Chapter IV: Introduction: By Richard Davey (4)

Little Trianon is at the extremity of the Park belonging to Trianon. The beautiful gardens are now going to decay. The pavilion and grounds are held for three years at the rent of 18,000 livres (£750 sterling a year) by a man who was formerly cook to the late Queen. He realises considerable sums by the curiosity of the traveller and the visit of Parisian cockneys, the admissions being a franc for each male and half a franc for each female.

[Sidenote: VERSAILLES]

But although he contracted to keep the place in good repair he has allowed it to go to ruin. For instance, the lovely little Temple of Love, situated in the midst of artificial rocks and surrounded by a thick wood, has been completely ransacked, the marble floor pulled up and removed and the little Cupid transferred to Versailles. All the cottages are falling to pieces, and the water has been drawn off the lake.

This once enchanting spot was once the favourite resort of the late Queen, who often amused herself in sailing thither from the sheet of water in the Great Park.

These are the chief places of any note at Versailles. I have been rather minute in my narrative in order to establish a comparison between the ancient and present state of that celebrated place.

Versailles, as the capital of the Department, possesses a Criminal Tribunal, composed of a President, two Judges and Assistants, a Registrar and a sworn Commissary.

Justices of the Peace abound in every district, but it is in contemplation to reduce their number.

A project has been submitted to the Council-General of Versailles to make a number of embellishments and build a magnificent town hall for the use of the mayor and municipality; but as the town is already considerably in debt it would be a prudent and honest measure, though one not much practised by the present French Government, to postpone these decorations until they have liquidated their debts.

An hospital, under very excellent administration, is established here, and there are public baths near the park, open from four in the morning till nine at night.

We passed our time very agreeably at Versailles and were well accommodated, though the charges could not be called reasonable. The expenses of a dinner for four and lodging for ourselves and two servants for one night amounted to over four pounds sterling. We arrived at an unlucky moment in the hotel. For a young Irishman of rank was unfortunately in the house with his newly-married bride, and when we reflected that in less than six weeks’ residence in Paris he contrived to spend £16,000 it was not surprising that we too were bled in honour of our national character for generosity.

An English gentleman of our acquaintance and also personally acquainted with this young man and his lady, paid them a visit, and told me that they displayed to him a purchase of fifty-six snuff-boxes and twenty-five watches.

This recital excited our merriment, and we tried to imagine what motive could induce those young persons to throw away their money in such a ridiculous manner. He could not take snuff, it always made him sick. A man of his fortune could not have bought those trinkets as an article of merchandise, and they were too many and certainly unsuitable to decorate the girdle of his lady at a birthnight ball.[2]

Finally we united in surmising that these costly articles were intended as presents for the electors of the county of X----, for which he proposed to be returned as member at the coming election.

Having now thoroughly investigated the _remains_ of the once magnificent Versailles, we took leave of Mr. B----, who set off for La Vendée, and returned to Paris through the Bois de Boulogne.

XV

ACCOUNT OF AN ESTABLISHMENT AT CHAILLOT
FOR THE RECEPTION OF THE AGED
AND DESTITUTE

[Sidenote: ASYLUM FOR AGED AT CHAILLOT]

The French Revolution having overthrown those humane establishments, which had for long ages subsisted in the country, some private individuals are generously endeavouring to repair those breaches which crime has effected in the order of society.

Nothing tends more to the happiness of society than the discovery of practical methods which may increase the comforts of those who are no longer able to support themselves.

When a nation has increased in number and power, it is bound to provide for its people additional means of subsistence. Beneficence should not be stationary when nations are progressive. I will now enter into a detail of the establishment of Chaillot, which is equally praiseworthy for its benevolent views and ingenuity.

I happened to fall into company with a ci-devant nobleman, named Duchaillot,[1] who, during the time of the Terror, lost all his fortune and took refuge in Berlin.

I found he possessed a sound and inquisitive mind, and was thoroughly conversant in every branch of domestic economy. He inquired whether we had in Great Britain and Ireland any institutions which offered a retreat for old age. I answered they were numberless. But this answer did not satisfy him, and he placed his question on a different footing. “Have you,” said he, “any institution independent of charitable purposes, in which male and female persons, after they have reached the age of seventy can by right and without asking the favour of any individual, place themselves in order to pass the remainder of their days in comfort and repose?” As I failed to recollect any such establishment in England, he immediately said: “Come and dine at my house to-morrow and I will show you one.”

The house of Monsieur Duchaillot is beautifully situated at Chaillot, in the Champs Élysées, commanding an extensive view of the city, the Seine and the Champ de Mars. In front, there is a large and elegant parterre, terminating in an extensive kitchen garden. Behind there is another large house, formerly the monastery of S. Perine, which also belongs to this establishment, and a field of about four acres, bordered by a well-cultivated garden.

In this retreat I found above one hundred aged persons, of both sexes, whose manners and appearance showed that they had once figured in the genteeler walks of life, and whose countenances indicated the most perfect happiness and content.

“This,” said he, “is the retreat I have established for old age.”

The chambers occupied by the female part of the society compose the right wing of the house. Each female has a bed-chamber to herself, and there is a parlour or sitting-room appointed to two females. Their clothing, if required, is found for them.

The left wing of the house is occupied by the males, the arrangements being precisely similar to that adopted for the females. Husbands and wives have rooms to themselves.

