Chapter II: Part 2

Although I thought my admiration had been so largely called forth by the pictures I had just visited, as to have been almost exhausted, yet the distinguished excellence of the statues did not fail to rekindle it; and indeed it is impossible it should have been otherwise, when surrounded by such admirable specimens of art.--The number bears its due proportion to that of the pictures, and the same reasons which induced me to say little of them, will prevent my dilating on the excellence of the statues--

Et la meilleure chose, on la gâte souvent.
Pour la vouloir outrer, et pousser trop avant.

I must, however, observe, that here are assembled the three finest statues in the world, the _Laocoon_, the _Venus_ de Clomene, from the collection of the Medici family, and the _Apollo_ Belvidere, which was found amongst the ruins of Antrum, about the end of the 15th century; and eveu in imagining the most perfect nature, it is difficult to form an idea of such perfection as is here exhibited; but much as I admired the Apollo, I was yet more delighted by contemplating the excellence displayed in the graceful figure of the Venus.

The gallery of paintings at the palace of the Luxemburg (which is now called the palace of the Peers of France, as they sit at present in the hall, formerly occupied by Buonaparte's Conservative Senate) although vastly inferior to that at the Louvre, both as to the number, and value of the collection it contains; yet it is well worthy the attention of the stranger, and the circumstance of its not being too crowded is favourable to the visitant, whose attention is not so much divided here as by the attractions of the greater collection, where he is often at a loss which way he shall turn. Here are statues of Bacchus and Ariadne. The gallery of Rubens contains twenty-one pictures by that great master, representing the history of Mary of Medicis; it also contains his Judgment of Paris. The gallery of Vernet contains a series of views of the principal sea-ports of France, by that painter, and also Poussin's picture of the Adoration of the Magi. Here are also two celebrated pictures by that great modern painter, David--Brutus after having condemned his Son, and the Oath of the Horatii, which appeared to me worthy of the favourable report I had before heard of them.

This palace has a spacious and handsome garden; the front of Queen's College, Oxford, is an imitation on a reduced scale of its façade to the street.

After the paintings, I next inquired after the Libraries which Paris contains; these are very numerous, but as I had so much to see, I contented myself with visiting the two principal ones, first, the royal library, Rue Richelieu. This contains the library of Petrarch, which alone would render it an object of curiosity. Here are also the globes of the Jesuit _Coronelli_, which are upwards of thirty-four feet in circumference. The Cabinet of Antiquities contains the collection of Count Caylus. The number of printed volumes is stated to amount to 350,000. The manuscripts are not less than 72,000. Here is also a vast and very valuable collection of medals, and about 5000 engravings. All persons are permitted to read here from ten until two o'clock.

The second Library which I visited was one which formerly belonged to that celebrated Minister, Cardinal Mazarin, and is now in the Palais des Beaux Arts, on the opposite side of the river from the Louvre. This collection consists of 60,000 volumes, amongst which are many works of great value.

If the traveller sees much to interest him, and much to admire during the course of his tour, it is natural that he should occasionally meet with disappointment; and I must confess that in the Metropolitan Church of Notre Dame, I saw little worthy of that praise which is lavished on it by the French; it is only venerable from its antiquity, being one of the most ancient Christian churches in Europe.--In point of architecture, and the general appearance of the exterior, it yields to any of the cathedrals, and to very many of the parish churches in England. The interior is mean in the extreme (the High Altar only excepted;) the body of the church being entirely filled up with the commonest rush bottomed chairs, and not kept in any tolerable order. But the most splendid church in Paris is unquestionably that of St. Sulpice, which is also one of the most striking buildings in the metropolis, notwithstanding the dissimilitude of the two towers of its grand Western front.

The Pantheon is not very different as to its general appearance from the last mentioned church. This edifice has cost already vast sums, but is not considered as completed. I saw during my stay at Paris most of the churches which it contains, and was in general disappointed with their appearance. The church of St. Roque is the handsomest after that of St. Sulpice. There is a Protestant church in the Rue St. Honoré, called L'Oratoire. Bossuet said of this congregation, "It is a body where all obey, and where no one commands."--Adjoining to this church is a very small chapel, where since the peace the service has been performed according to the form of the church of England. I attended here the Sunday after my arrival in Paris, and found the congregation consisted of about 40 persons, and at first sight one could not have supposed they were all British subjects, so completely had the ladies adopted the _great hat_, and the other peculiarities of the French _ton_.

Still one sees in the streets and public places several who do not desire to be thought French subjects, and who persist in wearing the much-abused habits of their own country.

There have been many disputes respecting the number of English actually in Paris; I have no doubt it has been extremely exaggerated. I saw, at my bankers, Messrs. Perregeaux & Co. a list of all those who had credit with them, which was less considerable by half at least than report had stated.

In the Place Vendôme stands a truly magnificent column (copied from that of Trajan at Rome) to commemorate the victories of Buonaparte, and his army in Germany. The execution of the _bas reliefs_ reflects credit on the state of sculpture in France, and cannot fail to claim the approbation of the beholder.

On the top of the column stood a colossal statue of Buonaparte; this, like the other statues of that modern _Sejanus_, has disappeared since the downfall of his empire, and the return of the ancient dynasty has caused to be placed on its summit the white flag, formerly so much venerated by the French.

