■ \ [ r ■ t GIFT OF PROFESSOR C.A. :<0F3I I MEMORANDUMS OF A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE, IN THE WINTER OF 1815-16, INCLUDING REMARKS ON FRENCH MANNERS AND SOCIETY, WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE CATACOMBS, AND NOTICES OF SOME OTHER OBJECTS OF CURIOSITY AND WORKS OF ART, NOT HITHERTO DESCRIBED. " Authors lose half the praise they might have got, sy " Were it but known what they discreetly blot.'' LONDON: POINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1816. GIFT 0B| PP(CFESS9R C.A;f Comparison of the English and French. — Different Sentiments on the National Flag - Page 300 CHAP. XXXII. State of French Society. — Change of Maimers pro- duced by the Revolution. — DemoraUzation of the French Countenance. — An attempt to explain the Cause -- -----317 CHAP. XXXIII. National Guards. — Gens D'armes. — Sapeurs and Pompiers. — National Song. — Verses to the Em- peror Alexander - - - - - 326 CHAP. XXXIV. Climate of Paris compared with that of other Countries. — Mode of fumishino: Houses. — State of Public Feeling with regard to Decency. — Anecdote of Buonaparte - - - - - - 332 CHAP. XXXV. Jeux D*Esprit on the Subject of Buonaparte's Election. — Placards affixed to the W^alls of the TuiUeries. — Le Fran9ais revenu de Londres - - SI* CONTENTS. CHAP. XXXVI. The Catacombs. — Their Appearance, Origin, and Mode of Formation. — Inscriptions on the Walls, &c. — Albmn - - - - Page 353 CHAP. XXXVII. National Character of the French Their Levity con- sidered. -7- Education of the Women. — Effect of Marriage ------ 376 CHAP. XXXVIII. Appearance of Paris in the Evening. — A Moonlight Ramble. — Sensations produced by this Scene 383 CHAP. XXXIX. Journey Home. — Appearances on the Road. — Calais, — Voyage to Dover. — Return to London. — Con- cluding Remarks - - - - - 388 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. Sept. 27, 1816. TN the Autumn of 1815, professional cir- y cumstances induced me to visit Paris. jSiy expectations had been raised very high. How far they were fulfilled or disappointed will probably be the subject of a future publication. The present memorandums are the result only of those hours of lei- sure and relaxation which I found neces- sary for my health and comfort ; and they were committed to paper without the most remote idea of being given to the world through the medium of the press. Since my return, however, I have seen so much prejudice and error with regard to our late formidable rivals ; — have seen so many attempts to mislead public opinion for party purposes, that I am induced to 2 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. hope the publication of the honest, impar- tial sentiments of an attentive observer, may be of some service ; may afford better grounds for forming an accurate opinion ; and induce those who have not an oppor- tunity of judging for themselves to avoid equally the over-weening admiration of one party, and the impolitic contempt of the other. The state of France must ever be a mat- ter of the highest interest to England. Whatever Frenchmen may feel or affect |o feel, it is not the policy of this country, nor has it been the wish or attempt of the English Government to operate their de- struction. But it is in vain we try to con- vince them to the contrary, while every newspaper scribbler gives vent to expres- sions of scorn and hatred, of contempt and ridicule towards the men whom the fortune of war has placed at our mercy ; a conduct calculated to perpetuate and increase that hatred and jealousy of our power which are already the predominant feelings of Frenchmen. Their situation naturally calls into play a greater portion of irritability, and they had always more than enough* INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 3 But they are so much influenced by the wish to acquhe the respect of the English, that if we do but state their faults with candour, and praise their good qualities with sincerity, the result must be benefi- cial to both parties. France and its inhabitants have been so often described, that to say any thing more on the subject, may appear super- fluous. I hope, however, that the public will accept with indulgence this humble attempt to afford rational amusement, and not judge too severely a performance which claims no other merits than common sense and strict integrity. Not one sentence will, I hope, be found throughout the work, in which truth has been sacrificed to any motive whatever, nor any expres- sion which is unworthy of a gentleman and a Christian. If I have occasionally used terms too strong for the delicate ears of the present age, they will be found, I trust, to be the natural results of honest feelings, and I can at least venture to as- sert, that I have advanced nothing con- trary to the strict canons of virtue and decorum, B 2 4:; INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. In describing the different objects of cu- riosity, I have been anxious to select only those which had either escaped other travel- lers, or which hadbeen passed over too slight- ly to convey a distinct impression. I have too, rather dwelt on the impression they made on my mind, than on the things themselves, as their respective details may be found in every book published as a Guide to Travellers. My intention was to speak of their utility and propriety, and to say how far they seemed worthy of adoption in this country. Some author remarks, " All travel has its advantages ; if a man visit a better country, he learns to improve his own ; if a worse, to enjoy it." I have endeavoured to bear this axiom in mind, and to look at every thing with the eye of a patriot ; in which character I have not spared censures on my own country, where it appeared to deserve them. ( 5 ) MEMORANDUMS OF A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE, &c. CHAPTER L NARRATIVE. DOVER. — VOYAGE ACROSS THE CHANNEL CALAIS. TO a man who has never seen the sea, even Dover is a place of high interest. I ar- rived in the afternoon, and immediately that I had dined, took a ramble on the high cliffs which surround the town. The barracks are placed in a curious position, and the whole of the forti- fied hill is beautiful ; you arrive at them by a very extraordinary staircase cut in the rock, and so contrived that three sets of steps wind round together like the triple worm of the patent cork- screw. The barracks are situated about the mid- dle height of the hill. All around, the earth was covered with an elegant little yellow flower some- thing like the king-cup, with a delightful scent between the clematis and violet ; it bears pods B 3 6 DOVER. like the wall flower, but I am so miserable a bo- tanist that I cannot give its name. Numerous goats were browzing on the precipices, and the red coats of the soldiers rambling all over the mountain, had a very lively and beautiful effect. The view from hence is very extensive, and Ca- lais and Boulogne did not appear to be more than half a dozen miles distant. I continued my rambles till moon-light. After many months of close confinement to London, I was in the best state to relish the novelty of my situation, and inhaled copious draughts of en- joyment. The sea lay before me in tranquil beauty; there was not the least ripple on the water — the ships were without motion — the white cliffs were flooded with silver light — the moon rolled calmly along the blue sky, and looked, as Southey says, '* Like the smile af reconciling heaven." " The waves of either shore lay there, " Calm, clear and azure as the air." No sound was heard but the delightful music of the garrison band, which played a series of plaintive Scotch airs, with such a heart-breaking and pathetic sweetness, as " Opened every cell where memory slept." I felt a sensation of pleasure and delight which was quite oppressive, and was glad when the nine DOVER. 7. o'clock trumpet echoed round the excavations* of the fortification, and summoned the musi- cians to their quarters. The house where I had taken up my abode^ was entitled the Paris Hotel, and the name of mine host struck me as peculiarly appropriate, Fot'de-Vin. The place was decent and respect- able, and I found the charges extremely mode- rate. Having secured a passage in a French vessel for the following day, I hastened to bed, but the tumult of my mind would not let me sleeps and I rose with the sun and walked out again on the cliffs. The wind was directly contrary, ancj the equinoctial gales were in full influence on the sea. The storm raged with a violence whicji made it difficult to keep my footing, and the sea was one mass of foam and confusion. I re^ turned to the house, and learnt from the captain that it would be impossible to put to sea in such weather, and that I must be satisfied with Mr. Pot'de- Fin's accommodation for another day. About noon the storm abated, and I put on my boat cloak and walked to the extremity of the jetty, which projects a considerable dis- tance into the sea. Leaning over the railing, I contemplated in silence the grandest object in nature, and for nearly two hours remained so absorded in thought as to be almost unconscious of my situation. I watched with vacant eye the B 4 8 FEELINGS ON LEAVING ENGLAND. enormous waves bending over each other to the shore. The continued and successive swell of the deep green waters — the elegance of the foam as it curled over the shallows — the wheels of froth which coursed each other in rapid suc- cession among the red pebbles of the shore, as the waves struck it obliquely, — the crackling sound of the beach when the waves were retir- ing — the hollow dash against the jetty — the contrast of the moving mass of waters with the rocks which rose perpendicular from the shore, altogether formed a scene of sublimity and beauty, of which I had often read, but had never before obtained a complete idea. The slight giddy feeling produced by watching the motion of water was not unpleasant, and my mind was filled with a mixed sensation of awe, pleasure, and wonder, that rivetted me to the spot. I was leaving a wife and family in a land of peace and tranquillity, and going to venture myself in another which was reported to be a scene of confusion and bloodshed, — a country over- run with foreign troops, and where two ho- stile parties were contending for the mastery. The remote and contingent advantage which I expected from my journey, hardly seemed a valid reason for rendering my safety preca- rious, when the well-being of objects so dear to me, was at stake; for a short time I was almost determined to retrace my steps to FEELINGS ON LEAVING ENGLAND. 9 London ; but the reflection that I had gone too far to recede ; that I had already encountered the evils of departure and the pain of separation, soon effaced such ideas from my mind. The sun broke out in joyous beauty, and cast a smile over the face of nature ; my sombre an- ticipations vanished in a moment, and the same buoyant curiosity, the same ardent wish for professional advantage, which first instigated me to leave home, rushed again into my mind with redoubled force. I was impatient for the storm to subside and the wind to change, that 1 might throw myself into a new scene, and fulfill the hopes which had animated me for years. These sensations will appear ridiculous to those who have migrated from country to coun- try, till the change no longer produces any emo- tion but a wish to arrive as quickly as possible at the end of the journey ; but to such as have passed their lives in that vegetating mode which is the lot of four-fifths of the community, the feelings I have attempted to describe will be acknowledged as the natural impulses of such a situation. When I returned to the inn I found a table (Thote, surrounded with about a dozen beings of all nations, some of whom bore evident marks of the storm they had encountered; for although the sea had been so boisterous, the wind, which 1*0 A SWINDLER. had changed after their departure from Calais, had been in the right direction, and had brought them over to England rather quicker than was qnite compatible with their comfort or safety. Among the number of faces I recognized, one which immediately attracted my notice, and inspired involuntary confidence, Captain D of the Regiment. We separated from the rest, and remained together the rest of the time I was at Dover. I found him a most intelligent and charming companion, he had made several campaigns in Spain, in the West Indies, and in Canada, and had com- manded a Greek Corps in the Mediterranean. We made the remainder of our journey in company, and were, I believe, mutually grieved at the ultimate separation. In the evening, as we were sitting over our supper in a room appropriated to casual visitors, there entered a remarkably tall and elegant young man in an officer's pelisse, who, with the greatest ease and most perfect good breeding, entered into conversation with the whole com- pany; he addressed a young Spanish lady in her native language with a fluency and cor- rectness, which made her exclaim that he was a fellow countryman, he assured her she was mistaken, and his language when speaking to us, convinced me that he was an Englishman ; he then continued in French, and afterwards A SWINDLER, 11 in Italian, apparently with the same facility. After remarking that Dover contained no places of amusement, and expressing his compassion for our uncomfortable state of suspence, he told us that a <* conjuring fellow,'* who ex- hibited tricks of legerdemain when he could get any body to witness his performances, was coming to his lodgings that night, and that he should be happy if we would come and share the amusement. Although we thought the pro- position rather curious from a stranger, we de- termined to accept his invitation for want of better employment, and accordingly accom- panied him home. On the way he told us that he was going into the French service in consequence of his sister having married a French nobleman, that he had three blood horses with him, one of which was ill, and that he was only waiting a day or two at Dover for its recovery. We were scarcely seated when a frippery French fop came into the room, who was im- mediately introduced as The Count. He be- gan the conversation by a string of fulsome compHments to the English nation, and said it was a great delight to him that his countrymen were at last reconciled to the nohk English. He had been in Spain, and was entrusted by the Duchess of Angouleme with four octavo volumes of her memoirs, written by herself, 1 12 ' A SWINDLER. with which he valorously made his way through the French armies at the risk of being seized and shot as a spy ! ! ! His friend cut short his string of lies by reaching a guitar, and accom- panying himself while he sang some beautiful Spanish, French, English, and Italian airs, with the finest voice and execution I almost ever heard. As the conjurer did not come, I had been at a loss to conceive the motive for our invitation, but I now set it down entirely to the account of vanity, and supposed that he had merely brought us there to hear his fine voice. Presently, however, he proposed cards, and though Captain D and myself declared that we never played, he was so very urgent, and varied his request so many ways, that we were obliged to let him shew us a newly in- vented game called Blucher's. This consisted in merely dealing out the cards one to each per- son, placing each a sum of money on his card, when, if it turned up the same colour as the trump, you won, if not you lost. Though we did not suspect cheating we dreaded gambling, but as we had drank a bottle of his claret, we acceded to his request to place three shillings on each of our cards, after he had in vain talked of making a trial with only Napoleons, (not to play in earnest, but for nothing in a manner,) we won ; a second and third time we won, the fourth time we lost, the fifth and sixth time we VOTAGE ACROSS THE CHANNEL. 