The diet corresponds with the neatness and simplicity of the apartments.

At one o’clock a plentiful dinner is served to the whole society in the refectory, and at seven they re-assemble for supper. Besides a sufficient quantity of meat and vegetables each person is allowed a pound-and-half of bread and a bottle of wine daily.

[Sidenote: ASYLUM FOR AGED AT CHAILLOT]

In case of sickness they are removed to a part of the house used as an infirmary, where medical attendance is provided, and they receive every possible attention. In case of decease, they are decently interred in the neighbouring church, at the expense of the society, or elsewhere at the expense of their friends.

Their time is entirely at their own disposal. They may even employ themselves in any lucrative occupation, provided it does not interfere with the quiet and general rules of the house.

I observed several females engaged very profitably in needle work and embroidery. What little emoluments they acquire by their industry supply them with pocket-money. The men pass their time in reading, walking in the neighbouring fields or in the garden. I observed they were usually less active than the women, but much more devout. I met an old Abbé whose whole time is spent in reading his breviary, missal and other religious books. His library was composed of about 200 volumes.

Another, about seventy-four years of age, had seen much of the world. His manners were prepossessing, and his conversation proved him a man who lived for others rather than himself.

He was pious without austerity, cheerful without dissipation, and polite without frivolity. He had seen better days, and been one of those sufferers whom the Revolution had plundered and proscribed on account of his attachment to religion. He never spoke with the least asperity of what had happened, he only shrugged his shoulders and smiled contemptuously at the miserable efforts of his countrymen to establish liberty and equality. He was well read in French literature and fond of astronomy. But his favourite books were a Bible and Don Quixote, Cervantes being an author to whom he was especially partial.

Just as we were sitting down to dinner one of the old gentlemen entered, and with great vivacity, informed Monsieur Duchaillot he proposed going to the play. On inquiry, I found he had been an amateur of music; and that at seventy-two years of age his taste for it was still so predominant that he was about to avail himself of a ticket a friend had sent him to see the second representation of Poesiello’s _Zingari in Flora_, at the Opera Buffa.

I have entered into these details to show that there is no restriction on their amusements, and that they are entirely their own master. Upon the whole, I observed that they were all more or less engaged in religious exercises.

At that period of life when mind and body require repose, when it is necessary old age should “walk pensive on the silent solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon,” what can be more consolatory than a retreat where wants are supplied and infirmities alleviated without reluctance or repining?

It has been alleged against most governments of Europe that there is nothing seen but youth going to the gallows, and old age to the workhouse.

A government is no more responsible for the misfortunes than for the crimes of its subjects, and all that can be expected is that it should give a proper direction to charitable provisions, and guard them with the sacred sanction of the law.

It will be found a true maxim of public economy that these charitable institutions should spring from the natural sympathy of mankind--nothing is needful for government than to see that they are administered honestly.

This fact has been illustrated in Britain, where there exist more usual monuments of piety and benevolence, than in all the other countries of Europe put together.

[Sidenote: ASYLUM FOR AGED AT CHAILLOT]

In the course of my visits to Chaillot, Monsieur Duchaillot often expressed a wish that a similar establishment should be attempted in England. At first it appeared to me liable to some objections, but these he successfully removed. I thought that respect for aged parents being a quality inherent in the character of every Briton, that such an institution might have a tendency to look as if we meant to canonise ingratitude and place old age in the light of a burdensome load upon the community.

Barbarous natives are accustomed to destroy the old in order that the young may live. But in civilised countries, where agriculture, arts and commerce flourish, and where a greater degree of population promises a greater degree of stock, such motives could never for a moment enter the breast of a human being. I am aware however that some eight years ago it was seriously proposed in the Jacobin Club, to knock all the old people on the head or starve them to death, lest they should consume what would be necessary for the support of soldiers and citizens.

But even in that wild and guilty assembly there were some persons who had not utterly abandoned the feelings of men, and this abominable principle was not carried into execution.

Monsieur Duchaillot combated my opposition to his scheme, by pointing out that it is the _object_ of the institution at Chaillot not to destroy but to give efficacy to domestic attachments. All persons who enter there can experience the attentions of their kinsmen by receiving their visits or visiting them.

Secondly, the institution is only intended for those who cannot provide for themselves, and whose friends and relations cannot provide for them.

Thirdly, more comforts and enjoyments, more attention can be procured under one establishment than when a number of persons are dispersed individually in private houses.

Fourthly, it is not necessary that every one who becomes a member of this Society should be either a father or a mother. There are a multitude of unmarried persons of both sexes, to whom such an establishment offers a happy asylum.

Fifthly, many fathers and mothers of families would prefer the society of persons of their own age and circumstances, and if they are discontented with the institution they can leave it when they choose.

After hearing these arguments I became convinced that similar establishments would be thankfully received by every rational man in our country, who at all reflects on the uncertain chances of prosperity in life.

How many industrious persons contemplate the approach of old age with horror. How many respectable worthy people meet misfortune in the decline of life. Is it right there should be _no_ refuge between death and the workhouse? Should not some encouragement be held out for securing a retreat against misfortune and the inevitable ills attendant on old age?

I will now give M. Duchaillot’s own account of his establishment.

RETREAT FOR OLD AGE AT CHAILLOT.