I set out at an early hour to go over the celebrated Gobelin manufactory in the Rue Mouffetard, the proprietor of which is extremely civil to strangers, and permits them to see his premises from ten till one o'clock, and they are well worthy of attention. The name of this manufactory is derived from its founder Gille Gobelin, originally from Rheims, who settled here in 1450.--I was also the same day much pleased with surveying the Stereotype press of that famous printer _Didot_, whose editions of various authors are in such esteem amongst judges of the art.

In the Place des Victoires, I observed an enormous statue of General Dessaix, on the site formerly occupied by one of Lewis XIV. (I have been informed, that about two months after my departure from Paris, this statue has been removed to a foundery, where by _fusion_, it may perhaps assume the appearance of a Bourbon.)--The Great Bureau of the Post, where only foreign letters can be _franked_, that is postpaid by those who send them (without which they are not forwarded) is in the Rue J.J. Rousseau, whose name was given to this street, from his having for some time occupied an attic story in it.

The Botanic Garden (Jardin des Plantes) being open to the public only on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and its situation being at the farthest extremity of Paris from my hotel, I set out as early as possible to view it with the attention it deserved. It is on a very great scale, and contains about 7000 plants, arranged according to the scientific method of M. Jussieu. The Library I did not see, but the Museum and the Menagerie are on the most extensive scale, and accounts have been published of their curiosities.--Being fatigued with _seeing the Lions_, I sat down to rest for a short time on a vacant seat in the garden; but presently two elderly ladies came to the same place, and lamented in the _most expressive terms_ the loss of a favourite dog; the lady who had lost it, said it was the _only consolation_ she had, that it was absolutely _necessary to love something_, and that she felt most miserable at her loss.

This concern for the loss of a dog appeared to me much more natural, than the delight with which some virtuosos, whom I observed in the Museum, contemplated many of the specimens preserved there. The French have a great _latitude of expression_, being naturally an extremely lively people; but certainly not so much so as formerly. I recollect some years ago being much amused by an anecdote, related by the late Dr. Moore, in his "View of the State of Society and Manners in France, Italy, and Germany." The Doctor was informed by a French gentleman of his acquaintance, with that vivacity which distinguishes his nation, that he had just then received a final dismissal from a lady, who had for some time appeared to favour his addresses, and that he was absolutely in _despair_. Dr. Moore, who, from the vivacity of his friend's manners, had no idea that any thing had happened that seriously distressed him, answered, that he thought him the merriest person he had ever seen in such a situation. The other immediately replied, "but you English have such an idea of despair!"

The various revolutions of the last twenty-five years have doubtless contributed, in no small degree, to diminish much of that gaiety, which formerly distinguished the French from most other nations, and which formed one of their chief characteristics.

Under the late government reserve was positively _necessary_, so numerous were the emissaries of the police, and so anxious were they to report the most trifling circumstances to their employer, that they might convince him how very necessary they were to the furtherance of his government. In those unhappy times every man mistrusted his neighbour, fearing he might be concerned in one of the _eighteen police establishments_ supported by the mistrust of the emperor in the affections of his subjects. The _Conscription Laws_, and the right which Buonaparte assumed of _disposing in marriage all ladies_ possessed of a certain income, as a measure of rewarding the services of his officers, and which violated the closest connexions and best interests of society; together with his system of _forced loans_, which entirely destroyed the rights of _private property_, did not leave his subjects many incitements to mirth--although it was dangerous to appear dejected. "The Voyage Descriptif et Philosophique de Paris, par L---- P----," contains the following remarks, the truth of which renders them interesting, and I shall therefore translate them, for the information of those who may chance to peruse these pages. The author observes, "An air of inquietude has succeeded that openness and sociability, which so much distinguished the French. Their serious air announces that most people are considering the amount of their debts, and are always put to expedients. One guesses, that in a company of thirty at least twenty-four are revolving the means of acquiring wealth; and notwithstanding twenty are without it." I shall quote in conclusion what the same writer says of the Parisian, and which strikes me as a correct statement. "The Parisian is in general tolerably indifferent as to his political situation; he is never wholly enslaved, never free. He repels cannon by puns, and links together power and despotism by witty epigrams. He quickly forgets the misfortunes of the preceding day; he keeps no diary of grievances, and one might say, he has sufficient confidence in himself not to dread too absolute a despotism. It is to be hoped, that the happy restoration of the Bourbons will restore to the Parisian his gaiety, and that Louis XVIII. the legitimate father of the French, will cause all former political convulsions to be forgotten."

The Parisians are distinguished by their loquacity. Having occasion to employ a hair-cutter, I was quite stunned by his volubility of tongue. _King Archelaus_ would find it difficult to be suited here; for being asked how he would have his hair cut, he answered--"silently."

After many ineffectual attempts, I at last succeeded in satisfying my curiosity by seeing the assembly of the Legislative Body. The building is one of the greatest ornaments of which Paris can boast; it was chiefly the work of Buonaparte, who was satisfied to lodge these gentlemen in a palace, provided they did not interfere in the government of their country. I was not gratified in proportion to the trouble I had in getting into the hall, by the short and uninteresting debate which ensued. This House was occupied during the greatest part of my stay in Paris in discussing the forms proper to be observed when the king meets the peers and commons.