13 won again, then the tide turned, and we were presently minus six shilHngs each 5 at this moment it came to my turn to deal, and as I have been accustomed to play tricks of sleight of hand on the cards, I immediately perceived that some of them were longer than others, this shewed me immediately the plot, and I there- fore seized the opportunity to perform some deceptions on the cards, and in the midst of them " recollected an engagement," and in spite of the most urgent entreaties of the host and the Count, came back to the inn with Captain D not a little pleased at my escape, and not sorry to have left behind the six shil- lings each to pay for our Claret. We found afterwards that the gentleman had no horses at Dover, but that he himself was comparatively a permanent resident, and (as was supposed,) gained an honest living by means similar to those I have described. The morning was clear and exhilarating, and I hastened on board in high spirits. The sea still rolled heavily, though the storm had sub- sided, but the wind having suddenly changed in our favour, added to the roughness of the water, and gave us a very rude voyage. Our vessel was little more than two hours and a quarter in crossing the Channel, and al- though the wind was boisterous, the sun shone all the time, and made the transit much less 14 EFFECTS OF SEA-SICKNESS. dismal for a landsman. The masts lay down at an angle of five and forty degrees with the horizon, and the lee side of the deck was in the water during the whole voyage, so that 1 (whose stomach compelled me to choose that side of the ship for convenience sake,) sat half way up the legs in water very often. The sickness is a dreadful sensation for the time it lasts, but there were occasional inter- vals of a quarter of an hour w^hen 1 was suffi- ciently well to enjoy the beauty and novelty of the scene. Those who have been accustomed to travel in stage coaches for several days and nights in succession, may form to themselves a very correct idea of a packet, where the ad- ditional inconveniences produce the same effects on the minds and visages of the passengers in a few hours, as two nights want of rest and a negation of shaving and washing ashore. When I looked round on my fellow travellers, by the time we were in mid channel, they presented the appearance which has often attracted my notice at day-break in a stage coach — dirty, sodden, and wretched. The effect of the ship's motion on their stomachs was often so instantaneous, and so unma- nageable that the smart pelisse of one lady was in a moment absolutely spoiled by the " agitation'* of her opposite neighbour, and all ranks were as thoroughly confounded as in the grave. Old travellers had taken care to equip themselves ac- EFFECTS OF SEA-SICKNESS. 15 cordingly, but those who meant to make a fa- voarable impression on French eyes at their first landing, were woefully disappointed. 1 observed one very aristocratic lady dressed in an elegant velvet pelisse, who, while scolding and pushing off her surrounding inferiors, rolled down into an accumulated puddle, produced by half a dozen children, which was prevented from wash- ing off the deck by two or three trunks lashed in the middle. When she rose covered with such in- delicate filth, I never saw so ludicrous a combina- tion of emotions — anger — dignity — disgust — indignation — fear — and sickness co-operated to make her an object of unconquerable laughter to all who were well enough to look round them. I fancy that I have seen the sea in all its glory ; it was at least quite as stormy as can be contemplated without fear, by those who are upon it. There is something extremely elegant, and as the Irish say "janty*' in the motion of a small vessel through such a sea. The sun tipped the edges of the waves with gold, and they struck the eye in rapid succession as we mounted each successive ridge. While we rested between two of them, the deep blue-green of the transparent water was all that we could see, but as the vessel rose, the surface of the sea appeared of a bright yellow intermixed with feathery foam. I en- joyed it very highly, and as my sickness en» 16 CAUSE OF SEA-SICKNESS. tirely ceased by the time we were two- thirds across, really began to lament that my voyage was so short. I made one little discovery which may be of use hereafter, viz. that the sickness is produced by the shrinking we involuntarily make as the ship descends, a sort of preposterous effort to save ourselves from tfalling ; this being repeated over and over again, at last brings on vomiting, simply from the compression of the stomach. Having learnt this, I had no more sickness, for every time the ship went down, I made an ea:- piration, at the same time relaxing the muscles over the stomach, so as entirely to relieve it from pressure. The act of mounting never pro- duced nausea, and I recollect that the effects are precisely the same, but in a slighter degree in the amusement of swinging. On landing at Calais I was conducted to the Hotel Messe-Meurice, and found myself ex- tremely comfortable. Having recruited my stomach with a little wine and roast fowl, I rambled round the town for half an hour. Sterne's description of it answers still, and to appearance there has not been even a window painted since his time. It is dark, shabby, and poverty-stricken : the streets are narrow — the shops miserable, and the clumsy interstices of the windows give them the air of being nailed up and uninhabited. Some allowance must be CALAIS. 17 ifnade however for the peculiar circumstances of the case, it being almost supported in ordi- nary times by the intercourse with England; and after twenty-five years suspension of that trade, it has necessarily fallen to decay. The least we can do for a town which has suffered so much in the late quarrel, and indeed in all quarrels between France and England, is to lay out our money liberally ; and in this respect they seem to have no great cause of complaint against the English. At Dover I heard only French ; here I was stunned with English. The house was abso- lutely filled with young men of the class called travellers. Some few, perhaps, were here on business, but I could easily gather from the conversation, that by far the greater number came from England to ** see the world" with tlie intention of taking a passing glance at Pa- ris, but recollecting the inconvenient bustle which their countrymen were in who happened to be in France last year, and reading with holy faith the terrific predictions and authentic letters of the Morning Chronicle which arrives here daily ; they were become so alarmed at what " them French fellows" may do, that they wisely resolved not to put themselves into dan- ger at all, but stay close to the shore, where they can get aboard at a minute's warning ; have out their jollification, and shew the won- c 18 CALAIS. dering (but not offended) waiters, that one Englishman can spend money faster than six Mounseers. It was no little consolation too, that they could abuse the French, ad libitum, without any risk of a retort courteous, as not a soul in the establishment of M. Messe Meu- rice understood a word of English, except the Commissionaire, a sort of running porter, who will trudge to all parts of the town for three half-pence. Towards the end of dinner, which I took at the table d'hote with about twenty of my countrymen, there came in an old French sailor carrying a sort of spinet hurdy-gurdy, and fol- lowed by his wife, a very decent looking wash- er-woman. She sang a number of French airs of a description which I should hardly have supposed her capable of comprehending. She had a very pleasing voice, and displayed con- siderable knowledge of music. Her husband accompanied her on the spinet and his own deep bass voice : altogether I was highly gra- tified, and not a little astonished at such per- formance from people of their apparent station in life. As soon as they had retired, a pretty girl of eight or nine years of age entered with a little basket of sealed papers, begging us very earnestly to try our fortunes. I resisted for some time, thinking it rather too ridiculous, CALAIS. 19 but the child importuned so urgently with " Si Monsieur'* — " Be grace Monsieur,''* and " s'il wous plait Monsieur,** that 1 at last dropped a penny into her basket, and took a paper. It turned out a very honest pen'orth of good news. It was as follows : — " Vous avez bien eu votre part d' ennui, mais vous n^en aurez plus. Vous aurez la satisfac- tion de voir vos ennemis bien humilies, et mal- gr6 les envieux, vous ferez vos affaires sans le secours de person ne, par une attente imprevue qui vous conduira au plus grand bonheur. Vous ferez une connoissance qui vous causera de grands plaisirs, et vous etes assure de jouir a i'avenir d'une felicite parfaite, et de voir reussir toutes vos entreprises." it finished with the following verses : — ** Ici tout se renouvelle," " Tout commence et tout finit," '< II n'est point de peines ^ternelles," " Non; il n^est point deternels plaisirs.** Translation of the Sealed Paper, ** You have had your share of unhappiness, but you will have no more. You will have the satisfaction to see your enemies thoroughly hu- miliated, and in spite of the envious, you will accomplish your wishes without the aid of any one, by an unexpected piece of good luck which will complete your happiness. You will make an acquaintance which will afford you c 2 so CALAIS. high gratification, and you are sure of enjoying perfect happiness for the future, and will see all your undertakings succeed to your wishes." The Verses. " Here in this world every thing begins, ends, and is renewed. Neither pleasures nor pains are eternal." I could not but admire the ingenuity of a prophecy which fitted all ages, countries, sexes, and conditions. Some of my companions thought theii^s peculiarly appropriate, but upon examination I found them all equally compre- hensive and equally specific. I was much struck with the appearance of the kitchen in this inn. It is the grand tho- roughfare from the bureau to what we should call the coffee-room. Mine hostess sits in state at her desk, with a silk gown padded round the hips, three or four handkerchiefs over her neck and shoulders, of which the corners hang down her back, one higher than the other, ^ith mathe- matical and Quaker-like exactness j her hair powdered and turned up over a cushion on the forehead, with a high-crowned cap frilled under the chin, and two long streamers from the top behind ; she has a profusion of lace round her head and apron, and altogether looks very mo- therly, clean, comfortable, and respectable. She " rules the roast" here with great decorum, and her dominion is tolerably extensive. I saw CALAIS. 21 eight couple of fowls, four turkies, and several ducks all at the same fire, which was of enormous extent. Three men, four women, and several boys were occupied at the different stoves which surround the room ; and there seemed to be as much cooking, as at one of the London Tavern dinners for ten times the number of eaters. I was informed that nothing is ever brought oiv the table cold in France, and that the English are thought to have preposterous tastes who can voluntarily dine on cold meat. The floor and walls of the kitchen were not very deli- cate, but the actual cooking apparatus is punc- tiliously clean. From the bustle and seeming importance of all who were engaged in pre- paring dinner, one may be aware that Gastro- logy is a very important science in this country. Neither at Dover, nor at this place, did 1 experience the least obstacle or rudeness at the custom house. My trunk was just opened, but on giving my word of honour that it con- tained nothing contraband, the man closed it again without disturbing any thing. I was told not to expect such treatment at Dover on my return. The English custom house officers are proverbially severe, brutal, and corrupt. Immense quantities of goods are daily brought into the country through the official channels, by dint of bribery. The reason they are so gentle when you leave England is that there c3 2^ CALAIS. are hardly any objects of seizure, (except cash,) which are small enough to be put in a travelling trunk, and as to money, that is not exactly the place to find it; so that opening your trunks previous to the embarkation is a mere ceremony. I went to the play at Calais, where I found a most hnlliant audience, such as I have occa- sionally had an opportunity of viewing at Sheer- ness or Gosport. One of the Parisian actresses was playing there, and had attracted an un- usually full house. Although I have a tolerably correct knowledge of the French language, I had considerable difficulty in following the di- alogue. There is, however, so much panto- mime (and I do not use the word in a disre- spectful sense,) in their actors, that it was easy to make out the meaning when the words es- caped the ear. As far as I was yet able to judge, I was inclined to rate them very much higher than the same class of provincial per- formers in our country. Just as I was stepping into the diligence in the inn yard at Calais, came up a miserable, pale, haggard wretch, about five and forty years of age, who with much solemnity put a printed paper into my hands, telling me it was his own composition, and that it was of very high importance. He spoke in broken English, and with an incoherence which left no doubt as to the state of his brain. The crack of the CALAIS. 2S postillion's knotted whip made the court-yard echo, and allowed me no time to read the very important communication which had been made to me till I got off the pavement. It was ac- companied with a translation, which the author intended for English verse. The line contain- ing the name of Napoleon had been crossed out with a pen, both in the original and trans- lation, and the lines which I have marked ( " ) were added on the spur of the moment, the ink being scarcely dry. Au Nom de Condillac. Rehabilitation des quatre Elemens, ou Spi- ritualite de I'ame. Quoi ! le monde avait hier reforme I'lnstitut ! Lui qui de ses fagots vingt ans I'apotre fut ! ! Vive Napoleon, le ciel enfin le guide Mais rinstitut ne peut des Cceurs ^tre I'egide. Le Luxe et les beaux arts a leurs derniers degres, Nous out, faute de sens, de vices encombres ; Un peu de jugement devient indispensable Pour qu' un ordre de choses enfin soit plus durable. Quoi depuis vingt cinq ans I'homme est vraiment penseur Et pendant deux mille ans il n'est que radoteur Les anciens auront vu que I'air est rare ou dense Et pourtant ils I'auroient conclu simple substance ! i Tout nait de I'element, il est done compose Et pourtant ils Tauroient conclu tout Toppos^. c 4> S4f CALAIS. A VInstitut Quoi ! l*an dix huit cent huit, aux pieds meme des troncg Tu te fais courronne I'astre brillant des zones ! Toi qui dans ton rapport, enchaine avant d'avoir ! ! Qui prescrit de parler avant de savoir ! I Toi pour qui I'element, n'^tant qu' une fadaise, Plonge Fame au neant comme en quatre vingt treize ! ! Tu m'interdis la presse, et c*est la ton tombeau Entends tu Condillac, la foudre du Tres - Haut ? Laurent Isaac de Calais^ *' Par la fausse lumiere au precipice on court, ** Sans lumiere du moins on arr^te tout court." The Translation. What ! the world yesterday onr Institut reformed ! He who these twenty years to his blunders conformed 1 1 Long live Napoleon, Heaven is now his guide But reason can never by the Institut abide. Arts and the luxury to degrees unnumbered, For want of light have us of vices incumbered — Somewhat judgment therefore is indispensible That the order of things may be more durable. What ! these twenty-five years man proves a good sound head And these two thousand years but a block-head, What ! ancients did well know, that air is rare or dense And they could have thought it, what ? a simple substance. From element all springs — it is then compounded, And ages they could have the reverse pretended. CALAIS. 25 To the Institute. What Institute ! thou durst even on stairs of thrones Be proclaiming thyself the light of all the zones, Thee who be chaining up ideas not yet got, Thee who wilt have man speak before he has the thought, Thee for whom elements being but a fruitless tree, Annihilates the soul as didst in ninety-three. Thou forbidst me the press — it is thy last hour — Here is great Condillac — here is Heaven's thunder. Oxford — Cambridge. " Is Locke, Bacon's logick truly fallen head-long ** Into mud-pantaloons — into spurs one foot long, " Has any thunder bold reduced it to ashes — ** Have your brains like your hats, been crushed by its flashes." " By the fallacious light to precipice we fly, '* No light at all, at least you stop short and lie." The last two lines really contain a good thought, the preceding four are a sarcastic allu- sion to the dress of the English, which the wri- ter thinks not sufficiently dignified for the coun- trymen of Bacon and Locke. ( 26 ) CHAPTER 11. JOURNEY IN THE DILIGENCE. APPEARANCE OF THE COUNTRY. MONTREUIL. AMIENS. ARRIVAL AT PARIS. THE WARM BATHS. npO obtain an idea of a Diligence without -*- crossing the water, imagine first a common dung-cart on two wheels, another vehicle like a large one-horse chaise with a Hood, on an- other pair of wheels, then a very large, clumsy coach body, suspended between them, and all connected by a beam like the shaft of a mill- wheel. Over the top of the coach is a deep square basket, fitting the roof, called " rim- periale.'