Several zealous and humane persons, who wish to assist and befriend the unfortunate, have united to execute a beneficent plan, by which industry itself may generate the means which will give a _certain property_ to those who, worn out by age and misfortune, possess none. To attain this object a small voluntary sacrifice only is required, according to a progression almost imperceptible to persons who are not even in easy circumstances. The difference between this institution and hospitals consists in this, the subscriber has _a right_ to the possession of this property for life, acquired by his own economy and labour, and for which he is indebted neither to the compassion nor the liberality of others. Here no act of patronising benevolence humbles self love or mortifies pride.

This institution encourages morality, by habituating persons to make a proper use of their small surplus, resulting from their profits or labour, which is too often squandered in debaucheries. It will animate them to be industrious as an infallible resource against that adversity which is inseparable from old age without fortune.

The plan is simple and inexpensive, its execution prompt and within the reach of every one.

[Sidenote: ACCOUNT OF ASYLUM]

Some years ago Mr. Pitt submitted several excellent proposals to amend the Poor Laws. They struck me forcibly as being useful, sensible and moral. They were aimed so as to give the poor occupation in their homesteads, instead of dragging them to the workhouse. This was a generous idea, worthy of the great mind that conceived it, unhappily it was never carried into effect.

Since my first visit to Chaillot I have had excellent accounts of the progress of the institution. The First Consul pays thirty subscriptions and has founded several places in the establishment and confided the superintendence of them to the Archbishop of Paris, an aged and respectable man, who from his own experience of misfortune will be able to select such unfortunate persons as deserve no longer to remain so.

The Archbishop, accompanied by a number of his clergy, thought proper to visit Chaillot before making any nominations. He was delighted with the beauty of the situation, the purity of the air, the neatness, order and decorum which prevailed. When dinner was on the table eighty-seven aged persons of both sexes appeared, with countenances expressive of the greatest happiness and satisfaction; many of them declaring they felt as much at their ease as when in their own families.

The Archbishop at first imagined he was the eldest person present, but it was found on examination that many had the advantage of him in years.

He was so sensibly affected by this serene spectacle, that he expressed his regret that he had not before been made acquainted with this asylum. For in that case the First Consul must have forced him out of it, to have raised him to his Episcopal See of Paris.

The indispensable condition of acquiring the right of admission is to take a subscription. The rules are that every subscriber pays from the age of ten till thirty years of age, tenpence or a franc a month. Fifteen pence per month from thirty to fifty--twenty pence or two francs a month from fifty to seventy years of age. These different payments amount in their entirety to £45, which must be completely paid before a person can acquire the right of admission. Hence if any one more than ten years of age should offer as a subscriber, he or she must deposit at the time of subscription and according to his or her age, the sum which would have been advanced, had the subscriptions commenced at ten. In order to give encouragement to benevolence, all persons who may be disposed to subscribe, may transfer their right to as many persons as they have made subscriptions on condition that the person to be benefited by the transfer shall not be admitted until the £45 be paid in its entirety. The funds are placed on securities and subjected to an administration which is in every respect safe and undeniable.

XVI

GARDEN OF PLANTS. GALLERY OF NATURAL HISTORY.
PHILOSOPHICAL LECTURES

We had heard so much of the Jardin des Plantes that we became impatient to see it. Our friend De la Metherie procured us an admission on a day the place is closed to the public, to give us a better and more convenient opportunity of examining its contents.

We made up a small party, the two ladies and Monsieur de la Metherie went in one carriage, and M. ----, the late President of the Cis Alpine Republic, and myself in another. I have already mentioned, and it cannot be too often repeated, that the French greatly surpass our country in the arts of decoration. Of this truth we found a striking proof in the classification of the subjects of Natural History and the superb embellishments of the gallery.

[Sidenote: GALLERY OF NATURAL HISTORY]

When we first entered this gallery we saw merely large green curtains extending from one end to the other of the hall. But in less than two minutes we were most agreeably surprised by a display of beauty, richness and grandeur of which no pen can do sufficient justice.

The attendants withdrew the curtains, a blaze of creative glory dazzled our sight, and in this moment of admiration I could not refrain from whispering to the philosopher from whom I had before received several lessons on the different degrees of French Atheism: “There is a God!” He smiled and returned for answer that I was evidently in an ecstasy.

Before I relate the various dispositions of the museum, I will give an account of the impressions which the whole excited in our minds. All the variegated productions of Nature were before our eyes; and the perilous researches of the most adventurous circumnavigators and natural historians submitted to our examination. Whatever is great and wonderful in the operations of Providence, whatever has been discovered in regions so far explored by man, we had an opportunity of seeing.

The quadrupeds form a distinct compartment and the whole collection of other animals, together with fossils, shells, minerals and stones, is disposed in glass cases, extending from the top of the gallery to the floor. There is also a compartment allotted to esculent roots and specimens of trees. On the right hand stands the albatross, which has been so beautifully described in Captain Cook’s voyages; next the maimed bird which has no wings and lives entirely on the water. It has an immense cylindrical body, behind which are fixed what may be called two oars instead of feet. The body is covered by a species of hard down, having the appearance of close-shaved hair, shooting out in small shining tubes and forming a coat of mail impervious to the water.[3] Then follow the crane, the swan, the heron, the ibis, the ostrich, the pelican, &c.