The deputies object, that the king should himself desire the peers to be seated, and that they should only receive that permission through the medium of the chancellor: how the point has been decided, I have not been since informed.

The weather was intensely hot during part of my stay at Paris, the quicksilver being occasionally at 26° Réaumur, equal to 90° of Fahrenheit's scale, and the sky without a cloud, there not being, in general, such a cloud of smoke over Paris as generally obscures the atmosphere of London. Yet, I believe, the best accounts allow that London is to the full as healthy a city as Paris, and if cleanliness is conducive to health the point can admit of little doubt. During part of this oppressive weather, I used generally to resort, about mid-day, to the gallery of the Louvre, being anxious to take every opportunity of contemplating its superb collection of the works of art. There, notwithstanding the number of visitors, the marble floors and ventilators rendered the air much more cool than it was out of doors. I generally set out on my rambles through the city at as early an hour as custom would permit, and in the evening, often joined the pedestrians in the gardens of the Tuilleries, which were always thronged with company of all descriptions. There are a vast number of chairs under the trees, and their proprietors demand one or two sous for the right of sitting in them. I have been assured that this inconsiderable charge procures a total by no means contemptible.

I sometimes extended my walk into the Champs Elysées, which extend a long way beyond the Place de Louis XV. Its avenues are lighted like the streets of Paris, by lanthorns, suspended across them by ropes and pulleys, which give a stronger light than our lamps, but do not seem equally secure. At the end of the centre avenue, which runs in a straight line from the grand entrance to the Tuilleries, Buonaparte had lately begun a triumphal arch to commemorate the victories of his armies; and still further, exactly opposite the bridge of Jena, he caused a vast number of houses to be destroyed, to make way for a projected palace for the King of Rome. The foundations only of this edifice had been laid before the overthrow of Buonaparte, and this large plot of ground now presents a scene of waste and desolation.

The present government, which will not prosecute so expensive and useless an undertaking, will still have to make compensation to the owners of the buildings of which only the ruins remain.

The quarter of St. Antoine is celebrated in the annals of the Revolution; and, indeed, there are but few parts of Paris, which do not recall to one's mind some of those scenes so disgraceful to humanity of which it was the great theatre. The Place Royale in this district is only remarkable, for having been built by Henry IV.: it forms a square with a small garden in the centre, but has long ceased to be a fashionable residence. In Paris there are no squares similar in plan to those in London, but occasionally one sees places formed by the junction of streets, &c. The town-house is a large, and as I think, a tasteless Gothic edifice; and in the Place de Grève stood that guillotine which deprived such incredible multitudes of their lives. At one period of the Revolution every successful faction in turn, endeavoured, as it should seem, to exterminate its enemies, when it succeeded in possessing itself of the supreme power, which then chiefly consisted in the command of this formidable instrument; and these successive tyrants, like _Sylla_, were often in doubt _whom they should permit still to remain alive_.

I do not know that the invention of the _guillotine_, is to be ascribed to the ingenuity of the French, but they will for ever remain obnoxious to the charge of the most dreadful abuse of it. I have heard it stated that, so late as the reigns of Elizabeth, and James the First, an instrument similar to the guillotine, was used for the execution of offenders in the vicinity of Hardwicke Forest, in Yorkshire.

The _Boulevards_ are now merely very spacious streets, with avenues of trees at the sides, but formerly they were the boundaries of the city. They form a fashionable promenade for the Parisians, and abound with horsemen and carriages more than any other quarter of the town. Along the Boulevard Poissonnier are some of the handsomest houses in Paris. I dined with a family in one of them which commands a very cheerful scene. There are here, as in the Palais Royal, a vast number of coffee-houses, billiard-tables, and restaurateurs. The price of a dinner differs little from what is usually paid in London, but bread is about half the price, and there is a great saving in the charge for wine, with this additional advantage, that it is generally of much better quality than can be met with in London for double the price; as the heavy duties on importing French wines necessarily induces their adulteration. A stranger to _French manners_, is surprised at seeing ladies of respectability frequenting coffee-houses and taverns, which they do as matter of course;--so powerful are the habits in which we have been educated.

After the Boulevards, the Rue Royale and the Rue de Rivoli are the handsomest in Paris. The last named is far from being completed, and runs in a line, facing the gardens of the Tuilleries; in these two streets there is a division to protect foot passengers, but they are not flagged.

* * * * *

CHAP. IV.

The Royal Hotel of the Invalids, is one of the principal establishments in Paris, which claims the attention of the stranger, and I accordingly went to view it with a party of friends. The principal court has just resumed the title of _Royal_, but we could easily distinguish that it had been a few months since dignified by that of _Imperial_. Indeed, all over Paris, this change is very perceptible. The last letters are often in the old gilding, and the first part of the style only altered, as the French do not, in general, like to do _more than is necessary_, and but seldom _condemn_ a house, but continue to patch it up in some manner, so as to make it last a little longer, which accounts for the appearance of antiquity which generally distinguishes their towns.

