rather intense. While our veal-cutlet was preparing, we visited the church; which had frequently, and most picturesquely, peeped out upon us during our route. It is a large, cathedral-like looking church, without transepts, Only one tower (in the west front), is built--with the evident intention of raising another in the same aspect. They were repairing the west front, which is somewhat elaborately ornamented; but so intensely hot was the sun--on our coming out to examine it--that we were obliged to retreat into the interior, which seemed to contain the atmosphere of a different climate. A tall, well-dressed, elderly priest, in company with a middle-aged lady, were ascending the front steps to attend divine service. Hot as it was, the priest saluted us, and stood a half minute without his black cap--with the piercing rays of the sun upon a bald head. The bell tolled softly, and there was a quiet calm about the whole which almost invited, us to _postpone_ our attack upon the dinner we had ordered.

Ten francs for a miserable cutlet--and a yet more wretchedly-prepared fricandeau--with half boiled artichokes, and a bottle of undrinkable vin ordinaire--was a charge sufficiently monstrous to have excited the well known warmth of expostulation of an English traveller--but it was really too hot to talk aloud! The landlady pocketed my money, and I pocketed the affront which so shameful a charge may be considered as having put upon me. We now rolled leisurely on towards _La Ferté-sous-Jouarre:_ about five French-leagues from Meaux--not without stopping to change horses at _St. Jean,_ &c. The heat would not even allow of the exercise of the postilion's whip. Every body, and every thing seemed to be oppressed by it. The labourer was stretched out in the shade, and the husbandman slept within the porch of his cottage. We had no sooner entered the little town of La Ferté-sous-Jouarre, and driven to the post-house, when not fewer than four blacksmiths came rushing out of their respective forges, to examine every part of the carriage. "A nail had started here: a screw was wanting there: and a fracture had taken place in another direction: even the perch was given way in the centre!" "Alas, for my voiture de voyage!" exclaimed I to my companion. Meanwhile, a man came forward with a red-hot piece of iron, in the shape of a cramp, to fix round the perch--which hissed as the application was made. And all this--before I could say wherefore! or even open my mouth to express astonishment! They were absolutely about to take off the wheels of the carriage; to examine, and to grease them--but it was then for the first time, that I opened a well-directed fire of expostulation; from which I apprehend that they discovered I was not perfectly ignorant either of their language or of their trickery. However, the rogues had _four_ francs for what they had the impudence to ask _six_; and considering my vehicle to be now proof against the probability of an accident, I was resolved to leave the town in the same good humour in which I had entered it.

On quitting, we mounted slowly up a high ascent, and saw from thence the village of _Jouarre_, on a neighbouring summit, smothered with trees. It seemed to consist of a collection of small and elegant country houses, each with a lawn and an orchard. At the foot of the summit winds the unostentatious little stream of _Le Petit Morin_ The whole of this scenery, including the village of _Montreuil-aux-Lions_--a little onwards--was perfectly charming, and after the English fashion: and as the sky became mellowed by the rays of the declining sun, the entire landscape assumed a hue and character which absolutely refreshed our spirits after the heat of the previous part of the journey. We had resolved to sleep at _Chateau-Thierry_, about seven leagues off, and the second posting-place from where we had last halted. Night was coming on, and the moon rose slowly through a somewhat dense horizon, as we approached our rendezvous for the evening. All was tranquil and sweet. We drove to the inn called the _Sirène_, situated in the worst possible part of the town: but we quickly changed our determination, and bespoke beds for the night, and horses for the following morning, at the _Poste Royale_. The landlady of the Inn was a tartar--of her species. She knew how to talk civilly; and, for her, a more agreeable occupation--how to charge! We had little rest, and less sleep. By a quarter past five I was in the carriage; intending to breakfast at _Epernay_, about twenty-five miles off.