* In this and in the cart body the lug- gage is packed, and the whole is covered with straw and a tarpaulin. The inside of the coach is very roomy, and though calculated for six, would very liberally stow eight in the English fashion. There are no springs, and no part of the vehicle is painted, except the sides of the coach body. There are two raw-boned coarse things called horses in the shafts, three others of the same sort abreast in front; the postil- lion rides on one of the shafl horses, and drives A DILIGENCE. ^ the others with rope reins. The harness is coarse, clumsy, and most uncouth. The poorest farmer in England would be ashamed of sending his team to plough with such miserable equip- ments. Notwithstanding all disadvantages, they manage, by dint of whipcracking, to travel at the rate of five miles an hour ; the roads are ex- ceedingly good throughout, and between Calais and Paris there is scarcely any thing which can be called a hill ; yet at every little rising ground which would not impede the gallop of an English coach, the French postillion allows his horses to crawl ad libitum. On these occasions I always got out and walked on, conversing with the country people who were passing along the road, and who seemed much pleased with the compliment. I was surprized at the vivacity and intelligence of their conversation, and especially at the air of mildness and "^ow/tom- wie," which made me feel at home amongst them. Judging from what would have been the state of mind of the English peasantry, if an enemy were in possession of the country, I was prepared to expect rudeness and brutality; and to make allowance for it. On the contrary, their whole conversation was friendly and civil ; they made terrible complaints of the Prussians, and ** vowed horrible vengeance," but it is now too late, they must << eat the leek." They spoke of the English as having behaved unifomily well, and 28 APPEARANCE OF THE COUNTRT. there was every appearance of sincerity in the assertion, but they said the Belgians had be- haved still worse than the Prussians. The whole management of the diligence be- longs to the conducteur ; a man about the rank of an excisemen, who sits in the cabriole, (or chaise part in front,) pays the postilHons, regu- lates all disputes respecting precedence among the passengers, orders dinner, and sits down with the company as perpetual president ; he talked very glibly, smoking his pipe all the time with an easy sort of familiar impudence which would not be tolerated in England; he however feels the dignity of office, and seems to care very little for the opinion of his passengers. The country from Calais to Paris is in the highest state of cultivation ; I scarcely saw a dock, thistle, or nettle in the whole journey ; but it is all open, no hedges or any apparent enclosures ; no trees, except a row on each side of the road nearly the whole distance ; there are no plantations for ornament, no gentlemen's seats, no farm houses, and no cattle, so that the country, although so fruitful, has a barren and rather dreary appearance. The villages are chiefly composed of hovels, consisting of only one room, or two at most, very low, generally built of mud, thatched, and white-washed, with scarcely one better house in the whole precinct. The only respectable habitations are in the large MONTREUIL. 29 towns which are at considerable distances. There is no such class as the English farmers, but the ground is almost invariably cultivated by men who have one, two, or three acres each. The contrast between the fertile and highly cul- tivated state of their little plots of earth, and their own apparent misery and poverty is very striking, and produces a very disagreeable im- pression on the mind. There must be some radical error in the present structure of society here which can account for this. Perhaps one cause may be the great waste of labour in going so far to their employment. Many must have at least six or seven miles to march daily and return, as there are no single houses, and in many places the villages are eight or ten miles from each other. We entered Montreuil at a late hour of the night. The French have been severely blamed for refusing to give the Allies possession of their fortified towns long after the King had entered Paris, and all further resistance was vain and hopeless. The officers who had the command at these towns are considered to have been the cause of all the bloodshed which took place in the (generally successful) attempt to storm them; yet it must be confessed, that very often such officers acted from a conscientious sense of duty ; they repeatedly offered to surrender to any French force sent by the King, but strenuously 3 30 MONTREUIL. refused admittance to the Allies under any pre- text whatever. If, on the one hand, the Allies could not, consistently with their own safety, leave such towns in their rear, the French com- mandants knew on the other, that if they could prolong their resistance till the signature of a peace, the nation might obtain better terms, and would preserve the arms and ammunition ; for wherever the Allies entered, (either by force or submission,) the whole " materier' of war became the property of the invaders. Mon- treuil is one of the few fortresses which was placed in this predicament, the commander, though a man of known loyalty, thought him- self justified in refusing to surrender the town, and the Allies deemed it too strong to attack. I have not seen Lille, (which held out in the same manner,) but can scarcely conceive a stronger position than Montreuil. We crossed three distinct lines of fortification over draw- bridges, and entered the body of the place through a triple portal, which appeared strong enough to withstand a shower of cannon balls. The streets were very dark, and for the most part built below the surface of the rock ; the carriage way wound round the hill through deep excavations, across which, high above our heads, were suspended the lamps; they were very strong and large lights, but at such great dis- tances that the masses of rock on each side of MONTREUIL. 31 US were alternately in gloomy darkness or bril- liant illumination ; along the ridges walked the sentries exchanging the watch-word. We were carefully examined at the gate, and the inside of the carriage searched minutely. The clanking of chains, the rattling of drawbridges, the loud cracking of the postillion's whip, and the heavy roll of our cumbrous vehicle, altogether pro« duced an effect far from exhilarating. I con- trasted it with the tranquil and unostentatious entrance and exit of a town in my own coun- try, and hugged myself at the difference. As yet I had seen nothing of the effects of war, but here was one of its implements in its most of- fensive state. The precautions in a fortified town suggest only ideas of fear, treachery, and weakness, without any of the " pride, pomp, and circumstance," which embellish the dangers of the field. We arrived at last at a very respectable inn, kept by a white-headed venerable looking old man, who announced to us with no httle glee that he could speak English. A superb supper was prepared for us, consisting of roast turkey, capon, game of several sorts, and a profusion of pastry. I was so little accustomed to French wines that I did not presume to give an opinion on the subject, but Captain D. pronounced it detestable, and accordingly ordered it to be changed. The landlord came in wath a list of 3^ MONTREUIL. about eighty different sorts with the prices an- nexed, and said that as the supper and wine together were to cost only two francs and a half, (or two shillings and a penny,) we could not expect the best, but that he had in his cel- lar the finest wines in the world, if we chose to pay for them. Captain D. fixed on vin de Macon, but when that was brought, it was declared to be the identical wine which had been served to us before under the name of Burgundy ; it was therefore a second time changed, and a third time declared execrable. The landlord had borne the first and second condemnation of his wine with great patience, but the third was too much for his philosophy — he burst into a fairi- ous passion, and exclaimed " You are vary fausse gentle mans pour dire dat my vine is not bon : here was English lady to-day and ofi^ciers was ver much please, and send me remercimans pour avoir so ver good wine.'' He would not stay to hear any more complaints, but sent in his cook to receive any further commands we might be pleased to honour him with. After a very liberal allowance of time for sup- per, we again took our places in the diligence, the conductor arranging us with strict impar- tiality. Some of the company who had previ- ously been in the middle, had anticipated us in our seats, but they were compelled to shift immediately, the rule being absolute, that the AMIENS. 33 passengers shall sit in the order in which their places are registered at the office. The first place is considered the right hand riding forwards ; the second the left hand on the same side ; the third is opposite to the first, and the fourth op- posite to the second ; the fifth is the middle rid- ing forwards ; and the sixth (certainly the worst) the middle backwards. This arrangement saves a great deal of debate and rudeness : it is worth adopting in England, where one is sometimes much annoyed with a brutal fellow-traveller, and still more by ladies whose drafts on our po- liteness are occasionally rather larger than we can honour with any juvstice or comfort. We arrived about twelve o'clock at Amiens, where we breakfasted, for by-the-bye you are allowed but two meals a day in travelling j a re- gulation which is only to be reconciled from the circumstance of French cookery being so much superior to ours, that you are tempted to eat three times the quantity. At Amiens we found a considerable number of English and Prussian troops, and the streets of the town were miserably cut up by the pas- sage of heavy ordnance, and ammunition wag- gons. The great square of the city, which in or- dinary times is much frequented as a promenade^ was now filled with a large park of artillery ; and thousands of Prussians were rambling about the streets. The inhabitants were trying to con- D 54! AMIENS. ciliate the favour of their visitors by the most J>alpable an supererogatory loyalty, Every house was adorned with placards of Vive le Roi — Vivent les Bourbons -r— Amour au,v Bourbons — Amour a son altesse Madame la Duchesse d' An- gouleme, ^c. ^c, ^c» Some had miserable plas- ter busts of the King ; others a dirty piece of rag suspended from a stick, to represent the white flag ; while scraps of paper, cut into the shape of Jleurs de lis, were pasted all over the walls. The countenances of the Prussians suf- ficiently evinced the feeling of mastership which animated them, and the humble and dejected air of the French, with their ostentatiously respect- ful manner of giving the wall, and so forth to their visitors, told the state of affairs with wretch- ed emphasis. While the horses were changing, I just stepped out to look at the cathedral, which was built by the English in the time of Henry the Sixth. The three Gothic arches at the entrance are re- markably grand, but in other respects this so much boasted church is inferior to many of our provincial cathedrals, especially York minster. As I stood looking at the outer entrance, the monotonous beating of muffled drums, and the stifled shrillness of the fifes playing a slow march in a minor key, announced the approach of a military funeral ; it was accompanied by a con- siderable number of soldiers with arms reversed, CLERMONT. 85 ^nd the whole cavalcade was highly impressive; they were carrying to the grave the serjeant of an English regiment. A very large body of troops of various nations, and many hundreds of the towns-people, were present as spectators. There was an air of decency and even of solemnity in the whole ceremony, which produced great effect on the by-standers, and to me, who do not recollect ever to have seen any thing of the kind, it was peculiarly impressive. It seemed a proof that each man was honoured as a man, and was not discarded with contempt when he could no longer be useful. Several officers were a part of the procession, and conducted themselves with the greatest decorum. Arrived at Clermont, where we supped on the second night, we found the place occupied by about forty thousand Prussians, who were to be reviewed on the following morning. The poor people of the inn were in great alarm, and not without reason, for their military guests did not use much ceremony in supplying their wants. One of our party complained to the landlady, that we were only furnished with leaden spoons and forks ; she removed the objection, by stating that they had plate, but it was all buried ; as on a former occasion when the Prussians paid them a visit, every officer had taken away his spoon and fork ; and that the soldiers had stolen even the bed-clothes. She added, that if the dinner D 2 36 CLERMONT. was not exactly to please them, they beat the servants unmercifully ; and that they had broken dpen the cellar to search for better wine. I was not sorry to hasten from a place which was the scene of such misery. Our conductor seemed under considerable apprehensions for our safety, as great numbers of the soldiers were straggling from the camp to pick up poultry, or any thing they could lay their hands on, and being mostly landwehr, there was very little dis- cipline or restraint among them> The night was intensely dark, and the first two leagues were travelled in silence. When we had passed the ififected district, he began to be very talk- ative, and indemnified himself for his previous restraint, by very copious abuse of the Prussians, who he said were worse than so many devils let loose from helL As we approached Paris the houses began to improve — the road was magnificent, having a double row of trees on each side, with a fine green sward between them. The middle third of the great road is paved, and is used only in bad weather, the sides are kept in good order, and are alone used in summer. Indeed, for some miles on each side of every considerable town, and thirty or forty miles from Paris, in every direction, the road is paved in this man- ner. These roads are not so numerous as in England, but they are certainly better managed. APPEARANCE OF PARIS. 37 There are no turnpikes, and the whole of them are under the absolute controul of government, and form an article of state expenditure. At St. Denis we found a large body of English troops encamped, and the road was almost im- passable, from the frequent passing and repas- sing of heavy ordnance. Our conductor now began to point out, as day-Hght came on, the various marks of war which the country exhibi- ted. Here and there a roofless house — a bro- ken wall, or a small redoubt attracted our notice ; patroles of horse were traversing the country — waggon-loads of meat and bread were drawing towards the capital from all parts, and the im- mense numbers of peasants, with their long carts loaded with vegetables, made a very animated scene. At last we entered Paris, — the shops were just opening — the scavengers were busy at their daily labour, and every street was a market. I never saw so great an appearance of bustle and activity. The dress of the women struck me a» very neat and becoming : not one cap was to be seen — all wore handkerchiefs tied round the head, with something like an air of taste. The poissardes and market-women were dressed in a jacket, like the texture of woollen stockings, fitting close to their shape, with long sleeves and no collar, — short petticoats and wooden shoes, not like those worn in some parts of D 3 S^ BATHS OF ST. SAUVEUR. England, but made of one piece of wood hol- lowed out in the manner that children make their boats. The dress of the men did not mate- rially differ from that of the same class in Eng- land, except that great numbers were adorned with ear rings. Every part of the street appeared indifferently occupied with stalls, and the carri- ages seemed to require more than ordinary skill in the driver to cut in amongst such complicated obstacles. Before sitting down to breakfast, I requested to be shewn to the nearest and best warm baths. The porter of the inn conducted us to the Bains St. Sauveur ; the entrance was through a hand- some portico into a garden adorned with a num- ber of very excellent statues, a fountain in the centre poured its waters from vase to vase with an elegance which might have been more admired in warmer weather ; but the day was miserably cold, the rain fell in torrents, and the wind was boisterous and piercing. At the further end of the garden was the bath-house, an elegant building, fitted up quite in the Roman style, ornamented with vases and sta- tues. The little rooms were lined with marble, and floored with stone; but we looked in vain for the carpet — the fire — the hearth- rug — the curtains — the sofa, and the comr fortable gown, which are furnished in similar establishments in London, The baths were 10 BATHS OF ST. SAUVEUR. 