But to return to the Invalids. The establishment is said to be calculated to accommodate 5000 men; but we found upon inquiry, that the number then actually maintained did not exceed 3600. As it was their dinner hour, we went into their refectory; each man has a pint of the _vin ordinaire_, (the general price of which is from ten to twenty sous the bottle;) but I doubt whether it would be received as a substitute for malt liquor either at Chelsea or Kilmainham. The church of this establishment, is one of the most splendid in the capital. The ex-Emperor caused monuments to be erected here to Vauban and Turenne. The latter, by a special mark of the favour of Lewis XIV. had been interred in the royal vault at St. Denis; but his remains now rest here; and the monument is worthy of so distinguished a general. That to Vauban, on the opposite side, is by no means equally elegant.

The elevation of the dome of this church, exceeds that of any other building in Paris; and the French boast, that it rises to a greater height than St. Paul's Cathedral in London; but this I do not think is the case, although the point is of little moment. M. Dutens gives us the following scale of the comparative elevation of some of the highest buildings in the world.

Toisei.

The highest Pyramid 77½

Strasburg Cathedral to the top of the
vane 71¾

St. Peter's at Rome, to the summit
of the cross 68

Church of the Invalids at Paris to
the vane 54

St. Paul's Cathedral, London, to
the top of the Cross 53

The interior of the dome of the Invalids is handsomely painted; but the exterior exhibits what I must consider as a very misplaced species of decoration for a place of this nature, being _completely gilt_, pursuant to an order of Buonaparte, dated, as I have been informed by good authority, from _Moscow_. This decoration has, as can well be supposed, cost vast sums, but it probably obtained for the ex-Emperor that _eclat_, by which he constantly sought to please the vanity of the Parisians. Many of his decrees for the embellishment of their city, being dated from Vienna, Berlin, and Madrid, he sought to astonish the multitude, by attempting to accomplish in a few years, what it would _in general_ require an _age_ to effect. Perhaps, calculating on the instability of his power, he hastened the construction of whatever might render it famous. A French writer observes, "Il vouloit courir à cheval à la postérité."

Near the Invalids there is a _Military School_ for 500 children; and near the _Champ de Mars_ are two large barracks. Indeed, Paris abounds with them, as the military power has long been predominant in France. The _Champ de Mars_ is only celebrated in the history of the Revolution; its present appearance is by no means interesting. In this vicinity is the _Place de Grenelle_, famous for being the spot where military executions used to take place. One of the last victims who perished here, was the unfortunate _General Mallet_, who whilst the oppressor of his country was still contemplating the devastation which he had occasioned in Russia, sought to deliver France from so galling a yoke; and he is said to have been possessed of many of the qualities necessary for so honourable and arduous an undertaking; but the reign of Buonaparte was still to continue for eighteen months longer; and he who had the resolution to attempt, had not the satisfaction of seeing, its subversion. In his way to the place of execution, being assailed by a hired mob with cries of 'Vive l'Empereur,' "_yes, yes_!" said the General, "_cry "long live the Emperor" if you please, but you will only be happy when he is no more_." He would not suffer his eyes to be covered; and displayed in his last moments a fortitude, that will cause his memory to be long revered by the enemies of despotic power.

The _Museum of French Monuments_ is one of the numerous institutions produced by the Revolution. This place contains a collection of those _tombs_ which escaped the fury of a _Revolution_ that at once proscribed both _royalty_ and _religion_. They were deposited here as models of art, which did honour to the republic, by proving the genius of its statuaries and sculptors, (the works being classed according to the centuries in which they were made;) and as the busts of the most celebrated and declared enemies of Christianity, are every-where interspersed, the design seems obviously to have been to inculcate the principles which they inculcated; if, indeed, they acted upon any principle, each fearing to acknowledge the superiority of the other. To _doubt_ was their criterion of wisdom (but although Hume said, that even when he doubted, he was in doubt whether he doubted or not, he does not appear to have once doubted that he was wrong in his attacks on religion,) and they only united in ridiculing that _belief in a Supreme Being_, which has been received, as it were instinctively, by all nations, however savage, and which has been the consolation of the best and wisest of mankind.

Any believer in religion, or any one who has not by perverted reasoning, brought his mind _really_ to doubt its divine truths, (for men are but too apt to admit even the arguments of absurdity, when they tend to absolve them from duties, which they would avoid,) cannot but experience a sentiment of regret at this violation of the ancient consecrated burial places, (where the contemplation of these emblems of mortality was calculated to inspire a beneficial awe;) and of sorrow, that as religion is by law restored in France, these monuments, many of which have been taken from the royal burying place of St. Denis, should not be replaced in the churches from which they were taken in those calamitous times.

I here saw the tomb of Cardinal Richelieu, which was originally in the college of the Sorbonne. It is the work of the celebrated _Gerardin_, and is a fine piece of sculpture. Many of the other monuments are very elegant; but it would be tedious to enter into further details.

In walking through the Rue Colbert, a French gentleman of my acquaintance pointed out to me the house in which _Louvois_ had resided, and declared his opinion, that that minister had proved one of the greatest causes of the ruin of France; he followed up his assertion by a declamation of such length, that I shall not attempt to collect his arguments, but leave my readers to come to their own conclusions on the subject.