It is not my intention to give an account of every animal we saw, much less to mention all their names; for, in the first place, it would be attempting a subject on which I am ashamed to confess my ignorance, and, in the second, would occupy a volume. I only wish to notice singularities. Amongst these was the largest and most beautiful bird I ever beheld. The body, completely white, the wings tinged with a gold colour.[4] I am still unacquainted with its name, as no one could inform us to what species it belonged; but I mention it on account of the following anecdote, which conveys a forcible impression in a few words.

“Where did this bird come from?” said one of our party.

“We borrowed it from the Stadtholder,” replied the attendant; adding, “and if he had not lent it, we should have taken it.”

In the same way they obtained possession of the head of a petrified crocodile, which was originally found in a quarry in the neighbourhood of Maestricht. It belonged to one of the priests who resided in that town; and as his house was known to be situated near the ramparts, and the French Natural Philosophers had long coveted this head, orders were issued at the time of the siege that the house containing the crocodile’s head should not be bombarded. Professor Thouin[1] was at that time with the French Army, and wrote to his colleagues: “Le siége de Maestricht se pousse avec vigueur; dans deux jours je compte faire partir pour Paris la tête du crocodile.”

The French Army entered Maestricht, and the poor priest was stripped of his treasure for the benefit of the Great Nation.

The collection of caterpillars, butterflies and insects surpasses anything of the kind I ever saw. The library is composed of a choice and rare collection of books in every language upon subjects of natural history. M. Tuscan, the librarian, obligingly displayed to us some admirable paintings of plants. Mrs. Cosway, who was of our party, and is an exquisite artist herself, pronounced them very beautiful, and executed in a masterly style. The number of books in the library is about 8000, which is a noble library upon one science, the very nature of which requires costly publications on account of the infinite number as well as the richness of the drawings and the plates.

[Sidenote: LIVING ZOOLOGICAL COLLECTION]

After having amused ourselves with all the different compartments, we proceeded to the garden and paid a visit to the _living_ beasts in the menagerie. These are dispersed in various districts of the enclosure, and with as much regard as possible to their original mode of life.

An enormous elephant enjoys a courtyard to himself, and his keeper is an Englishman named Thompson. The animal is very docile, and has been taught to play at what we call Bob Cherry with pieces of bread. Nothing can be more ridiculous, except the idea of a lion catching flies.

Camels and dromedaries are allowed to posture under the trees, and the stags and deer distributed in the field beside the river. All the tame animals are placed within a large grass enclosure. The savage beasts and birds kept in cages so small that the poor creatures can hardly turn themselves, in consequence of which, together with the wretched food, many have perished, and none of the survivors are in good condition. There are three bears, several wolves, leopards and tigers, one hyaena, a fox, a cockatoo, an hedgehog, a vulture, a cassowary, and a number of other fierce birds stolen from the menagerie of the Stadtholder of Holland. There are also a number of monkeys.

Upon the whole this collection is very insignificant and compares very badly with Pidcocks Exhibition, over Exeter Change. The lions and one of the elephants are dead. Most of these animals were transported to Paris from the Royal Menagerie at Versailles, but in order to increase the effect of the scene, it was decreed by Governmental order that those wild animals which were exhibited about the country at fairs, should be put into a state of requisition in order to add to the savage population of the garden. Cossal (the Parisian Pidcock), who had made a valuable collection of rare animals which he sent about the country to public shows, was robbed of all of them and to indemnify him in some manner for his ruin, made Warden of the National Menagerie at a small salary.

He was not the only sufferer in conformity with the political principle of the Revolution, that individual property must ever be ready as a sacrifice to the Nation, every man who led about a dancing bear in the street or a monkey, playing his tricks on the back of a dromedary, was obliged to lay aside his flageolet and tambourine and conduct his Bruin, his camel or his ape, to replenish the national stock. The two elephants were _borrowed_ from the Stadtholder, they came originally from Ceylon, whence they were sent to Holland, where they had remained fourteen years. The mode of transporting them was the subject of very grave discussion among the philosophers of Paris. It was first proposed to march them from Holland to Paris and to throw temporary wooden bridges over the canals, to facilitate their passage but on account of their aversion to water this sapient scheme was abandoned. A caravan was now constructed mounted on wheels, in order to drag the ponderous brutes along and in order to accustom them to their movable dwelling, they were never to be fed except in their travelling carriages. On the day of their departure, the elephants were driven into their conveyance and the keeper bolted the door. The moment the procession started, the male elephant gave the door a gentle tap with his head, which instantly shivered the panel to pieces, and the continent of organised matter marched out with the greatest ease. By separating the male and the female they at length succeeded in conveying these vast creatures to Paris. Thompson, the keeper, assured me that when the elephants met again in the garden, after their long journey, the air resounded with their cries and their eyes were bedewed with tears. The French had never seen an elephant in their country since the middle of the seventeenth century, when, in 1668, the King of Portugal presented one (which only survived thirteen years) to Louis XIV.

[Sidenote: THE AMPHITHEATRE]

Upon inquiry I learnt that the greater part of the curiosities collected in this place were the fruits of victorious pillage, and I was told that this measure was justified by the right of conquest. “Par suite de la conquête de la Hollande, ils sont tombés au pouvoir des Français--nous les avons emportés comme trophées de nos victoires. Ainsi Alexandre le Grand fit passer dans la Grèce les éléphans du Roi de Perse.”