39 only tin vessels, and the rooms were dirty « to a degree" (as the ladies say.) I was horror-struck at the idea of getting out of a warm bath and setting my feet on the cold stone. With some difficulty I obtained a pair of wooden clogs, but as to all the other com- forts they were perfectly unattainable. The man argued some time on the convenience of Captain D. and myself occupying the same bath-room, and seemed to think it a very un- necessary piece of delicacy that we should ob- ject to it J we were however peremptory on this score, and at last were succes^ul. There were no curtains to the windows, and every one bathing was completely exposed to those who were in the garden. I suppose this is no annoyance to a Frenchman, but to us it was a serious one, and we made a pretty positive vow not to visit again the baths of St. Sauveur* The price was only thirty sous, or fifteen pence, — in London it is always fivt shillings, and the waiter expects six-pence at the least. D 4f ( 40 ) m CHAPTER HI. CABRIOLETS. — BOULEVARDS. — PLACE DE LOUIS QUINZE. POTS DE CHAMBRE. WHIMSICAL CONDUCT OF THE DRIVERS. 'T^HE day after my arrival in Paris, I took a -*^ cabriolet and drove round to deliver my letters. These vehicles are like our one-horse chaises, but rather larger. Great numbers of them stand about in the streets ; they carry (if re- quired) two people, but are seldom used for more than one -— the driver sits by your side. If taken by time the fare is thirty sons for the first hour, and five and twenty for each succeed- ing : but if you neglect to make a bargain ta this effect before you set off, you are charged five and twenty sons for each time you stop, which they call so many courses. These cabrio- lets are a very great accommodation, as you can take them into places where a hackney coach cannot pass. For the latter vehicle they are paid thirty sous per course, or i^o francs for the first hour, and thirty sov^ for each hour after- wards. If you take one of them at ihe^ barriere du trone, and drive to the barriere de retoile, quite across Paris, he cannot legally demand stioie than for taking you from one house to BOULEVARDS. 41 another in the same street, although the distance is about seven or eight miles ; but nobody is so very unreasonable as to act on such a rgulation; and if you go more than two miles or three miles it is always the custom to give them something ex- tra, "to drink" — they generally expect a few half- pence " quelqiie chose pour boire'* however short the distance. — I am told that there any nearly five thousand coaches and cabriolets in Paris — I have seen them numbered as high as 4220. I walked out one morning to the Boulevards, The sun was shining, the air was mild and clear, and the sky without a cloud. On entering this grand promenade, which formerly surrounded a great part of Paris, but which is now almost the centre, 1 found such an immense concourse of people that at first I supposed it to be a fair, pr some annual fete. I was sOon, however, un- deceived, and learnt that it was the ordinary and every-day appearance. This great street forms a semicircle of about fiwQ or six miles — it is wider than Oxford-street. There is a dou- ble row of trees on each side lightly pruned into arches, so as not to spoil the growth of them ; between the trees is a very excellent broad foot- path, lined on each side with a row of stalls. The centre of the street is paved. In general the houses are w^ry large and handsome, are enormously high, and without a single exception, either built of stone or of plaster in imitation 42 BOULEVARDS. of it. The foot-path was thronged with prome- naders. Thousands were sitting down under the trees in the space between the foot-paths and houses on little chairs, let out for a penny each, drinking coffee, lemonade, ices — eating pastry — sausages or confectionary — reading new- papers or pamphlets — playing at marbles — nine-pins, or fives ; — others with cards, dominos, or chessmen. Some poor devils were reading aloud a newspaper for hire to a circle of others who have not learnt that polite accompHshment. Here stands a conjurer, who, upon looking at the lines on your hand or forehead, will not only tell you what shall hereafter happen, but will kindly add a word of advice how to grow richj with a passing hint as to the number which will come up a prize in the lottery. " His next neighbour is a vender of nostrums'* — secrets to make dis- sipation and profligacy compatible with health — remedies absolutely infallible for every disease which the human frame has been or can be sub- ject to, — washes to cure pimples — salves to make ruby lips — with soap which on once using will make your hands white and smooth as a virgin's. Next to him is a mountebank who swallows knives, balls, and puppy dogs — " shakes eggs in a bag without breaking them." Further on are tumblers — eaters of fire — balancers of pipes and straws. Wherever the eye is di- rected you encounter " sights most strange and BOULEVARDS. 43 wonderful." — stalls of dirty books — " tresselst of toys — sellers of cakes, gingerbread, and bon-bons — fan menders — bead stringers — cane sellers — beggars" — rows of ballads and filthy pictures stuck along the walls — baskets of poul. try — fragments of broken food — fellows dis- playing tricks of legerdemain — grottoes of flints and broken glass — '- show-booths of strange ani- mals — wonderful wise pigs, and calves with three tails — cabinets of stuffed birds — carica- tures — wax dolls — childrens' toys — phantas- magorias — telescopes — old clothes — " ven- ders of miraculous dyes — teachers of secrets that will enable the buyer to cut glass under water — to sketch landscapes upon Qgg shells, and engrave portraits by pricking paper with a pin, and dusting it with lamp-black — orators detailing new systems of the universe for two pence." — Ballad singers — organ grinders — flute players — fiddlers, and buffoons, with in- numerable other objects, which no memory can retain, continued through this spacious avenue for several miles ; while the houses on each side are occupied, on the ground floor, by a gay ex- hibition of milliners — linen-drapers — hosiers — print-sellers — coffee-houses — restaurateurs — baths — panoramas — the splendid triumphal arches of the porte St. Denis and porte St. Mar- tin — the magnificent fountain of Bondy — the numerous carriages — the noise of the countless 4f4f PLACE DE LOUIS QUINZE. feet and countless tongues, for every one talks aloud ; the soldiers of all nations, in all dresses j military bands and military equipages, altogether formed a scene more complicated, more various and more extraordinary than any other capital of the world can exhibit. From the Boulevards I passed on to the Place de Louis Quinze, a very large and noble square at the extremity of the gardens of the Tuilleries, which form one side of it. Another side is formed by the magnificent building called the Garde Meuble du Roi ; a third is bounded by the river, with the Palais Bourbon on the op- posite side of the water, now occupied by the Chamber of Deputies ; and the fourth joins the Champs ElyseeSy a large park of trees planted in straight lines or quincunx order, and which consequently form alleys in every direction. Through the middle of the Champs Ely sees runs the grand road to the triumphal arch which Buonaparte began and carried to the height of about fifty feet, but was afterwards too busy to finish. It is surrounded with scaffolding, and standing on the summit of the hill directly op- posite the great gate of the Palace, it forms a very striking object even in its present imperfect state. The square, (of which I have spoken,) was formerly called the Place de la Revolution^ but during the time of Buonaparte its name was changed to Place de Concorde, and it was CHAMPS ELYSEES. 45 only on the entrance of the King, in the year 1814, that it resumed its original appella- tion of the Flace de Louis XV. Standing in the centre, on the very spot where the King was beheaded, I could see on the left hand small piquets of Prussians ; cannon at each bridge with lighted matches, and every prepa- ration for sudden attack; artillery and ammu- nition were traversing the square in great num- bers. Just'opposite the mouths of the cannon were mountebanks, and tumblers, and stalls covered with toys. In the gardens of the Tuil- leries, (still in the line of fire,) great numbers of well-dressed people were walking about or sitting under the trees reading newspapers and eating ices. In front I saw, amongst the trees of the Champs Elysees, long rows of white canvas, and a range of ammunition waggons, the red dresses of the soldiers, as they appeared between the trees, in small groups at every opening, shewed to what nation they belonged. English soldiers in Paris as conquerors — a town which had never seen them but as prisoners for more than four hundred years. I could scarcely persuade myself of the fact, and that I was there to wit- ness it. A very few years ago, and such a consummation would have been thought im- possible. We seem to have lived centuries within the last twenty years — the events — 46 POTS DE CMAMBRE. the might/ events which have taken place in that space of time, have crouded ages into years. Our grand-children will ask us if we really went about the ordinary business and occupations of life, or if we did not sit down in astonishment and dismay. Among the many things I have to be thankful for, I always reckon the being born an Englishman, and the having lived at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries. I am inclined to think that we shall form much more entertaining old men than the generations which have preceded us. Captain D having joined me, we took seats in a kind of carriage, of which great num- bers are always standing about this spot ; they are known by the rather indelicate name of Pots de Chambrey and have really no other ap- pellation. They resemble the small shows which travel from fair to fair in England — are on two wheels — drawn by one horse, and hold six people inside, besides one who rides on the bar with the driver — making eight for one horse ! — they go to all the surrounding villages, and the price is entirely arbitrary — ^you make the best bargain you can, and very often passengers at the same time have some paid one franc, aud some two and a half, to go the same distance. They set off when they are full, and no rhetoric will induce tbem to depart sooner j but they COACHMEJf. 47 contrive to amuse the time very ingeniously with " just going Sir ;" " only waiting for one passenger ;" " I see him running Sir ;" and then he has " to take up two gentlemen at a coffee-house, so that you may see plainly that he only waits for one person/' though there are three places yet unoccupied. If you should be very impatient, and threaten to get out of the vehicle, he sets off, drives you fairly round the square, and comes back to the same place, " only just to take up a lady who is lame," or ** a gentleman who has lost his leg," and who has sent word he will be here directly. When time at last detects the falsehood of the stra- tagem, it is amusing to observe the perfect ease with which the coachman listens to your com- plaints ; he assures you with great respect, that he pays a very high price for his cart and his licence, and really cannot afford to go off without his complement; begs you to excuse the deception, which he says is " all in the way of business," and that had you got out and tried another you would probably have been worse served, for he is always noted to be the most punctual driver on the stand. Desires you to notice his number, that you may honour him with your commands another time ; hopes you ride easy ; turns his back, and drives on without further ceremony. ( 48 ) CHAPTER IV. ENCAMPMENT IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. GERMAN LEGION. WOUNDED OFFICER. MESS-TABLE. MILI- TARY CONVERSATION. BATTLE OF WATERLOO. HAVING recognized some of our acquain- tances in the camp of the Champs Elysees, and exchanged congratulations on the present posture of affairs, we passed on along the avenue of Neuilly, (which is a continuation of the great road through the Champs Elysees,) to the Bois de Boulogne. We turned in at a pair of large iron gates on the lefit hand, and saw one of those extraordinary sights which to a man who had never travelled out of the peaceable king- dom of Great Britain, excited feelings so va- rious, so novel, and so intense, that the im- pression can never be effaced. Ninety-five thousand men, (chiefly English,) were scattered over a space, apparently not larger than Hyde Park. It had once been covered with under- wood, of hazle, birch, and hawthorn, intersected by several roads, planted on each side with elm and oak. Soon after the troops took possession of this spot, the brushwood took fire from ne- gligence, and destroyed a very large part of. B#rS DE BOULOGNE. 49 ^e camp. This accident occurring a second time, it was all ordered to be cut down. At intervals, where the shrubs grew close enough, and were in a convenient situation, the troops had taken the liberty of evading the order, by tying them together into a kind of hut; cutting out those which grew in the centre, and plaiting in furze or small twigs, so as to make a tolerably complete shelter. In some places they had stuck large boughs intg the ground for the same purpose. In others huts were built of broom, or of turf, or of basket work. Some formed of long poles, leaned against a tree, tied at the top, and rudely thatched with straw or furze ; others made of old boards, and covered with tarpaulin, and some composed of so many materials, that it is quite impossible to enumerate them. These various habitations were intermingled with white tents scattered about with a most perfect disre- gard of order and arrangement. The whole had more the air of a camp of wandering Arabs than of a regular European army. The soldiers were rambling about in all directions; some playing at quoits, some at goiF, others at foot- ball, some wrestling, and some racing. Here were blacksmiths shoeing horses. TherCy sad- dlers at work in the open air. Here squatted a congregation of tailors ; in another place were soldiers cleaning their accoutrements; 50 BOIS DE BOULOGNiPi farther on, a row of noisy washer-women ; a group of raw recruits learning the ABC of war under the cane of a sturdy serjeant ; a troop of newly -eiilisted horses training to the same occupation ; a circle of troops round one who has had the good luck to obtain an En- glish newspaper ; some dancing ; some fluteing, drinking, gambling and swearing. Frenchmen and Frenchwomen rambling about with pastry, ribbons and laces, toys for the soldiers' children, fried sausages, sheeps' heads, pies, fruit and confectionary ; shirts, shoes, trinkets, old clothes, and a thousand other things ; scream- ing out their various wares in every note of the gamut, and many others which are not to be found there. No cooking being allowed in the camp in consequence of the repeated fires which had done so much damage, that essential process was carried on in the open air against the high barrier wall which forms one side of the encampment, and which is a continuation of that which entirely surrounds Paris. Against this wall was a range of fires of, I should think, liboi^t a mile in extent -, and as there was no kind of covering, I could see roasting, boiling, frying and stewing, all going on at the same time. Fowls> turkies, hares, partridges, beef, mutton and veal, with every thing else that ever has been or is the food of man, were here preparing according to the ^Arious tastes of the GERMAN LEGION^ 51 various nations and tribes who were to partake of them. Still farther on, I ohserved small parties of troops firing at marks, bands of music, organs, ballad-singers, and hurdy-gurdy grinders. The noise, the continued movement, the number and variety of objects, the recollection of the cause which had assembled so many men from all the regions of the civilized globe iti a place which had hitherto been used only as the peace- able weekly promenade of the Parisians ; the striking example it presented of the instability of human grandeur. — The sight of the very men who just displayed a degree of courage and of constancy to which our history (fertile as it is in glorious events) cannot furnish a parallel. — These, and a thousand other ideas, rushed through my mind with a degree of vividness and intensity which quite overpowered and confounded me. With some difficulty Captain D, found out the position of his regiment, and immediately entered on his duties. I passed to the German Legion, which was almost at the extremity of the encampment. I found Lieut. in a small tent, an accommodation which very few of the officers of his corps could boast of. Some bushes were left standing round it to keep off the sun, and their green branches con- trasted very prettily with the white canvass of E 2 52 WOUNDED OFFICER. the tent. A young officer severely wounded in the battle of Waterloo, occupied nearly half the space of the inside by a rude bed, formed of forked sticks driven into the ground, and a few dead boughs laid upon them. Straw was all that was added to form his resting-place, and a single blanket for his covering. The very circumstance of having been wounded in a battle which saved Europe so much of suffer- ing, and placed England on so high a pinnacle of worldly glory, was quite enough to excite a deep interest in his fate; but his countenance was so exceedingly prepossessing ; there was such an air of calm resignation and patient endurance of pain in his voice and manner, that 1 felt quite a painful anxiety for his wel* fare. He was not more than eighteen years of age, and was 1 think, the handsomest young man I ever saw. His father had been killed in a previous engagement, and he was the sole hope of a mother who doated on him. He had himself chosen his present abode, being an in- timate friend of , and preferring his society, though with such very scanty accommodations, to the hospital where he must have constantly be- fore his eyes so many objects of misery and disease. He, as well as all the officers whom I have had an opportunity of seeing, complain bitterly of the conduct of Lord Wellington keeping them in camp to so late a period after MESS-TABLii. 