I had intended visiting those vast _catacombs_ which extend under a great part of Paris, and which now serve as burial places, but was induced to desist from the undertaking by the advice of a person who had made the experiment, and had suffered much more from the state of the air in those caverns, than he had been gratified by the curiosity of the scene. I was in the evening induced to visit a scene of a very different nature, and accompanied a party to the _Gardens of Tivoli_, in the Rue Lazare. This was, before the Revolution, the property of M. Boutin, formerly treasurer of the marine, who had spared no expense in it's decoration. The extent is about fourteen acres, and it much resembles Vauxhall.

The vast proportion which the military officers bear in all companies, and in all the public places here, cannot fail to be remarked by a stranger, and proves the success of the ex-Emperor, in his endeavours to render the French merely a military people. Under the _old regime_, no military uniforms were permitted to be worn in public places; but at present such a regulation would be quite impracticable. At present the military take a great lead in society, which has, perhaps, suffered more than is generally thought by the civil commotions of the state.

Wishing to be able to form some idea of the military events which led to the capture of Paris, I went by the gate of St. Martin to the other places which were connected with those memorable operations. It was on the 30th of March, 1814, that the allied armies, consisting of nearly 200,000 men, attacked the heights of Bellevue, St. Chaumont, and Montmartre; the cannonade continued from six in the morning until half past three o'clock in the afternoon, and after a bloody combat in the plains of Villette, where they were opposed by 30,000 French troops, a suspension of arms was signed a little after five o'clock. The next day about noon, the Emperor of Russia and King of Prussia entered Paris by the barrier of Villette, at the head of 50,000 men. A French writer remarks, that Montmartre is rendered famous by the gallant-stand made there by a _small body_ of French troops against the _whole_ of the allied army. The French cannot bring themselves to allow that their nation has the worst in any contest. They are now, however, sensible that they have been defeated, which no doubt conduces greatly to their present ill humour. Vanity is their domineering passion, and this Buonaparte always contrived to flatter so successfully, by concealing unwelcome truths, and exaggerating success, that he is _still regretted_ by a large number of persons, who hate the present government for the openness of their conduct, as 'after being so long accustomed to the _fabulous histories_ with which they were amused by their late ruler, they have a contempt for that candour which informs them of their _actual_ situation, and which would excite the approbation of a nation possessed of a less degree of vanity. A great love of novelty is also very conspicuous in the French character. I think it was Frederic the Great, who observed in writing to d'Alembert, 'that to please the French, they should have every two years a new king.'

From the heights of Montmartre, a vast and magnificent panorama is presented to the view. Nearly the whole of Paris is seen from thence, and a great extent of country terminated by distant mountains. Those who wish to have a good general idea of Paris, should not fail to ascend this eminence. In point of size, Paris does not appear to me to be more than half the extent of London, when seen from Hampstead or Greenwich. It was from this situation that the Emperor Alexander first surveyed Paris, and he probably was struck with the shewy appearance of the _gilded_ dome of the Invalids, but perhaps was uninformed that it was from the _Kremlin_, and whilst surrounded by the flames of Moscow, that Buonaparte, gave orders for the commencement of this new and _extravagant decoration_ to increase the splendour of Paris. But the magnanimous perseverance of Alexander in the contest, was at last rewarded, and he saw from Montmartre that proud city, which had so often exulted at hearing of the capture of the other capitals of Europe, lying in his power. Without the capture of Paris in its turn, the triumph of Europe for the injuries which were inflicted in most parts of it, by the French, so long the willing instruments of Buonaparte's tyranny, had been incomplete.

Alexander's entry into Paris was haired as a liberation from that despotism, which its inhabitants, had not themselves the energy to shake off, and which they had acquiesced in or abetted for so many successive years.

That Alexander should have triumphed over Buonaparte, was fortunate for the _liberty_ of _France_, but it was also indispensable to the _peace of Europe_.

The establishment of M. Delacroix, Rue Croix-des Petits Augustins, to remedy the defect of nature by a gymnastic process, is unique in France. I shall give the prospectus a place here; and feeling my inability to _do it justice_, shall not attempt to translate it.

"Dans la Rue des "Vieux Augustin" est l'établissement de _M.
Delacroix_ Mécanicien Bandagiste Gymnastique pour redresser les
défauts de la nature, particulièrement chez les femmes. On y
remarque _Le Mât_ qui est une Colonne en forme de Mât, autour
duquel se trouvent des echellons servant à monter pour developer
les hanches et la poitrine; _les Colonnes_ ou piliers, exercice
servant à mettre le corps droit. Le _Balancier_ sert à redresser la
Colonne vertébrale ou épine du dos. Les _Barilles_ pour redresser
la tète les épaules et les hanches. Le _Balançoir_ est pour
maintenir la tète et les reins droits quand on est assise. Le puits
la _balle_ et la _manivelle_ pour donner de la force à une épaule
faible. _L'Echelle_ pour redresser les épaules. Le _Cheval_ pour
apprendre à y monter, et tenir le corps dans un état naturel.
Le _Jube_ pour redresser la tête et donner des grâces; lès _Plombs_
pour apprendre à marcher avec grâce. Le _Fauteuil_ pour lever un
coté de la poitrine qui seroit plus bas que l'autre; le soufflet
pour donner un exercise régulier à toutes les parties du corps.