The amphitheatre is a public building, within this garden, where lectures are given by professors, nominated and paid by the Government.

I attended the chemical lecture of Fourcroy; he delivers himself with purity, eloquence and cleverness. He exercises (what would be deemed extraordinary in any country but this) the two functions of a public lecturer on science and a Counsellor of State, in which latter capacity he often discusses political measures before the Legislative Body. All the benches of the amphitheatre are in a semicircular form, rising one above the other, and capable of containing 2000 persons. The lecturer is stationed at the bottom, with a large table and apparatus before him.

There is no doubt students in chemistry derive advantages from those lectures, but much of their good effect is impaired by the amphitheatre being considered a fashionable lounge for the idle and a favourite place of “rencontre” between the fair Parisian and her lover. The women constitute a distinguished part of the auditory, and in number and noise are not inferior to the males.

There are thirteen professors in this institution, whereof seven are members of the French “Académie,” or Institut, and one an Associate. _Fourcroy_, Professor of Chemistry; _Desfontaines_, Botany; _Lamark_, Zoology; _Thonin_, Gardening; and _Vanspaendorick_, of Ichnography, have each a pleasant dwelling, free of expense, in the garden. In the centre of the garden and near a pool of water, is a small hamlet, where philosophical students and the curious may entertain themselves on girls and burgundy, of a wretched quality and at a trifling expense. I am at a loss to explain how the sage superintendent of his museum should have licensed the existence of his hovel, devoted to disreputable practices, in the sequestered bowers of Acadème. Unless it be meant as a practical illustration of the moral tendency of Darwin’s Loves of the Plants--a work greatly admired here. The Botanical Garden, itself, fell very far short of my expectations; it is neither well laid out nor pleasing to the eye.

The garden is about 2000 feet long and 700 wide, divided into three alleys, terminating in the public walks.

Henry IV. was the first who established a Botanical Garden in France. He authorised John Robin to rear in a private garden some plants several navigators had brought from America. It was his intention to have had this garden in Paris, but he was persuaded that these exotics would flourish better in the southern part of France; in consequence, Montpellier was preferred, and a physician appointed in 1598 to superintend the enterprise. But Gui la Brosse[1] persuaded Louis XIII. some twenty years later of the inconvenience of this arrangement, and an edict was issued for the establishment of the present “Jardin des Plantes.” By la Brosse’s exertions two thousand plants were placed in it, in the space of ten years.

The Government then numbered three professors to make known their properties and virtues and an exhibitor to display them.

The Garden was, in course of time, greatly enlarged and beautified, but its most rapid progress was during the reign of the late unfortunate Louis XVI.

[Sidenote: REMINISCENCES OF THE TERROR]

On the left of the Museum is a plantation of trees and shrubs, called “The Labyrinth.” The greatest part of the trees are ever-green, and there is a noble cedar of Lebanon. It was brought from England and planted by the famous Bertrand de Sussien[1] in the year 1734; beneath its shades stands a pedestal, formerly supporting the bust of Linnæus,[1] which was destroyed by the revolutionists under the notion it represented an aristocrat. From the top of the Labyrinth there is a very extensive view of Paris from a tower, which M. de la Metherie[1] and myself ascended, the ladies and S---- having returned home. Here, while we were looking at the city, M. de la Metherie pointed to a large building, not far distant, and desired me to look at the third window upon the second floor--he further remarked, “I was imprisoned there.” Confounded for the moment by this observation (for I had never understood the ruffians had meddled with him), I could not help laughing, and he joined heartily in my merriment. But two persons standing near, who, though wearing lay attire, were evidently priests, turned round and addressed us with much agitation. “This is not a laughing matter; what honest man has not been imprisoned in this land of _scélérats_?” This observation restored our gravity, and I said to one of them: “I hope, sir, you have not been a sufferer?” To which he abruptly replied: “I was imprisoned five times and sentenced to the guillotine. My life, however, was spared, and, by way of compensation for my sufferings, they took all my property from me!” De la Metherie introduced me, saying, “Monsieur est Anglais.” Upon this they took off hats, and the speaker remarked: “Vous avez raison, monsieur, de vous vous moquer de la France!”

[A] See Appendix.