5S their arrival, while the Prussians have taken up their abode in Paris, where they are enjoying- themselves ad libitum, and laughing at the En- glish for attempting to conciliate their adver- saries by forbearance. I think the Prussians have formed the most correct estimate of the French character ; but as they were not allowed to act upon it to the full extent, the allied army suffers the inconveniences of both lines of conduct ; having offended past forgiveness, but not punished sufficiently to intimidate so as to produce unqualified submission. I afterwards dined at the mess ; it was a long hut of wattled furze lightly thatched with straw, and left open for the upper half at each end. We had an excellent dinner in the English style, and a profusion of the most delicious wine. The whole was furnished by contract with a Frenchman to whom they paid two francs a day and their rations. But this, I be- lieve, included their breakfast also, which in France is quite as substantial, and as compli- cated a meal as dinner. I was much gratified with the conversation, which was more rational and more entertaining than I have usually heard at a me€s table. One naturally expects on these occasions a little military information, and it is extremely mortifying to have every thing of that kind quashed by the cant word " parish," which is in such general use. The E 3 54 MILITARY CONVERSATION. allusion is to the conversation of overseers and so forth being entirely confined to their own parish affairs ; and (to use another cant phrase) every professional topic among military men is^ supposed to " smell of the shop." In the pre- sent instance I was most agreeably disappointed j they saw the avidity with which I was looking for information, and each tried to gratify my curiosity to the extent of his power. The great battle was narrated by those who had taken rather more than their share in it ; almost every officer present having been among the number who defended with such heroic perseverance the position of La Haye Sainte^ where only two escaped unwounded, and where the de- struction was so great, that in almost all the accounts of that conflict, they are stated to have been " put to the sword." Every one seemed to agree that our army was several times on the point of being compelled to retreat — that had the Prussians been one hour later we must have retired from the field, — that the whole army was so thoroughly exhausted they could not possibly exert themselves any longer, and that had they made one retrograde step the confusion would have been horrible ; the Belgian troops, who had conducted them- selves in so cowardly and disgraceful a manner in the field, had destroyed and plundered the waggons in our rear, overturned them in the BATTLE OF WATERLOO. OD road, and galloped off with the horses. It would not have been an easy task to have withstood an army of Frenchmen so commanded and so ani- mated, had they only opposed to us equal num- bers, but the disproportion was so much against us, that it is generally agreed Buonaparte's force exceeded ours by half the amount of our whole army. In this estimate we do not of course in- clude the Belgians, on whom so little reliance was placed that Lord Wellington only asked them to make a shew in a position and wait at least till they were attacked. This, however, they did not think Jizir to their former masters, and accordingly scampered away at the noise of the first cannon. Lord Welhngton is reported, on good authority, to have exclaimed when he heard of their flight " Damn them, let them run, so as they don't run the other way," it being gene- rally thought (previous to the battle) that they would take the first convenient opportunity of deserting in a body. I staid till the sound of the evening trumpets reminded me that I had several miles to walk before I could reach my home. My new friends told me it was not very safe to be late, as since the Prussians had indulged themselves in scraping together strayed property, it was a very common thing for Frenchmen to be detected helping themselves in the same manner ; and that several had been arrested in the Prussian uniform, hav- E 4 56 RETURN HOME. ing taken advantage of the terror inspired by that dress to facihtate their depredations. G. walked with me to the barriere de Vetoile across the fields, from which point up to Paris there was a regular chain of sentries. As I passed along the gieat avenue each challenged me in succession. My great coat, however, was so falpably English that I met with no interrup- tion, and arrived at my lodgings about half past nine, highly gratified with the occurrences of the day. ( SI ) CHAPTER V. DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO, BY A YOXTSO OFFICER. RETURN OVER THE FIELD OF BATTLE BY MOONLIGHT. — OCCURRENCES ATFER THE BATTLE. A VERY young officer whom I met with, -^~^ and with whom I afterwards became ac- quainted, described to me with great naivete his own share in the battle. He came from school only a few days before, and scarcely had time to try on his regimentals and admire his person in a looking-glass at Brussels, when the trumpet called him to the field ; he was in the very heat of the action in that part where the slaughter was greatest. " When I look back,*' said he, "I wonder how it was possible to have got out of such a scene alive. I do not re- member being afraid, at least after the battle was really begun ; but the preparation for it was dreadful. I had never seen a quarrel more serious than those of my school-fellows ; I had never seen a corpse, and I had passed so sud- denly from the game of cricket to the present terrible pastime, that I could hardly believe my senses, and heartily wished myself back at Har- row. The time we were in position before the fighting began, seems to me longer than the dS THE FIELD OF BATTLE, whole day ; I looked at my watch, impatient al- most for sunset, and found it was ^we o'clock in the morning. When the firing commenced my feelings began to change, I was immediately en- gaged, and I believe behaved like the rest. I remember a scene of noise and confusion, of bloodshed and fury, but nothing more, and could scarcely credit the testimony of my watch as to the number of hours we had been fighting. I was among those who pursued the enemy for some distance from the field of battle, and as the junior officer of the party, was sent back at midnight over the field with a colour which had been taken in the pursuit — how shall I de- scribe so dreadful a sight ? I would rather en- counter ten more battles than such another visit to the scene of one. It was moon-light, and as far as the eye could reach was blood and destruction, broken carriages, horses wounded and dying, killing in their death-struggle the poor maimed creatures who were promiscuously intermingled with them, the groans of the wounded, the vain calls for help in all the lan- guages of the various combatants, the howling of dogs, and the occasional shots fired by the wound- ed at the straggling plunderers, with the screams of those whom they were attacking, altogether made an impression which nothing can ever efface from my mind. * For God's sake, Sir, don't, let your horse tread on me,' cried one. OCCURRENCES AFTER THE BATTLE. 59 'Take care of my broken leg,' said another. < Oh, you'll crush my head. Sir.' * Pray, pray keep off, my thighs are broken.' ' For the love of God, Sir, give me a little water.' * Oh take this to my poor wife. Sir, I am dying.' — Such were the sounds which rung in my ears on all sides; for some time I guided my horse cau- tiously between the bodies to avoid trampling on them, but at last my mind was so overpowered with the dreadful scene, that I could bear it no longer, and striking the spurs furiously into his sides, I galloped over the field, regardless of the piteous complaints around, and reached my resting-place, in a state of mind little short of madness." However dreadful this scene might be, it was as nothing in comparison of those which follow- ed. One of the surgeons related to me a cir- cumstance to which no description can do justice. Three days after the battle, information was brought to the English camp hospital, that a considerable number of wounded Frenchmen had been discovered in a retired village which had been deserted by the inhabitants, and that the poor wretches had neither received food nor surgical aid since the battle. The gentleman who narrated this to me was appointed immedi- ately to take charge of some loads of biscuit and meat, and proceed without delay to their assistance. ** When I arrived there," said he, 1 60 OCCURRENCES AFTER THE BATTLE. ** the poor mangled creatures were starving and furious. Broken arms and legs did not prevent them from scrambling up the sides of the wag- gons to seize the food they had so long been de- prived of, they could not wait for its distribu- tion. Faces gashed with sabre cuts or mutilated by shots, limbs broken or half amputated, sur- rounded me with piteous cries of horror ; many died in the attempt, as the exertion burst open their wounded blood-vessels, and I was obliged to resort to blows ineffectually to keep off the horrible mob of maniacs ; the soldiers entreated me to give orders that they should use their swords, but though I knew that many must perish for want of a regular distribution of the food, I could not resolve to enforce it by so ., dreadful an alternative. Surgical assistance was out of the question, indeed by far the greater number only asked for something to eat, and then be left to die." Such are the accompaniments of a great bat- tle, and such are the sufferings of many who have fought bravely therein ; and while these things are taking place around the scene of action, we are exulting at home at the glory of the vic- tory. Bells are ringing, guns firing, the win- dows are illuminated, and the multitude parades the streets in joyous intoxication, little reflect- ing that at such a moment thousands are perish- ing under every accumulation of misery, pain^ PUBLIC FEELING. 6l want, and despair. — Well, so is the world constituted, if we could know all the wretched- ness that exists we must be either senseless or miserable. Let us, however, so far bear it in mind as to feel it a duty to afford every possi- ble aid to the sufferers, before we give full scope to our exultation and pride, and to that happy conviction of security which their unparallelled efforts have procured for us. In the present in- stance this has been done gloriously, and happy is the country that has such men to fight for it, happy the men who have a country so well worth fighting for. ( 62 ) CHAPTER VI. CHAPELLE ROYALE. MASS. SALLE DES MARECHAUX. THE KING. THE ARCHBISHOP OF RHEIMS. INTERIOR OF THE PALACE. ONE Sunday morning I went with Madame R. and Mr. L. to the chapel royal. The entrance is by a very elegant stone stair-case, on which were arranged the CentSuisses grenadiers, a fine body of men, the shortest of whom ex- ceeds six feet in height, and who are only used for purposes of ceremony. They made a very elegant appearance as they rose one above an- ther to the top, a soldier being placed at each end of each step, thus forming a lane. The floor of the hall was warmed by means of stoves, and (though the weather was intensely cold) re- mained at a mild summer heat. We waited about an hour, before we were allowed to ascend the steps, the grand officers of state necessarily preceding us into the chapel. At last we en- tered a very splendid saloon, on the right hand of which were windows looking into the court yard of the Tuilleries, and on the left a set of doors to correspond, which opened into a gallery the whole length of the chapel, forming with it, as it were, one room. Looking into the chapel CHAPELLE ROYALE. 6S from one of these openings, on the right was a gallery filled with singers and musicians, and at the left hand extremity a similar gallery for the king, hung with crimson velvet richly orna- mented with gold fringe. A small door in the centre gave admission to it, and (when in) the curtains being drawn round formed a complete semi-circle. The great saloon was presently filled with peers, deputies, generals, marshals, ladies and foreign officers all in the most splen- did dresses, forming a veiy grand and imposing coup d'ceiL In half an hour one of the king's state-footmen opened the door of the saloon, and thundered out Monsieur. This insignifi- cant word, pronounced in so pompous a tone, sounded something like Dr. Johnson's story of the Mussulman, <* In the name of the most holy prophet, figs." It is certainly a most un- dignified appellation for a great man. The Count immediately entered, preceded by many marshals and general officers, and walked straight on without seeming to see any one. Presently the drums in the church rolled a loud peal to announce the approach of the King. The crimson velvet curtain was drawn aside, the door opened, and a man advanced to the front and cried out Le Rot in a voice that shook the building. I could observe that stage eflTect was very much consulted on the occasion, and perhaps it is all right and necessary. The King 64 MASS. placed himself in a great arm chair gilt all over* Monsieur was on his right hand and the Du- chesse d'Angouleme on his left. On a signal given, the music commenced, and I received from it a higher gratification than I can possibly express. Mass was performed entirely in mu- sic ; several boys with very fine voices ; an Italian named Theodore, Ccalled the best singer of sacred music in the world,) a number of tenor and bass singers ; and several kinds of instru- ments, formed a more exquisite combination of sounds than I had ever heard before. I was in raptures with it. All this time the gentry in the great saloon kept walking backwards and forwards talking aloud with the most perfect indifference, as if they had been in the street. I felt quite indignant at the stupidity which could not enjoy the music, and at the ill manners which prevented us from enjoying it. Never till this day could I conceive any thing solemn in the tingle tingle of the little bell during the elevation of the host, hitherto it had only excited disgust from it incongruity, and, indeed, I never could avoid considering that part of the ceremony as a species of blas- phemy, God himself being supposed at that moment to descend on the piece of wafer bread, and change it into the flesh of Christ. On the present occasion, however, it had a fine effect, every one ceased speakiiig at the same moment SALLE DES MARECHAUX. 