Ce mécanicien habile fait des mains dont les doigts ont les
mouvements naturels; et son éstablissement est l'unique en France."

To judge, from this description, it should seem as if those to whom nature has not been propitious, or those who have been deprived by accident of a limb, are culpably negligent if they do not apply at an institution which professes to remedy some of the most desperate calamities incident to human nature. With what probability of success, however, such an application would be attended, it is not possible for me to determine. I copy the prospectus of the Professor without being able to judge myself of his proficiency.

I accepted one morning a proposal to accompany a gentleman to the Tuilleries to see the King go to mass (which he had been prevented by the gout from doing, at least in public for some time); we found a great number of spectators had assembled on the occasion in the hall through which his Majesty was to pass, and which was lined with his _corps de garde_. We had a considerable time to wait before he made his appearance, and had ample leisure to survey the portraits of the marshals of France, with which the apartment is decorated, as well as with paintings representing many of Buonaparte's victories. His Majesty appeared to be in excellent health, and received with much affability several papers which were handed to him, and which he gave to a gentleman in waiting. He was greeted repeatedly by cries of _Vive le Roi_! and there is no doubt that by far the most respectable portion of the French sincerely wish him prosperity. Ï trust they may prove sufficiently strong to keep under those, who I fear are at least as numerous a class, and who have not learned, by the experience of so many years of confusion, to value the blessings of tranquillity when they have at last obtained it, attended with the advantages of a mild government.

I believe it is agreed by all that the King has a good heart. His regard for England, which has done so much for his family, is highly to his honour; and I hear he testifies it upon all occasions. Lately, at a consultation of his physicians, one of them having said he feared a long residence in a damp climate, had contributed to increase the attacks of the gout, the King interrupted him by saying, "Ah! Monsieur P----, ne dites pas du mal d'Angleterre." The conduct of his Majesty, since his restoration to the crown of his ancestors, proves him not to be deficient in either ability or resolution; and there perhaps never was a period which called for a greater exertion of both than the present. The other day Paris was thrown into considerable alarm by the arrival of intelligence from Nevers, that the garrison there had declared for Buonaparte. In consequence every precaution was resorted to on the part of government, and the guards in Paris were doubled; but happily nothing occurred to disturb the public tranquillity. The number of discontented spirits which the Revolution has left afloat, and which it would not require any very considerable share of artifice to raise against any government, will require for a long time the exertion of the utmost vigilance on the part of the present administration. Louis might have been addressed with propriety, on his arrival in France, in the admonitory words of Galba to Piso:

"Imperaturus es hominibus, qui nec totam servitutem pati possunt
nec totam libertatem."

On my departure from the Tuilleries my friend conducted me to a famous glass manufactory, where I saw several mirrors of very large dimensions, and also a _staircase of glass_, which had a splendid effect, and was the first thing of the kind I had ever seen. The balustrades were of glass, supported by steel, and had a particularly handsome appearance. The number of theatres in Paris have of late years much increased, and amount at present to eight or ten. The Opera Italien is justly celebrated as the best in Europe; but I received more entertainment at the Theatre François, in witnessing the representation of one of the admirable comedies of Molière. The Theatre de l'Odéon is curious from its construction, but the minor theatres on the Boulevards, de Gaieté, and des Variétiés, are in general the most frequented; and, except on extraordinary occasions, the Theatre François is by no means fully attended. A stranger in Paris is surprised at the number of _bureaux d'ecrivains_, or offices for writing, which abound in all parts of the town, where all materials for writing are provided for a few sous, and where persons attend to write letters, in any language, to the dictation of such as are not skilled in the graphic art.

* * * * *

CHAP. V.

I resolved not to take my departure from Paris without visiting some of the numerous royal palaces situated in its vicinity. St. Cloud first claimed my attention, both from its proximity to Paris, and from its having been for a considerable time the favourite residence of the ex-ruler of France. Its situation is certainly one of the most striking near the capital, and the views from it are both diversified and extensive. The improvements made here by Buonaparte render it a most agreeable residence, and display an extremely good taste. This palace is at present occupied by the Prince of Condé. The approach to it from Paris is very striking, through avenues of elms, with lamps at regular distances.

I also visited Marli, which is chiefly remarkable for the machine which raises water from the Seine to the height of five hundred feet. St. Cyr was the retreat of Madame de Maintenon, and Malmaison was the residence of Buonaparte, when first consul; but it is far inferior to St. Cloud. The palace of St. Germain is in a situation inferior to none I had seen. My expectations had however been particularly raised by the accounts I had heard of Versailles, which has at all times been the object of the admiration of the French; and it is certainly better suited to their ideas of grandeur than to ours.

This palace is about four leagues distant from Paris. The approach to it has nothing of that magnificence that I had been led to expect, and the road is in bad repair. On my arrival, I found it was impossible to gain admittance into the palace, which was undergoing a thorough repair, rendered indispensable by neglect during the last twenty years. The number of workmen employed is stated to amount to two thousand. It is a vast pile of building, and certainly one of the most famous royal residences in Europe. A Frenchman tells you with exultation of the vast sums which have been expended in its construction, and thinks that a sufficient proof of its magnificence. An Englishman, however, will very naturally be out of patience at the praises bestowed on gardens laid out in that taste which has been so long exploded in England, and cannot help exclaiming with the poet--

"Lo! what huge heaps of littleness around!"