We requested him to oblige us with his history. He said he lived formerly in Bordeaux and possessed considerable property in that neighbourhood. He had been arrested and confined in the prison of that city, together with a multitude of persons of both sexes. The only accusation against him was, that being a priest, he must necessarily be an aristocrat. He explained that he had not exercised sacerdotal functions since the Decree of the National Convention, and that his whole and sole pursuit was the science of Botany--“Botany!” exclaimed the Judge and President of the Court--“c’est une science royale!--it abounds with aristocratic terms, was the favourite diversion of Kings and Princes, and is of no use to a Republic--your attachment to this study clearly proves your hankering after the old _régime_, and convicts you!” He was hurried off to prison and close confinement at once. However, he escaped destruction, and recovered his liberty by paying a large sum of money as a bribe for his release. He returned with joy to the house of a friend, and was just sitting down to dinner when an officer of the Municipality entered the apartment, stating he had come to arrest him. He acquainted the officer with the fact that he had only two hours before been released by an _arrêt_ of the Municipality. “I know that perfectly well,” was the reply; “you were dismissed upon the charge laid against you, but since then another _serious charge_ has been established against you, by Citizen Tallien,[1] and I am ordered to arrest you _on suspicion of being suspected_!!!” There was no resisting the dreadful name of Tallien, and the unhappy priest was reconducted to his former cage. As the name of Tallien was mentioned, I interrupted the conversation to ask whether the atrocities said to have been committed at Bordeaux by Tallien and Lequino were not greatly exaggerated. He answered “Unhappily those enormities could hardly be exaggerated, for there was scarcely a family in that city and district which did not mourn the murder of a relative or friend.” The butcheries of Tallien were perpetrated chiefly in the streets and on the scaffold. He often took large sums of money from the persons, upon condition of releasing them, and the next day they were sure to be guillotined. This removal from the prison to the scaffold Tallien, in his merry moods, used to call a Republican release in full of all demands. Lequino[1] was never suspected of having realised money in this manner, he confined his little peculations to the public revenues. But his brutal and ferocious nature exercised itself within as well as without the walls of the prisons, by frequently shooting at the prisoners with pistols and killing them without any discrimination. He dined almost daily with the public executioners.

[Sidenote: PERSECUTED PRIEST AND PHILOSOPHER]

But to continue--after a long confinement, the priest was brought to a trial with a number of other persons, and charged with conspiring against the Republic. He and they were all found guilty and condemned to public execution. But at that moment a courier arrived with news of the fall and death of Robespierre, and orders to suspend all carnage until further directions from the Committee of Public Safety.

“What evidence was adduced against you?” I asked.

“None, save that I was a _ci-devant_ minister of religion.”

“You have suffered,” said I, “because you were a priest; and here,” pointing to de la Metherie, “is one who has suffered because he was a philosopher.”

In the progress of the fiery Revolution, the different Governments of France must have been inspired by the spirit of a merry devil, for if such charges were sufficient to deprive a man of his liberty nine-tenths of the French people ought to have been locked up. But although de la Metherie was in no way interested in politics, he was suspected of being a suspicious man. When the ruling power wished to criminate or murder a man, every circumstance of his life from infancy was raked up and passed under review, and therefore no accused individual could hope to escape if his destruction was decided upon.

The accusation against this philosopher was that of coolness, indifference and incivism, because, amidst the noise of arms and domestic slaughter, he continued to cultivate in the sequestered shade of private life, the philosophy of nature.

By a miracle he escaped--the fall of the tyrant Robespierre calmed the fury of the Terror, and de la Metherie was more fortunate than Lavoisier[1]--after a few months’ rigorous confinement he was released from his prison. He was permitted to return to his house, the seals were taken off his library, his beautiful collections of plants and minerals, and his manuscripts. The _Journal de Physique_, which he had edited for above twenty years, again shone forth in all its wonted splendour.

Monsieur de la Metherie assured me that during the time of the Revolutionary Tribunals, it was in serious contemplation to reduce the population of France to 14,000,000. Dubois Crouée[1] was a very distinguished and enthusiastic partisan of this humane and philosophical policy.

One of the most horrible and affecting anecdotes I ever heard related to a young married lady of rank and beauty, whose husband was immured in the same prison cell with de la Metherie. After having solicited one Bureau, petitioned another, and bribed a third in vain to obtain her husband’s liberty, she applied in person to the representative of the people, by whose influence her husband had been arrested. The hypocritical assassin returned her supplications with scorn. At length after many entreaties he informed her that there was _one_ way in which she might obtain her husband’s liberty. Anxious to save his life, the distracted female sacrificed her honour to the brutal lust of this deputy of the National Convention. On the next day, when she went to the prison to bring to her husband the joyful news of his impending delivery, she found him bound and seated in the cart, which a moment later carried him to the place of execution. Frantic with rage and despair, and shuddering with horror at the unavailing sacrifice she had made of her chastity, the hapless young woman rushed into the presence of her betrayer and severely rebuked him for his perfidy; in return for which he caused her to be arrested, and she was guillotined upon the following day.

XVII

THE ARSENAL. SITE OF THE BASTILLE. FAUBOURG STE. ANTOINE.
THE DONJON DE VINCENNES. SHORT ACCOUNT OF
FRANÇOIS DE NEUFCHÂTEAU. THE TEMPLE

[Sidenote: THE ARSENAL]

My principal object in going beyond the Bois des Vincennes was to examine the agricultural dispositions and the improved plough of François de Neufchâteau,[1] who has obtained a considerable celebrity in France for the great encouragement he, when Minister of the Interior, afforded to husbandry.

In this excursion we were accompanied by two men of very different political characters. Monsieur P----, an avowed Royalist, and Monsieur Dumond,[1] a moderate Republican. The former is distinguished for his dramatic writings and by a very ingenious mode he has invented to enable foreigners to pronounce French correctly without the aid of an instructor. Monsieur Dumond is what we should call a gentleman farmer--and has a large establishment at Epluches, near Pontoise, where he makes an annual exhibition of sheep reared upon his own estate. He possesses excellent stock and great skill in this branch of rural economy. We promised ourselves great pleasure from the political battle I was determined they should wage, and the instructive conversation of M. Dumond upon farming and agricultural subjects.

After traversing the city in an easterly direction we alighted at the Arsenal. This place was gutted at the outbreak of the Revolution to supply arms to the sovereign people. It has never since been replenished.