65 and dropt on his knee. There was a profound silence for about two minutes, when a single voice scarcely audible, gradually swelled out to its utmost compass, joined by the others in suc- cession, and with the addition of the organ and other instruments, formed a full chorus, till the chapel seemed bursting with harmony. The voices dropt off one by one till it melted into si- lence. Another tingle tingle announced that mass was finished, when the whole audience joined in a loud hallelujah. The soldiers who were placed between each pillar presented arms, the drums beat a long roll announcing the de* partureof the King, and the assembly dispersed. As we had been furnished with *' Billets d' en^ tree'* by one of the peers, and as the same ticket would not admit us twice, we determined to stay in the palace till vespers, and in the mean time amuse ourselves by inspecting the apartments. The first was the Salle des Marechaux ; it is a lofty, square room, with a sloping cieling which goes half-way into the roof. A gallery reaches round the whole room, about midway from the floor to the cieling. The name is given from its containing portraits of all the marshals. Only fourteen now remain, some of them having been removed in disgrace, as Murat, Soult, and Ney. The names of those which remain are, as far as I can recollect, Serrurier, who has no additional title,— Mar mont, Duke of Ragusa, who made his F 66 GARDES DU CORPS. appearance to-day with both his arms on, though he is asserted in our dispatches to have lost one at the battle of Salamanca. — Suchet, Duke of Albufera. — Macdonald, Duke of Tarentum. — Berthier, Prince of Neuchatel and Wagram. — Moncey, Duke of Coinegliano. — Augereau, Duke of Castiglione. — Mortier, Duke of Treviso. — Victor, Duke of Belluno. — Lasnes, Duke of Montebello. , Duke of Valmy. Duke of Rivoli. — Oudinot, Duke of Reggie, — and Jourdan. Unless their portraits do them great injustice, the whole set were intended by dame Nature to ornament the gallows. If we except Serrurier and Macdonald, who alone have the least pre- tensions to the appearance of gentlemen, the rest look like pick-pockets an4 scoundrels. If we are to apply the rule " Noscitur a sociis^' to Buonaparte, and give any credit to physiognomy, we must set him down many pegs lower than a hero. I remained for a considerable time in conver- sation with the gardes du corps of the King ; a sort of guard of honour composed entirely of gentlemen, of which the privates have the rank and pay of lieutenants. I found them a very intelligent set of men, and tolerably impartial in their strictures upon every thing except the "English government ; with respect to which, they had as many prejudices as any private sol- THE KING. 67 dier in the Frencli army. 1 found amongst them that eternal and unnecessary comparison with the English which so often has disgusted me amongst my own countrymen. In every possible situation the burthen of the song is still " How would the English act, or speak, or think, under similar circumstances," just as we used to hav^e dinned in our ears, a few years ago, upon all occasions, " They manage these matters better in France." All other nations are to be put com- pletely out of the question, and the French and Englisli seem to think their own quarrels, their habits, their manners, and their politics, alone worthy to occupy the attention of the universe. In the afternoon the King again made his ap- pearance ; he traversed the Salle des Marechaux very slowly, with gouty step and legs apart. He is enormously fat, but has not a large helly ; across the loins he is wider than any man I ever saw, and looking at him behind is certainly a most uncouth figure^ and extremely unwieldy ; and he walks with the greatest difficulty. His countenance is pleasing, with an air of thorough goodness, and certainly of intelligence. Many people affect to consider him as a fool, but he has given sufficient proof to the contrary ; audit is rather unfortunate for him that the wo^'is so ready to confound personal infirmity with men- tal imbecility. He took no notice of the plaudits which resounded from all parts. The Count F 2 f)8 ARCHBISHOP OF RHEIMS. d' Artois, however, who followed him, cast a look of disdain as if he would have said, (if he durst,) <*Damn you all together for a pack of scoundrels." Of all the sanctified, demure, hypocritical countenances I ever saw, the most complete is that of the King's almoner. Never did painter represent TartuiFe with such extraordinary fide- lity. He looks as if he would make you believe thai he had neither parts nor passions ~ that gall and honey were equal to his taste ; and that if you smote one cheek, he would literally turn the other : yet there is something at the corner of the eye which seems to say, that all his gravity and coldness are only a cloak to some- thing he wishes to conceal 5 the visage is really one of the most disagreeable I ever saw. — He is the uncle of the famous Talleyrand, and has the title of Archbishop of Rheims. If he be really an honest man, he has good cause of complaint against Nature for doing him so much injustice. I mention his appearance, because I know it is exceedingly injurious to the King's cause, and gives a very unfavourable impression. There is a man named Baptiste, at the Theatre rran9ais, who imitates him so exactly, that one can scarcely avoid the idea of their identity ; and the audience applaud him with a vigour that shews they perceive and approve his intention. While the King was gone to vespers, Madame R. and I w^ent through the palace. The splen* INTERIOR OF THE PALACE. fi9 dour of the rooms is beyond description, the good taste which is disphiyed is no less admir- able. The first chamber is the salon bleUf fit- ted up with blue satin and gold fringe ; the next the salon de la Paia:, in which is a very large sta- tue of peace in solid silver, (but a clumsy sort of thing,) and the largest mirrors- in the world* The next is the salon du trbne^ where state cere- monials take place, as magnificent as Biionaparte could make it, crimson velvet on the steps of the . throne — canopy of the same, with deep fringe of gold, the room lined with velvet, em- broidered with stars of gold. The fifth is called the chambre de con sell ; and the sixth the gal- lery of Diana. At each end is an enormous vase of the most beautiful porcelaine, probably fifteen or eighteen feet high, between marble pil- lars, and having at the back mirrors reaching from the floor to the ceiling, so that standing in the middle of the room, the view is prolonged indefinitely, and you seem to see each way half a mile. The cieling is painted beautifully, but is so extensive, so complicated, divided into so many compartments, and finished so minutely, that it would require a week to examine, and thrice that time to describe it. We next went to the King's bed-chamber, which is also hung with crimson velvet richly ornamented with gold lace, the curtains of satin, embroidered with Jleurs de lis, the bed-clothes of very fine cloth of F 3 70 INTERIOR OF THE PALACE. the same colour, also embroidered wiihjieurs de lis, the canopy drawn together by a most superb crown, and the bed surrounded with massy rail- ing all gilt. I was surprised to observe that in this very severe weather there was not a carpet through- out the palace : boards form the middle of the room, and marble at the edges ; they are never washed, but are supposed to be rubbed bright ; this is far from being the case however, as they only throw down sand and sweep it off again ; — there was a profusion of splendour, but no coniforU In the picture of ]\Iarshal Jourdan there is a hat with the tri-coloured cockade. Some of the gentlemen of the gardes du corps had pinned a white one over it, made of paper, the other being supposed offensive to the eyes of the King. Indeed all parties seemed vastly anxious to shew their attachment to the present dynasty, by evincing contempt for that which is just superseded. They are very busy through- out the palace, as in all other public buildings, in effacing the N, the thunder, and the eagle ; though these two are often spared ** for want of time." Ajeu de mot on this subject, when Alex- ander was at Paris, is worth repeating. A couple of doggrel verses remarked that Alexander had " les A mis partout,'*' (amis), but Buonaparte «' ks N mis partouf' (ennemis). 2 INTERIOR OF THE PALACE. Ji The deling of the great saloon adjoining the chapel of which I have spoken, had till lately a very fine painting by David, representing the battle of Marengo ; but when Blucher paid his second visit to Paris, he gave orders to efface it, which was accordingly done, and very effec- tually ; and it now presents only a surface of white mortar. This is pointed out to you with a shrug of the shoulders, and a gentle cast of the eyes upwards. T 4 ( 72 ) CHAPTER VII. JARDIN DES PLANTES. TEMPLE. COLLECTION OF FOSSILS, MINERALS, AND OTHER OBJECTS OF NATURAL HISTORY. ON the seventh of November, I went to the Jardin des Plantes, a very large national establishment for the cultivation of Botany and Natural History. As you first enter the garden^ there is, on the right hand, a long range of dens, containing lions, tigers, monkies, and such other animals as form a usual exhibition in England. Further on, are a number of pits sunk in the ground, and surrounded with a low wall with recesses un- derground connected with them. They contain bears, wolves, &c. who have thus comparative liberty. From the constant succession of visi- tors, they are become exceedingly tame. I no- ticed a large black bear, who climbed a dead tree planted in his den, at the word of command, and got down again very safely. We next passed through the green-houses, which do not contain any thing extraordinary, and are not kept up at all in the style I should have ex- pected. They were more slovenly than any JARDIN DES PLANTES. 7<5 gardener's at Chelsea, and the arrangement of the plants neither commodious, elegant nor scientific. In distant parts of the garden were various en- closures, or little paddocks, surrounded by light trellis work ; within which elks, antelopes, white goats, deer and other animals rambled about^ and formed some very picturesque groups : all kinds of aquatic fow^s were here collected to- gether in a sort of aviaries, with small ponds in the centre. Birds that could not be entrusted .with such a degree of liberty, were confined in little cells fronted with wdre ; and I under- stand, that there is scarcely one species in existence, but of which there is a specimen here ; some peacocks of dazzling white attracted my notice ; their tails exhibited the same argus eye as the common sort, but it resembled the pattern on damask linen, and had a most beau- tiful appearance. There were also some silver and gold pheasants, with very splendid plu- mage : all the other kinds I had seen before, though not living, A large building, like a temple, is devoted to the reception of a very fine young elephant, said to be the largest in Europe : he is white, and appears to me about twelve or thirteen feet high ; but I could not learn his real size, and only guess from comparing him with myself as J stood near him. ,' Among the live animals, I noticed a most 7^ JARDIN DES 1PLANTE6. beautiful ounce; the only species in the col- lection which was not already familiar to me. Two camels are employed at a wheel which furnishes the garden with water, and in general the animals are rendered useful as far as pos- sible. Walking further, we came to a considerable eminence, entirely covered with every species of fir, cedar, pine, and cypress ; a winding path conducts you by two or three circumvo- lutions to the summit, on which is a very ele- gant circular brass temple, consisting of eight slender pillars, supporting an armillary sphere and dial. On the frieze is inscribed : — " Horas non numero nisi serenas. — " A kind of equivoque, as applied to the dial, and not an inappropriate allusion to a philoso- phical serenity of mind, ** I do not count the hours unless they be tranquil.*' Formerly a burning-glass was placed here, so contrived as to set fire to a small cannon when \he sun came to his meridian on a clear day. From this tern- pie you have a superb view of Paris ; almost every public building is distinctly visible, as well as the surrounding villages. A man attends with a very good telescope, for the use of which you pay a penny. An hour or two may be passed here very pleasantly by this means, as the objects are so numerous and interesting. JARDIN DES PLANTER. 75 -' Tlie next object of curiosity, is the cabinet of minerals, fossils, and insects, with the col- lection of birds, &c. stuffed. The more valua- ble are enclosed in cases with very large plate- glass fronts, through which they are seen per- fectly and distinctly, and are thus defended from the effects of isrnorant curiosity. 1 ob- sei-ved great numbers of common soldiers, and amongst them many of our own, rambling up and down the rooms apparently much delighted with an exhibition which is inaccessible to them in England ; they seemed to partake that feel- ing of respectful admiration which I have so often noticed among the very lowest classes of French ; and the keeper of the museum told me he was not in the least apprehensive of their doing any mischief to the articles within their reach. Cuvier has very ingeniously completed fossil skeletons of various animals at present extinct, by putting together fragments found at different places and different times ; the greater part of them have been extracted from the quarries of Montmartre. I noticed among them an enorr mous tusk of an elephant more than thiee feet in circumference — the bones of the mammoth, and of another very curious large animal, also extinct, called onoplotherion. The cabinet contains a very splendid collec- tion also of minerals, better arranged and muct 76 JARDIN DES PLANTES. more complete than those in the British Mu- seum. The butterflies were also noticed for- merly as peculiarly elegant and very numerous ; but there are at present very few remaining, as the Emperor of Austria v/as so polite as to ask for them ; — he being a great connoisseuir, a great patron of the arts, and a great friend to the French, they were given without hesitation. The little circumstance of his having three hundred thousand men in the country, might perhaps have some slight influence in the matter. 1 remarked some very fine specimens of sul- phate of lime among the minerals, and among the stuflfed animals, a curious Ethiopian wild boar ; though why so named I am at a loss to conceive, as it bears no resemblance, the body being rather like a deer, and the head very much like the hippopotamus. There was also a beautiful little deer, not more than four or five inches in height, (chevrotan pijgme,) and of the most elegant proportions. There is said to be a specimen of the mam- moth's hair in this collection ; I did not see it, but it is entered in the descriptive catalogue, with the following story appended. ** In the year 1805, the body of this animal was disco- vered in a block of ice in the country of the Tonguses in Siberia, and in such a state of pre- servation, that the dogs devoured the flesh when JARDIN DES PLANTES. 77 thawed and extricated : it is supposed to have remained in that state several thousand years." At the end of the gallery, are two of the best paintings of the kind I ever saw in my life. One represents a lion in the act of des- troying a stag ; and the other an eagle devour- ing a lamb. Although drawn in the boldest and most masterly style, they are afterwards laboured with a degree of minuteness which would do honour to the ChevaHer de Barde, or to the most patient Chinese artist. The anatomical collection I did not see, as my time was very limited, and I had been given to understand that it was very inferior to that at VEcole de Medicine, and was principally a collection of imitations in wax. The latter is by no means equal to many of those belonging to private individuals in England. ( 78 ) CHAPTER VIIL KOBERTSOX S PHILOSOPHICAL THEATRE. SPEAKING MA- CHINE. -— GARDENS OF THE TUJLLERIES. MODELS OF FORTRESSES AT THE HOTEL DES INVALIDS. ROBERTSON'S Philosophical Theatre on the Boulevards, is a very pleasant, rational source of entertainment. I was only able to see it once ; and like many other of the objects of curiosity at Paris, was obliged to content myself with the best information which my time would allow, and not the best which the case admitted of, bearing always in mind, thai however worthy they might be of notice and observation, they were not the motive of my visit to Paris. 1. The exhibition commenced with a series of optical, mechanical, and philosophical experi- ments, with the air-pump, &c. The invisible girl — a phenomenon now pretty generally un- derstood : in the present case the sound was conveyed, I believe, by means of small holes in the railing opposite the trumpets into which you speak. ^. A very ingenious representation of a spectre Robertson's theatre. 79 by looking into a mirror through a telescope. This, I imagine, was contrived by placing a reflector about the middle of the telescope, where it joined the stem which supported it, and which was fixed to the table ; the table being covered with a cloth, and the stem of the teles- cope hollow, reaching through the floor. A mirror placed below opposite to it, would repre- sent correctly any moving figure in the chamber beneath, would reflect this to the glass placed diagonally in the tube of the telescope ; and this again would send the rays to the eye. The other end of the telescope towards the mirror was of course intended only for deception. 3. The face of a young girl which, on looking at it through a telescope fixed in the same manner changed to a death's head. I believe the centre of the large lens was blackened, and the edges of it cut into facets ; the colours round the girl's head, which seemed to make only an ornamental border, when broken, pro- bably formed the skeleton's head, while the real face was invisible from the centre being; dark- ened. 4. A cupid apparently flying in the middle of the room, and only visible in certain posi- tions. This, without doubt, was produced by a convex mirror reflecting a picture concealed from the spectator, and forming its represent- ation exactly at the focus. There is an absurd 80 IlOfiERTSON^S THEATRE. Story about Buonaparte frightening the King of Prussia with a trick of this kind, but it deserves no credit whatever. 