In front of the palace is a vast terrace which you mount with considerable difficulty by innumerable flights of stairs. To occasion an unexpected treat to the admirers of art, by excluding every thing natural, the whole of this elevation is abundantly supplied with ponds and water-works. The grand vista in front of the palace is formed into a canal, and no description can give a more just idea of these boasted gardens than the following lines of Pope; the _only_ difference being, that the water-works of Versailles are put in motion the first Sunday of every month, and remain stagnant the rest of the year.

"Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.
The suffering eye inverted nature sees,
Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;
With here a fountain, never to be play'd,
And there a summer-house that knows no shade;
Here Amphitrite sails thro' myrtle bow'rs,
There gladiators fight or die in flow'rs;
Unwater'd see the drooping sea-horse mourn,
And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn."

What pleased me most at Versailles was the great number of large orange and lemon trees.

The forest of Versailles is of great extent, and abounds in wood, but there is little of what would be considered in England as _good timber_.

Windsor and Versailles have been often compared, although no two places can possibly differ more completely than they do. To have again recourse to the words of the poet, Windsor is a place,

"Where order in variety we see;
And where, tho' all things differ, all agree."

And, in my judgment, it is as far superior to Versailles as its forests of oak are to the elms which surround that boasted palace.

I was permitted to see the royal stables. They are, it is said, sufficiently large to contain 4000 horses, but are at present much out of repair. The city of Versailles is large and well built, but has a melancholy and deserted appearance, having lost nearly half its population since it has ceased to be a royal residence, and the present number of inhabitants does not exceed 30,000. The Grand and Petit Trianons deserve attention from having been the favourite retreats of the late unfortunate Queen of France; but few traces of the taste once displayed in their decoration now remain. They are situated within the limits of the forest of Versailles, which is said to be twenty leagues in circuit. At Sèvres, which is celebrated for the beauty of its porcelain manufactory, I observed workmen employed in finishing a new and handsome bridge of nine arches over the Seine, in place of the old one which is hardly passable. Near the barrier of Passy is a carpet-manufactory, which was established there by Henry the Fourth. This barrier is thought to be the most striking entrance to Paris. In my excursions in the vicinity of Paris, I observed that the harvest was extremely abundant, but the majority of those employed in collecting it were women. I was informed that last year the greatest difficulty was experienced in saving the harvest for want of a sufficient number of hands. I saw, at a distance, the castle of Vincennes, where Buonaparte (who had caused the removal of every vestige of the Bastile) had dungeons constructed many feet under ground, and with walls ten feet thick. This place is distinguished for the atrocious murder of the Duke d'Enghien. I had occasion to observe, both in the streets of Paris and on the roads in its vicinity, that there were but few _private_ carriages to be seen, and those by no means handsome; but the roads are covered with _cabriolets_, of which there are 2,800 in Paris, besides about 2,000 fiacres, or hackney-coaches. The fare for an hour is only thirty sous.

As I had by this time pretty well satisfied my curiosity, in visiting the objects in Paris that principally arrest the attention of a traveller who has not leisure to dwell longer than is indispensable in one place, I began to be impatient to exchange the continual bustle of that city--its

"Fumum opes strepitumque,"

for those romantic and enlivening scenes in which Switzerland stands without a rival, and is, as it were, by _acclamation_, allowed to surpass the other countries of Europe.

I therefore attended at the office for foreign affairs, and obtained the signature of the Prince of Benevento (for about ten francs) in addition to the signature of our own distinguished minister, Lord Castlereagh. I was told it was necessary also to have my passport visited by the police before leaving Paris; and my landlord offered his services to arrange that affair for me. I however recollected Dr. Franklin's maxim, "If you would have your business clone, go; if not, send," and went accordingly to the office myself.

These affairs being arranged, so as to permit my passing without molestation through the interior of France, I quitted Paris without any sensations of regret at leaving a place which, highly as I had been pleased with many of the great objects which it contains, I cannot but consider, when curiosity is once gratified, to be an unpleasant residence. I took the road to Fontainbleau, distant about thirty-seven English miles; a place formerly only remarkable for its castle, situated in a forest of about 30,000 acres, and often visited by the Kings of France, for the amusements of the chace; but which will hold in history a distinguished page, and be visited in future ages as being the scene where it pleased Providence to terminate a tyranny unexampled in the history of the world. It is worthy of remark, that in this very castle, in which the venerable Head of the Romish Church was so long and so unjustly detained a captive, his once formidable oppressor was obliged to abdicate that authority which he had so long usurped and abused; and the _11th of April 1814_, will be long hailed over Europe as the epoch when liberty, peace and good order were restored to its inhabitants, after the long and stormy reign of oppression, war and anarchy had so long precluded the expected time of which it was impossible entirely to despair--when Europe, so long a prey to dissension, should again be united as one common family. These hopes have at last been realized; the evils of the French Revolution (more productive of misfortune than the fabled box of Pandora) have in a manner been surmounted; and we have only further to wish, that the nations who have restored tranquillity to Europe, may continue to act with the moderation for which they have hitherto been distinguished [guess: distinguished].