There are, however, still some considerable quantity of arms in it, but I observed nothing particularly deserving of notice. The Bastille, so famous in the early history of the Revolution, from having been the first fortress over which the triumphant banner of the people waved, is now no more. But the gardens, the “fosse,” and part of the wall remain. The site of the Bastille, which the French vainly flattered themselves would become their Runnymede, is instead a lasting monument of their unfitness to be free--for it is impossible to walk over these ruins without despising a race of men who, in a paroxysm of jealousy, pulled down an ancient fortress for the sake of liberty, and twelve years later suffered their whole country to be converted into a vast prison where free speech and a free press are not tolerated.

From the site of the Bastille we proceeded along the Faubourg St. Antoine, now the cleanest and most unfrequented part of Paris. What a melancholy silence now reigns in that place! Who would suppose that this district of Paris was formerly the focus of intrigue and its inhabitants the successive instruments of every ambitious adventurer--of an Orleans, a Robespierre,[1] a Marat and a Babœuf?[1] In the days of the Convention this was the arsenal of blood and murder, here pikes were forged and poignards sharpened, and from hence an armed banditti issued to execute the bloody mandate of demagogues. But now no spirit-stirring drum is heard, no uplifted bleeding heads are carried as standards by butchering battalions. Santerre himself scarce dare show his face, and the whole Jacobin colony has been disarmed, and by a little thing from Corsica, who, acting as lieutenant to Barras in 1794, commenced his military operations against the liberties of France by a triumph over the fanatics of this Faubourg. The pikemen stand in awe of the heroes of Lodi and Marengo, who surround the palace of the usurper. Santerre, it is true, often murmurs vengeance, but the Government either laugh at this consequential man of no consequence or treat him with the most perfect contempt. He had an interview with Bonaparte soon after the latter became First Consul and was received with civility and attention, but the Consular Guard was not then formed, and Santerre might still be useful. Bonaparte, who must have heard that at the first fire of the Vendéans upon the Parisian Guard, Santerre actually ran away, said: “I think, general, you made war in La Vendée.” “Oui, général,” replied the brewer, “avec beaucoup d’éclat.” The Corsican grinned a smile, and Santerre withdrew, and boasted after the interview “that Bonaparte had treated him with proper consideration and acknowledged his great services in La Vendée.”

[Sidenote: VINCENNES]

The famous donjon de Vincennes is situated close by the public road, in the middle of a wood, and was in ancient times a royal castle, where State prisoners were confined. Since the Revolution it has been converted into a common jail--at present it is reserved entirely for deserters and runaway conscripts. We found about 600 of these in confinement. They were walking in the courtyard, and seemed extremely sorrowful and dejected.

We were not permitted to enter the Gothic tower, which is the finest part of The building; but if we may form an estimate of the interior by the exterior, the state prisoners formerly lodged there must have drawn out a wretched existence--yet here were confined the great Condé and the celebrated Mirabeau.

The attraction of this fortress is its antiquity. Draw-bridges, battlements, covered galleries and fosses display the ancient mode of defence. Some companies of infantry and a troop of horse are in barracks within the walls. After having sufficiently gratified our curiosity we continued our route, and the name of Mirabeau being mentioned I thought a favourable opportunity had arrived for us to enjoy our French companions.

The project succeeded, and the Revolution was furiously discussed from the time of Mirabeau to the present hour. I asked M. Dumond (the Republican) what was now the pay to the different ranks of general? M. P---- (the Royalist) answered before his friend had time to reply: “Nothing, we allow them to thrive and take what they please.” This unexpected answer produced a good laugh, in which M. Dumond joined. Some days after, happening to be in company with a celebrated general, as honest as it is possible for a modern French general to be, I asked him whether it was true that the Republican generals received no salary from the State, but were at liberty to take what they pleased, he answered: “You have been misinformed. The French generals are _well_ paid; but as they are fond of good living and their expenses are great, they naturally make some provision for themselves out of the contributions of conquered countries.” This reply fully confirmed M. P----’s assertion.

At the extremity of the Bois de Vincennes in a hollow stands the Château of Monsieur François. All the country hereabouts is in a fine state of cultivation, the fruits exquisite, and the wine from the vineyards is highly esteemed in Paris.

Monsieur François de Neufchâteau’s house is of moderate size, the gardens large and well disposed. The barns and other out-houses make a respectable appearance, but I perceive none of the animals essential to husbandry or a thrifty farmyard. Most of the ground we went over had been sown. I perceived, however, no grass or meadow land. The French are an age behind us in this branch of agriculture. All the arable land was well cleared and showed care and attention had been bestowed upon it. But I saw no yards, either near or distant to the house, for raising poultry or pigs, &c., which constitute no small proportion of the wealth of a well-managed farm.

After we had sufficiently viewed the general distribution of the grounds, we examined the improved drill plough, to inspect which had been the principal object of our journey. But I discovered not a single property in it which is not already known to the English agriculturist.

[Sidenote: FRANÇOIS DE NEUFCHÂTEAU]

Perhaps I am wrong in thus entering into the particulars of a farm which, though in a very satisfactory state, promises to be much better when the owner’s attention can be spared upon it. The house has not long been in the possession of its present proprietor. There are only two bedrooms furnished and not one sitting-room, though there is an excellent library, containing many beautiful editions of the most celebrated works.