5. A group of lih'es formed by the same means, apd so contrived as to rest on some lily stalk^ in a garden-pot which stood on a pedestal. 6. The galvanic perpetual motion — an in- verted pendulum between two bells ; one elec- trified negatively, and the other positively, and moving from one to the other gently ; of course this must be perpetual in one sense till the ma- chine wears out, but as it has no poxcer^ it can- not be applied to any useful purpose whatever. 7. A circular picture diyided in the middle by a brass band, on which were inscribed the words, ** Revolution Frangaise,'^ The upper part represented the guillotine at work — houses burning, and soldiers murdering children. On turning the picture the other side upwards, it represented the King on his throne with the emblems of peace and happiness, &c. ; and by the same motion, the letters which composed the words, " Revolution Frangaise*^ separated, and re-arranged themselves into " La France veut son Roi.'' The machinery by which they were contrived, was very ingenious, and the coincidence is one of the most extraordinary which has ever been noticed. 8,. The bay of Naples painted on several Robertson's theatre. 81 sheets of glass, which, being placed one behind the other, at different distances, give a very curious and perfect perspective. 9. A magnified insect, about the size of a beetle, seemingly composed of diamonds, but infinitely more brilliant — with other of the common diamond beetles. 10. A set of phantasmagoria, exceedingly well managed — and representing all the emi- nent characters of Europe. By far the most interesting object in the exhibition was, how- ever, a machine invented by Robertson to imi- tate the voice. I at first supposed it to be a deception with ventriloquism, but the man allowed me to examine its structure. It con- sisted principally of a pair of bellows, with a mouth resembling that of a carp when half open. There was a great deal of mechanism in the throat, and the effect was complete. The M. and B. were produced by putting the hand against the mouth ; the whole required much management, but I could make it utter several sentences myself, though not so dis- tinctly as Robertson. It said cher papa — chere mamati — je vous aime fort tendrement — com- Tuent vous portez vous Madame Robertson. Then it began to whimper and cry — Ma-ma-n — Je ne vous aime pas — mechante maman, S^c. S^c, By practice I have not the least doubt but it j«ight be made to speak English very perfectly ; 8^ GARDEN OF THE TUILLERIES. but the eu, eux, he, of the French language are obstacles which are yet insurmountable. The man deserves great credit for the patient in- genuity which has accomplished so much, and it is fair to presume that the machine admits of improvement to such a degree as to be available by the dumb who are not deaf. It . approaches much nearer to the perfect orator than a canoe to a man ©f war. Among many other curiosities, M. Robert- son exhibits a plan of a balloon to carry fifty learned men on a voyage of discovery. It is amusing to see the futile and absurd contri- vances to accomplish the object, though the author has set about it in perfect simplicity and good faith. There are kitchens, workshops, small vessels, and fifty other things tacked to it, which are not at all difficult to arrange — on the paper plan. The gardens of the Tuilleries, though cut into a thousand mathematical shapes, and the shrubs shorn into round balls, are yet handsome. The terraces are very beautiful, and the tri- angular spaces made by the intersection of the walks in that part being planted with young trees, and enclosed with trellis, are elegant in spite of the gardener. A considerable part of the ground is a thick wood of high trees, planted as usual, in straight lines, but with here and there a circular spot left open, and con- HOTEL DES INVALIDS. 8S taining a statue or group of figures. Under these trees thousands are always sitting when the weather admits of it, reading the news- papers and periodical publications, which are furnished at little stalls sprinkled about, and let out by the hour. Other parts of the gardens nearer the palace, are quite open, with broad gravel walks, constantly thronged with pas- sengers, it being the principal thoroughfare between the two most considerable parts of the town. A large bason of clear water in the centre, is stocked with gold and silver fish in great numbers, which come very readily to the side for the gingerbread and macaroons thrown in by the spectators. There is a tolerable Jet d^cau in the middle of this piece of water, but it only plays on Sundays and on days of cere- mony. Altogether these gardens form a very interesting spectacle ; they are the principal promenade of the Parisians, and the King him- self has no other advantage from them, nor, indeed, so much as the humblest 'prentice boy of Paris. One of the most interesting objects I saw in Paris, was the collection of models of the dif- ferent fortresses, not only of the late French empire, but of all Europe. They are kept in the Hospital of Invalids, and occupy the whole of the upper floor, which is in the roof. They are some of them about twenty feet diameter, G 2 ^4f MODELS OF FORTRESSES. and those representing mountainous districts may be two, three, or four feet high. The sur- rounding country is imitated by a kind of plush, of which the ribs represent furrows ; and the colour is varied so as to resemble grass, corn, or ploughed land. The trees are made of green floss silk 5 every hedge, ditch, road, wood, river, or pond, is exactly imitated ; but the imitation is still closer in that part which represents the town; every house is of its proportionate size and proper colour ; the architecture of the churches perfectly rendered; the fortifications are so accurate, and the whole so complete, that it gives very much the same impression which is produced by looking at the picture in a Ca- mera Obscura ; the colours are perhaps almost too vivid, and the whole has the effect of the brightest sun-shine. One might almost imagine a race of Lilliputian inhabitants for these mi- niature cities. The advantage of such plans is very obvious ; any detail of the progress of a siege, must be just as well understood at the seat of govern- ment, by inspecting these, as at the place itself. We have similar models in England, I am told, but like many other curiosities, they are un- known to, and unseen by the Public. Even in France, where all the works of art are accessi- ble to the humblest day-labourer, it has been thought prudent to exclude from this all but MODELS OF FORTRESSES. 85 military men ; and I was under the necessity of letting my mustachios grow, and putting on a military cap, in order to obtain admission. The man who shewed them was extremely in- telligent ; he exclaimed much against the Prus- sians, who have taken away a great number of them, and have not merely confined themselves to the reclamation of such as had been taken from Prussia; or of the fortresses now ceded to that Power, but have taken away a number to which they pretended no other claim than their own good pleasure ; as for example, the model of Lisle. On coming away, I vainly en- deavoured to make the man accept three francs for his trouble, as I had detained him a very considerable time, and he had been obliged to go round with me alone. This is not the only instance I have met with of the obstinate ho- nesty of men in such situations in France. His persevering reply was, " I have my wages, and am satisfied with them." ^ 3 ( 86 ) CHAPTER IX. GAMBLING HOUSES. SPIRIT OF GAMBLING EXTREMELY PREVALENT. DESCRIPTION OF THE LICENSED GAMING HOUSE. COARSENESS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE IN PUBLIC. /^F all the vices which are cultivated at Paris ^^ the most general and the most fatal is that of gambling. During the time of Buona- parte it was highly encouraged ; and he drew from it an enormous revenue. The present Government either has not the power, or has not the will, to suppress it. The latter con- jecture is much the most probable, as it is im- mensely lucrative. I have been informed on good authority, that the Government receives two-thirds of the profit of each gaming house. Government officers are always present, though under the pretext of keeping order ; but they also escort the chest of money from the gam- bling house to a place of safety every morning, and back again every evening ; four gens d'armes, with their swords drawn, accompany the coach which contains it, and the houses have regulations established by the police, so that to all intents and purposes the Government GAMBLING. ^ is the actual proprietor, as much as of the post horses, stage coaches, porcelaine, and snufF ma- nufactories. The number of gaming houses in Paris is greater than can be conceived possible in a to^Ti containing less than six hundred thousand in- habitants ; but when it is considered that Paris contains the scum and dregs of a population of more than thirty millions, the wonder vanishes. The arguments of those who defend such establishments are nothing more than assertions of the necessity of a drain or sewer for the pur- pose of regulating, and turning to profit such vices as cannot be prevented. The futility of such reasoning is obvious, as thousands who have no abstract wish to engage in these ruinous speculations, are attracted by the houses as they pass by, like the lottery in this country, which you are prevented from forgetting by the " street heralds," whom you encounter at every turn. The smallness of the stake is another cause of the evil; for besides making it accessible to the lowest class, it takes away the apparent danger of the experiment in those who are richer. You may go in and play at the same table with those who are taking thousands, while your own venture is only thirty sous, or fifteen pence. The sight of the immense heaps of gold which are displayed on the table dazzle the eyes of many, and more are struck with G 4 S8 SPIRIT OF GAMBLING. avarice at the sight of those who are pocketing, perhaps a thousand pounds sterling at a cast, than with fear at the horrible contortions of the wretches who have lost their all. There is a strange infatuation possesses most people, that they at least shall have luck on their side, and as there is but an apparently small chance against them, thousands who entered only as spectators, finish by staking their all upon a card. In England this vice is limited in its effects, and is rarely followed with avidity but by young men of large fortune, and as it is not permitted to be practised in public, it is necessarily con- fined almost exclusively to those who have lei- sure and money. In general, they who throw away their property in this manner, would find some other way, not more virtuous, to get rid of their surplus, and indulge their bad passions ; besides, it is evidently impossible to prevent it in private society, and if it take place in clubs, of course the police can know nothing of it, nor if they did, could they have the least right to interfere. In Paris it addresses itself to the Public, and equally excites the apprentice to rob the till, and the avaricious nobleman to defraud his tradesmen. The spirit of gambling always appeared to me so low, so mean, and so despicable a species of avarice, that I could never fancy myself in GAMING HOUSES. 89 danger of being attracted by it ; but T had heard so many instances of men whose good resolu- tions had been annihilated by the contagious atmosphere of a gambling house, that, although I had a very strong inchnation to see one, I determined to delay it to the last night of my stay, and go without a livre in my pocket. 1 did so, and the impression it made will never be erased from my memory. It is impossible for any description of mine to do justice to such an infernal scene. — I select one by a modern French writer ; it is not at all exaggerated, and is a faithful picture of one of the most disgusting exhibitions in this extraordinary town. " Three or four large saloons are scarcely suffi- cient to hold the croud of artizans, tradesmen, and fathers of famiHes who come here to lose the pro- duce of their labour, their gains, or the wages which should be destined to the subsistence of their children, and which one cast of the dice will deprive them of. Gambling is here seen in all its hideous deformity. The bankmaster, the crou- pers, the punts, seated at an immense semi-cir- cular table loaded with gold, have each their pe- culiar and forbidding air. The police officers of colossal stature, keep walking round and round ; and their ferocious looks seem to interdict the miserable victims of chance from even the liberty ''of giving utterance to their regrets." — The hor- rible expression of blank despair in the faces of 90 GAMING HOUSES. the losers, and the drunken joy of those who have gained, are perhaps not so frightful as the immoveable visages of the keeper of the game and his assistants. Equally deaf to the cries of despair and the exclamations of joy, they scrape together with their long rakes, the money they have won, with the same sangfroid as they shovel out that whieh they have lost — and which is bye and bye to return to them. ** The sentiment of loss is in them still more frightful than elsewhere — it is misery disputing a morsel of bread with avarice ; their joy is without charms, and looks only like the short respite of despair." The three principal gambling houses in Paris are, the Cercle des Etrangers, No. 9, and No. 113, in the Palais Royal. In the first of these houses is assembled the most brilliant company of Paris, and the stakes are uniformly large. No. 9, is the next in consideration, but No. 113, has by far the most numerous collection of blackguards of all ranks and conditions. There are many others in various parts of the town, but if the licensed houses w^ere the only places where this destructive amusement was carried on, the evil would be comparatively trivial. As soon as dinner is over, those who do not go to the play, and those who are waiting for the opening of the theatres, assemble in the coffee houses, where from five o'clock till twelve, you are stunned FRENCH SOCIETY, 91 with the noise of back gammon, drafts, dominos, dice, billiards, and cards. From the vociferation and eagerness with which every point of the game is disputed, a stranger would imagine they were all going to fight together, it is only " their way'* however, and actual quarrels are very rare. At these times even the almost imperceptible dis- tinctions of rank, which a nice observer can dis- cover in the day-time, are completely wiped away, and the gentleman — tradesman — artizan — the journeyman baker and blacksmith, find no other difference in the attention of their au- ditors, than that which arises from the strongest lungs ; each addresses to the others his observ- ations on the game ; and I have very often seen men of the most respectable appearance, and de- corated perhaps with three or four crosses, argu- ing with a dusty baker, or unwashed blacksmith, about a point in the game, with which neither had any connexion, while the players pursued their amusement, neither offended nor interrupted by their criticisms. Thus it seems to be throughout society in Paris, though a coffee house will not be consi- dered as a proper test. There is so little re- serve, so little of the delicacy of self-respect, that an Englishman feels embarrassed and uncom- fortable ; it is only the consideration that he is among strangers, which reconciles him to this more than republican coarseness. I had often 92 FRENCH SOCIETY. wondered before I went to France, how the Americans and French could assimilate so easily, because the manners of a country in the most abject state of slavery seemed very unlikely to accord with those of a nation possessing liberty to excess. I can readily perceive it now, as it is evident that the French encouraged this indis- criminate rudeness and familiarity of social inter- course, as all that remained to them of revolution- ary freedom. A very intelligent Frenchman said to me one day, " We never fancied our- selves slaves, because we were so perfectly on an equality, and as the affairs of state went on prosperously, and we were giving the law to all Europe, we could not suppose ourselves less than masters — our obedience we called military sub* ordination," ( 93 ) CHAPTER X. CHURCH OF ST.ROCH. — MIRACLE DES ARDENTS. — STITUE OF CHRIST. — PALACE OF ST. CLOUD. — MALMAISON, THE RESIDENCE OF JOSEPHINE. I WENT to the church of St. Augustine, some- times called UEgUse de Notre Dame des Vic- toires, from its vicinity to the street of the same name, and also the Place des Victoires. The church itself is not extraordinary, but there are some very beautiful