It was natural, in beholding a place rendered memorable by such great events,--events which are probably destined to fix the fortunes of succeeding centuries, that the mind should dwell with more than common attention on the scene, and give itself up to the reflections it was calculated to produce. My thoughts were principally engaged in considering the very opposite characters of Pius VII. and of Buonaparte.

In the first we see united all that can give dignity to an exalted station, or that is praiseworthy in private life. We see him disposed as much as possible to conciliation, and even persuaded by his cardinals to cross the Alps in the most inclement season notwithstanding his advanced age, to crown the _Usurper of France_, in the expectation of advancing the interests of religion, by consenting to submit to a power which then appeared but too firmly established. The hopes of the pope were not realized; Buonaparte soon forgetting past services, made demands which he well knew could not be complied with, and amongst them that his holiness should declare war against England, and that too without the slightest motive for such a proceeding on his part, as he stated in his manifesto against the outrages of Buonaparte, a paper which must affect all who peruse it, and excite their regret that the pope was not in a situation effectually to preserve that independence which did such honour to his heart.

The new-made emperor was not, however, to be reasoned with but by _force_; and in about four years after the pope had placed the diadem on his head, he caused him to be removed from his capital as a prisoner, and united the Ecclesiastical States to the dominions of France. The spirit of the pope was still unsubdued, and he refused, for himself and his cardinals, all offers of subsistence from the usurper of their possessions. When urged to come to some agreement with Buonaparte, he answered that his regret at having accepted the late _Concordat_, would be a sufficient security against his being again deceived. And when the cardinals represented the evils which might result from his refusal, he answered, "Let me die worthy of the misfortunes I have suffered." On the 23d of January, 1814, the pope was removed from Fontainbleau, as were each of the seventeen cardinals, in custody of a _gend'arme_, and their destination was kept secret. But on the 5th of April following, the provisional government of France gave orders, that all obstacles to the return of the pope to his states might be removed; and, after five years of confinement and outrage, Pius VII. returned to his capital, to receive the reward of that _firmness_ and _moderation_, which, blended so happily in his character, will long render it an object of admiration.

I next considered the character of the tyrant, who so long and so successfully triumphed over prostrate Europe, England alone preserving unimpaired that liberty, which she was destined to be the means of diffusing to rival nations. It would be absurd to deny Buonaparte the praise due to the matchless activity, and consummate skill, with which he conducted the enterprizes suggested by his boundless ambition; and which made him the most formidable enemy with whom England ever had to contend; but his cruelty, his suspicion, and his pride, (which made him equally disregard those laws of honour, and those precepts of morality, respected by the general feelings of mankind), as they excited the indignation of thinking men, prevented any pity at his fall. Such a man was destined only to excite astonishment, not admiration; and that astonishment could not fail of being greatly diminished, by his want of extraordinary resources, when placed in a situation, upon the possibility of which he had disdained to calculate.

His continued aggressions raised Europe against him from without, and he was overthrown, because he had completely disgusted the fickle people, whom he had made the instruments of his ambition.

It would surely require the pen of _a Tacitus_ to delineate with accuracy the character of such a man, who, to use the words of the lamented Moreau, "had covered the French name with such shame and disgrace, that it would be almost a disgrace to bear it; and who had brought upon that unhappy country the curses and hatred of the universe."

His ambitious wars are supposed to have occasioned the destruction of nearly _four millions of men_, whom he considered merely as instruments to accomplish his extravagant views; and he is reported to have said repeatedly, that "it signified little whether or not he reigned over the French, provided he reigned over France."

He delighted in carnage, and speaks in one of his bulletins of "800 pieces of cannon dispersing death on all sides," as presenting "a most admirable spectacle."

On Buonaparte's arrival from Egypt, he found things as favourable for his projected usurpation as his most sanguine hopes could have imagined. In the eighteen months which had preceded his arrival, there had arisen no fewer than four constitutions, and the French might well exclaim, "They have made us so many constitutions, that we have now none remaining!" Wearied out with the succession of sanguinary factions, each endeavouring to establish itself by proscriptions, banishments, and confiscations, France submitted without opposition to the government of a ruler, who seemed sufficiently strong to keep all minor tyrants in subjection; and, despairing of freedom, sought only an interval of repose. This hope was, however, not destined to be realized, for Buonaparte soon pursued all those who presumed to oppose his schemes in the slightest degree with astonishing eagerness, and those who submitted with the most alacrity, were treated only with contempt.

He was hardly seated on his throne, before he spoke of making France a camp, and all the French soldiers. A long series of success made him despise those precautions so necessary to insure it, and rendered his catastrophe the more striking.

The character given by Seneca of the Corsicans, has been quoted as applicable to the most famous character that island has ever produced: he says, "the leading characteristics of these islanders are revenge, theft, lying, and impiety." Over the downfall of such a man, the civilized world must rejoice; but the contemplation of his character affords a salutary lesson to ambition, which, carried to excess, ruins that greatness it would so madly increase.

The last years of his reign were distinguished by the number of plots which were pretended to be discovered, and proved the truth of a remark of Mary de Medicis, "That a false report believed during three days, tended to secure the crown on the head of an usurper."

But neither his guards, nor his police, could insure him a moment of repose.

"Volvilur Ixion, et se sequiturque fugitque."