The first post-station is _Parois_. It is a beautiful drive thither, and the village itself is exceedingly picturesque. From _Parois_ to _Dormans_, the next post village, the road continues equally interesting. We seemed to go each post like the wind; and reached _Epernay_ by nine o'clock. The drive from Dormans to Epernay is charming; and as the sky got well nigh covered by soft fleecy clouds when we reached the latter place, our physical strength, as well as animal spirits, seemed benefited by the change. I was resolved to _bargain_ for every future meal at an inn: and at Epernay I bespoke an excellent breakfast of fruit, eggs, coffee and tea, at three francs a head. This town is the great place in France for the manufacture of _Vin de Champagne_. It is here where they make it in the greatest quantities; although _Sillery_, near Rheims, boasts of champagne of a more delicate quality. I learnt here that the Prussians, in their invasion of France in 1814, committed sad havoc with this tempting property. They had been insulted, and even partially fired upon--as they passed through the town,--and to revenge themselves, they broke open the cellars of M ..., the principal wine merchant; and drank the contents of only--_one hundred thousand bottles of champagne_!" "But," said the owner of these cellars, (beyond the reach of the hearing of the Prussians, as you may be well assured!) "they did not break open my _largest vault_ ... where I had _half as much again!_. "Indeed, I was told that the wine vaults of Epernay were as well worth inspection, as the catacombs of Paris.

I should observe to you that the river _Marne_, one of the second-rate rivers, of France, accompanies you pretty closely all the way from Chateau Thierry to Chalons--designated as _Chalons-sur-Marne._ From Epernay to Chalons you pass through nothing but corn fields. It is a wide and vast ocean of corn--with hardly a tree, excepting those occasionally along the road, within a boundary of ten miles. Chalons is a large and populous town; but the churches bear sad traces of revolutionary fury. Some of the porches, once covered with a profusion of rich, alto-relievo sculpture, are absolutely treated as if these ornaments had been pared away to the very quick! Scarcely a vestige remains. It is in this town where the two great roads to STRASBOURG--one by _Metz_, and the other by _Nancy_--unite. The former is to the north, the latter to the south. I chose the latter; intending to return to Paris by the former. On leaving Chalons, we purposed halting to dine at _Vitry-sur-Marne_--distant two posts, of about four leagues each. _La Chaussée,_ which we reached at a very smart trot, was the first post town, and is about half way to Vitry. From thence we had "to mount a huge hill"--- as the postilion told us; but it was here, as in Normandy--these huge hills only provoked our laughter. However, the wheel was subjected to the drag-chain--and midst clouds of white dust, which converted us into millers, we were compelled to descend slowly. Vitry was seen in the distance, which only excited our appetite and made us anxious to increase our pace.

On reaching Vitry, I made my terms for dinner with the landlady of the principal inn--who was literally as sharp as a razor. However, we had a comfortable room, a good plain dinner, with an excellent bottle of _Vin de Beaune_, for three francs each. "Could Monsieur refuse this trifling payment?" He could not. Before dinner I strolled to the principal church-- which is indeed a structure of a most noble appearance--like that of St. Sulpice in form, and perhaps of a little more than half its size. It is the largest parish church which I have yet seen; but it is comparatively modern. It was Sunday; and a pleasing spectacle presented itself on entering. A numerous group of young women, dressed almost entirely in white, with white caps and veils, were singing a sort of evening hymn-- which I understood to be called the _Chaplet of the Virgin_. Their voices, unaccompanied by instrumental music, sounded sweetly from the loftiness of the roof; and every singer seemed to be touched with the deepest sense of devotion. They sang in an attitude with the body leaning forward, and the head gently inclined. The silence of the place--its distance from the metropolis--the grey aspect of the heavens--and the advanced hour of the day ... all contributed to produce in our minds very pleasing and yet serious sensations. I shall not easily forget the hymn called THE CHAPLET OF THE VIRGIN, as it was sung in the church of Vitry.

After leaving this place we successively changed horses at _Longchamp_ and at _St. Dizier_. To our great comfort, it began to threaten rain. While the horses were being changed at the former place, I sat down upon a rough piece of stone, in the high road, by the side of a well dressed paysanne, and asked her if she remembered the retreat of Bonaparte in the campaign of 1814--and whether he had passed there? She said she remembered it well. Bonaparte was on horseback, a little in advance of his troops--and ambled gently, within six paces of where we were sitting. His head was rather inclined, and he appeared to be very thoughtful. _St. Dizier_ was the memorable place upon which Bonaparte made a rapid retrograde march, in order to get into the rear of the allied troops, and thus possess himself of their supplies. But this desperate movement, you know, cost him his capital, and eventually his empire. St. Dizier is rather a large place, and the houses are almost uniformly white. Night and rain came on together as we halted to change horses. But we were resolved upon another stage--to _Saudrupt_: and were now about entering the department of LORRAINE.