The gallery upon the first floor contains some interesting plans and drawings of canals and other public works of France, conceived, executed or repaired when M. de Neufchâteau was Minister of the Interior.

Monsieur Nicholas François, for that is his real and only proper name, was born at the village of Neufchâteau, where he married a woman like himself of humble parentage, and endeavoured to live by writing poetry and scribbling nonsensical verses.

He is the first instance in the history of nations of a poet who exchanged his tattered garments for the mantle of a chief magistrate. M. François being cast upon the surface of the revolutionary cauldron, contributed his humble mite in the holy work of human regeneration, under a variety of Protean shapes, sometimes as a punster in the public journals, at other times by striking off a few _calembours_ and diatribes and then by some fine-spun antitheses, and next by fulsome adulations heaped on the great scoundrels who have successively disturbed the peace of France and of mankind. M. François contrived to at length receive the reward of his indefatigable labours, in the appointment to the very arduous and important functions of Minister of the Interior to the French Revolution.

No sooner had he begun to figure upon the revolutionary stage, over which was inscribed _Liberty_, _Equality_, _Abolition of Titles and Privileged Caste_, than he assumed the feudal name of François de Neufchâteau, a name to which under the old _régime_ he would have no more pretensions than the political adventurer who now rules France would have to that of Bonaparte of Ajaccio.

Another instance of his philosophic mind was shown at the same time. He discarded his virtuous wife, the humble companion of his adverse fortunes, as unworthy to share in the splendour of his new situation, and a handsome and elegant woman was introduced in her stead as mistress of his mansion, and she still continues to fill in the midst of plenty and opulence the place of a legitimate wife now driven to want and wretchedness.

But these are trifles in Paris at the present day, and Monsieur François de Neufchâteau passes for a mild, amiable and _virtuous_ man.

Of the administration of this man I shall have much to say in a future letter, he certainly contributed towards the establishment of many salutary institutions in the Republic, _i.e._, he revived such of the old government as were contented to promote the happiness and prosperity of France upon the return of a general peace.

I am the more astounded at this as from the conversation I had with him and from the relations made to me by those most intimately acquainted with him he appeared to be a man of weak, contemptible and superficial character. Nevertheless we find him in a short time seated upon the curule chair, and forming one of that junto of rapacious tyrants who under the name of the Executive Directory, by their imbecility, wickedness and crimes, prepared the way for the reign of the usurper who stole like a coward from Egypt to complete the misery of France. François, it appears, took no active part in the directorship, he was merely an empurpled pageant, whose sole occupation was to sign his name whenever ordered to do so by his more wily colleagues. At length finding his situation irksome he profited by an offer from his more ambitious partners and left the Government before the Government left him. In consideration of a douceur of a million livres, £40,000 sterling, he connived at a sham ballot by which he voluntarily blackballed himself from the further enjoyment of the executive magistracy.

[Sidenote: VISIT TO THE TEMPLE]

His conduct was fortunate as well as prudent. For when the Corsican made short work of the Directory, instead of being banished like Barras[1] or discarded like la Reveillère[1] and Leproux, we find him admitted into the new tyrant’s Senate and actively receiving at the present time £2000 a year sterling during his life for registering the edicts of his master. This annuity, together with his £40,000 indemnification money, and the little pickings he was able to secure during his Ministry, enable him to live in better style than ever before fell to the lot of a French rhymer, for he can now jingle cash as well as the words of the great nation.

This visit to M. François brought on a second engagement between ourselves and our two comrades, and we made an expedition the following day to the Temple, where the unhappy Louis XVI. and his family had been confined. The place is now greatly altered, indeed I should hardly have recognised it. All the surrounding buildings have been pulled down and a large opening formed which absolutely secludes it from all immediate communication with the city. It is impossible to obtain admission into this State prison--it is rigidly guarded within and without the walls. Persons are daily conveyed there by a _lettre de cachet_ from the Grand Inquisitor Fouché, without any preliminary examination and often without the knowledge of their friends. This is the real history of those sudden disappearances of a number of persons, which the French journalists ascribe to robbers and assassins. A trial is never an absolute necessity in this land of liberty to establish innocence or guilt; hence the “Cayenne diligence” is always in readiness to take up such passengers as are not _required_ to make a long stay in the Temple, which is the _safest_ place of baiting between the Bureau of the Minister of Police and Rochefort.

It is not until the wretched victims are upon the eve of embarking upon the Salaminian vessel of state that they are permitted to disclose their fate to their relations and to announce their destination to the delectable regions of the most luxurious climate of Central America. Even this indulgence is however frequently denied to the hapless sufferers.

Yet the constant talk in France is of freedom and equality. It is impossible to live here without imbibing daily fresh causes of detestation and abhorrence of the laws and government of this unhappy country; and I already contemplate with pleasure the moment when I shall take an everlasting leave of France, a country which at one time I almost loved as well as I do my own.

XVIII

CELEBRATION OF THE ESTABLISHMENT OF GENERAL BONAPARTE’S
CONCORDAT WITH THE POPE, AND OF THE GENERAL PEACE
PROCESSION TO NOTRE DAME. ILLUMINATION OF PARIS

[Sidenote: CONSULAR CEREMONIAL]