paintings in it. My next visit was to the church of St. Roch, which struck me more than any I ever saw ; it is something the shape of St. Paul's, but the pilasters, which form the centre and support the dome, stand very close to each other, and indeed seem to form only apertures in a stone circle. On all sides of the church there are altars of different sizes with figures in relief over them, of the most ex- quisite workmanship representing the different incidents, of what is called the Passion of Christ. At each side altar is a most excellent painting ; one of which represents the Miracle des Ardents. The story, as far as I can recollect, is, that for- tnerly a fever called Fievre ardente raged at Paris 94 CHURCH OF ST. ROCH. with great violence for many weeks. When al- most half the population were destroyed by it, the rest joined in a solemn invocation to St. Ge- nevieve, the patron of the city, who interceded with the Deity, and the plague was instantly ar- rested. The painter could not have chosen a bet- ter subject ; in the fore-ground are represented the sick and their relatives in all the various atti- tudes of supplication, — countenances in which every emotion of the mind, and every species of bodily torture, are pourtrayed. Mothers hold- ing up their infants — fathers interceding for their children- — husbands praying for their wives. The countenance of one man is horribly interest- ing, he catches hold of a piece of his own flesh on his side, and grasps it in an agony. On a cloud is St. Genevieve, a divine figure, with the eyes turned towards the Source of Light, which comes from the left corner of the picture, as if supplicating the Deity, the hands spread out as shewing the suffering people. — The eyes are full of tears, and there is such an air of heavenly compassion in the countenance, as I never saw equalled in a painting : — I could look at it for an hour. Painters may condemn my taste, but I prefer this picture to Mr. West's, of Christ healing the sick. At the extreme east end of the church is a chapel called Calvary, in the centre of which is a recess, containing a figure of Christ in marble CHURCH OF ST. ROCH. 9^ on the cross, supposed to be the finest piece of sculpture in Paris, and made of one piece ; the whole chapel of Calvary is dark, and the figure would be invisible but for a window, which you cannot see, and which admits the light imme- diately over the head of Christ. The chapel represents a cavern in a rock. On the right hand of the recess is a groupe of figures, carry- ing the body of Christ into a dark vault, admi- rably executed; on the left are some other figures which I do not recollect. I should have mentioned, that there are two circles of pilas- tres to form the dome. In the inside of the ex- terior circle, and facing the west door of the church, is a blaze of gilt rays of enormous size, with clouds reaching from the cieling to the floor, sculptured and painted admirably ; this is supposed to represent Christ risen, though there is no figure in the centre ; on each side, in very bold relief, are figures of the sentries asleep. When you stand with your back to the west door, and look through to the extreme end, it forms a most magnificent coup d'ceil, — you see all that I have attempted to describe at one view, and the stream of light at the dark ex- tremity falling on the head of Christ has a very sublime effect. There is another picture of Christ on the cross, which Le Brun and David estimated at 30,000 francs ; it is good, but I am 96 ST. CLOUD. not enough versed in the art to know tL% it is so valuable. This venerable church has the marks of can- non-balls in various parts, some of which are much injured ; it is the place where Buonaparte commenced his glorious career by firing on the citizens. The pulpit in particular is much da- maged, it was a noble piece of sculpture, but the city is not rich enough, or not pious enough, to replace it. All the Churches in Catholic countries are always open, and the lamp at the altar always burning. Soon after my arrival in Paris I paid a visit with some friends to the celebrated palace of St. Cloud, which was occupied by the English artillery ; but as I had it not in my power to make notes at the time, my recollections are now but faint. The gardens were not at all extra- ordinary, but the waterworks very splendid. Every thing however is in the formal French style, parterres like a mathematician's board of diagrams, straight walks and alleys, regular slopes and steps, every thing but Nature, — the tr^es all shorn into regular figures, " Grove nods at grove — each alley has its brother, And half the garden just reflects the other.*' The house is magnificent ; it was the favourite residence of Buonaparte. The Salle de Recep" MALMAISON. 97 Hon is the most splendid I have seen, — huiig with crimson velvet embroidered with golden stars ; the chair of state in which he received his ambassadors is gilt all over, and exquisitely carved. I sat down in it to rest myself, and could not but be struck with the strange mu- tability of human affairs. — How short a time since he signed from this chair his first decree against Enghsh commerce ! To have doubted the stability and permanence of his power at that period, was to bring down ridicule on one's head. I maybe called an ea: post facto conju- ror, but I really never thought his glory likely to be lasting; it was founded on fraud, and supported by deception ; and, in the long run, some accidental combination of circumstances will always punish the one and expose the other. All the cielings are painted with most inde- cent figures, and naked statues of all kinds are placed about in great abundance ; but this is universal in Paris, and, I believe, throughout France. Every garden, street, shop, and parlour, has images which would positively not be toler- ated in an exhibition intended only for artists. From St. Cloud we went to Malmaison, the late residence of Josephine, at this time inhabited by Lord Combermere (Sir S. Cotton) who commands the cavalry. It is about six miles from Paris. The house is not large, but very elegantly decorated ; there are some very fin« , H m MALMAISON. paintings ; one, the head of a young girl with a countenance of exquisite beauty ; another of the Queen of Holland and her two children ; if the painter has only done them justice, they are very sweet children, and the mother very hand- some. All the servants, and indeed all the French, who knew Josephine, speak of her with respectful regret, and I have no doubt but she was a very excellent woman. Here, as in all 6ther places, are male and female statues quite naked in the sitting-rooms. The bed-chamber of Josephine is hung with very fine crimson broad cloth, with a profusion of gold ornaments ; the bed is the same, raised on a few steps covered with the same cloth ; at the back of the bed is a very large pier-glass, in which, the room looks very elegant, being cir- cular, and drawn together at the top like a tent, with a golden eagle in the centre holding the drapery. The gardens are laid out entirely in the Eng- lish style, — winding walks, bosquets, canals, bridges, little rocks, cascades, and so forth. There is a small temple containing a statue of Love, — a boy about seven years old, with a very elegant shape, not like the little bloated things which are sometimes called Cupids — his face is the sweetest and most interesting I ever saw, with such a laughing, innocent smile, that MALMAISON. 99 really, had I been alone, I could have kissed him. On the pedestal was written, ** Qui que tu soit — voici ton maitre, II Test — le fut — on le doit etre." We returned by Nanterre, — the country is here, as elsewhere, cultivated to perfection, spread over with vineyards, which exactly re- semble our plantations of raspberries, and must be viewed very closely to distinguish the differ- ence ; but still no sign of bush, hedge, or tree, except those which are planted on each side of the road, and which certainly make it seem twice the distance : they are only agreeable ob- jects because there are no others in the vicinity. The country is rich, but certainly not beautiful, or rather not picturesque. H 2 ( 100 ) I CHAPTER XL VERSAILLES. THE PALACE. THE GARDENS. DEFENCE OF FRENCH GARDENING. PETIT TRIANON. GRAND TRIANON. CHARACTER OF BUONAPARTE. ^r^HIS most extraordinary town is built on -*- a regular plan laid out by the Great Louis the XIV. The streets are all parallel, or at right angles, with hexagonal and octagonal " places," or what we should call " squares," where the streets intersect each other : the road for several miles- before you come to Versailles is perfectly straight, very wide, and planted on each side with double rows of very fine trees. The approach is certainly magni- ficent, and the enormous mass of building which forms the palace, looks at a distance like a mountain. The town itself is very large, and before the Revolution contained eighty thousand inhabitants, but from the numbers that were then destroyed, and from the circum- stance that Buonaparte disliked the palace, and left it to go to ruin, from which cause the town became neglected, it now does not con- tain more than twenty or twenty-five thousand at the most. The streets are so very wide that VERSAILLES. 101 it has a naked, dreary appearance ; the houses are good, but not half inhabited. It is prin- cipally occupied by innkeepers, restaurateurs, &c. and is the favourite Sunday resort of the Parisians during the summer. It is about ten miles from the metropolis, and is very well adapted for the purpose. The palace of Versailles is unequalled in the world, — it forms a large town of itself — three thousand workmen were employed twelve months in repairing it by Louis the XVIIIth, on his first return to Paris, and it is not yet half finished. It comprises more than six thousand rooms, as I was informed by a respectable man who accom- panied me. The profusion of gilding, painting, marble, and mirrors is wonderful ; but it is very much too grand to be comfortable. There is a very splendid theatre, much larger than the Lyceum, with an immense stage, fitted up in the most elegant style. Occasionally the side- scenes, the benches, &c. are removed, and it forms a ball-room. It is said, that to put the whole chateau in the state it was in in the time of Louis XVI. will not cost less than two mil- lions sterling ; and, from the nature of the de- corations, the magnitude and number of the apartments, I can readily give credit to it. The gardens, which are so much admired by all Frenchmen as the ne plus ultra of human skill and genius, are, in my mind, detestable. H 3 105 GARDENS OF VERSAILLES. Broad square levels of gravel or rather sand, flights of steps thirty yards broad, rows of yew trees of all sizes, cut into balls, cones, pyramids, cubes and all other unnatural figures ; the bor- ders of flowers equally formal, the walks all in straight lines, so broad, and so long, that the eye is dazzled with a sandy desart ; statues in abun- dance, but none which struck me as particu- larly fine, compared with those in Paris ; steps for cascades, where the water spouts from the mouths and nostrils of lions, tigers, bears, fishes, sea nymphs, tritons, and a thousand nameless monsters, — large pieces of water on different slopes, which are as ugly as water can be, in consequence of being cut into circles, hexagons, &c. &c. and bordered with stone walls. The whole is only interesting as shewing the un- limited power of the monarch who formed it, and who accomplished so much in a place for which Nature has done nothing at all. I was once arguing with the old De M. on this very preposterous taste in gardens. I knew him to be a man who possessed a most delicate tact as to the beauties of Nature, and expected him to coincide with my sentiments without re- serve, instead of which he set about proving the contrary. " I acknowledge," said he, " the beauty of English gardening, and think it a most elegant embellishment of nature, but that is no reason why our system should not be also FRENCH GARDENING. 103 good in its kind. We do not profess to imitate Nature in our gardens, but merely wish to ex- hibit the skill of art in forming a work of arty intermixed certainly with natural objects, and, in some degree, composed of them, but no more intended to represent Nature than deal post$ are meant to represent fir trees. You think a box of mignionette along the ledge of the win- dow, and garden-pots inside the house, beautiful objects, but you do not mean your parlour to be mistaken for a wilderness, merely because you have trees in it. The question is only. Are not our gardens beautiful ? not. Do they resemble yours ? Whether we ought to have both kinds is a different consideration, and all you can say is, that our word Jar din is not translated by your word Garden j for myself, I think the French plan alone deserves the epithet of Magnificent." But to resume my description. At the extremity of the gardens is a long avenue of trees, in a straight line also, of about a mile, leading to the Petit Trianon ; a mode- rate sized house, built for Madame Maintenon, with a garden of about an hundred acres, laid out in the English style. It is the most beauti- ful place I have seen, entirely formed by art to imitate nature, for the country is a perfect flat : it comprises a beautiful green park with every variety of hill and dale, undulating slopes, with little brooks trickling down them. Large masses H 4 104 JPETIT TRIANON. of rock have been brought from a distance, and so arranged as to appear indigenous. A canal winds round among the trees, occasionally seen from the windows, and crossed at intervals by a light bridge: — little painted boats in different directions. Every species of tree and shrub which will bear the climate, is here in perfection ; the walks lead round to the most picturesque spots, over ridges of rock, down which falls a stream as clear as chrystal. Again, along the edge of a sloping lawn, or through a tortuous passage, apparently cut through the opposing rocks ; sometimes passing a small tem- ple, sometimes a little bosquet of flowering shrubs ; and contrived with so much art, that, while it shews every beauty of the place, it appears to be the natural foot-path to arrive at a little village on the edge of a small lake. This village is one of the prettiest and most interesting pieces of childish folly that ever en- tered into the head of a king. It is perfectly rustic — there is a mill — a farm-house — a house for the curate — another for the lord of the manor — one for the bailiff, &c., built of brick and thatched. It really looks like a little vil- lage : it was the resort of Louis XIV. some members of his family, one of his bishops, and one or two of his ministers, and the celebrated Madame Maintenon. To this secluded spot they used to retire occasionally after the fatigue PETIT TRIANON. 105 of state affairs, and (like children who say, now let us play at visiting) acted a sort of innocent farce, and played the fool ad libitum. The King was lord of the manor, his brother the fanner, Madame Maintenon the dairy-maid ; the bishop acted the curate, and so forth. It had been well for France and Europe, had Louis XIV. never meddled with a more dangerous pastime. This beautiful spot really looks like the abode of Peace and Innocence ; the evening was one of the finest in autumn. I was alone ; my con- ductor having been called into the house, on some occasion, had left me to amuse myself with the scene before me ; and for half an hour I walked about the little wilderness, scarcely conscious that I was in a foreign country, and surrounded by soldiers of all the nations of Europe. I had got into one of those reveries or day dreams, which are so grateful when com- posed of peaceable impressions ; every thing around me seemed to breathe tranquillity and repose ; no noise was heard but the rippling of the little brook ; the gentle murmur of the cascade, and the rustling of the wind amongst the brown foliage of the trees ; the swans were sailing in snowy pride upon the little lake ; the squirrels hopping from branch to branch among the lofty firs which bordered the canal ; the thrush whistling his merry song to departing 9 106 PETIT TRIANON. day ; the little painted boats, gradually pushed onwards to the extent of the cord which con- fined them, and back again with sudden recoil, as the breeze drove them to and fro, formed a thousand irregular circles of wavy brightness on the water. I leaned on the railing of the bridge, and watched them till they produced that sort of gentle giddiness, which lulls the mind to rest. The sky was yet bright with the setting sun, and the clouds above my head were varie- gated with purple and gold in fleckered beauty ; while the high shrubberies which enclose the garden, left the scene around me in compara- tive obscurity. I was so calm and composed, that I seemed to " hear myself live," and was enjoying feelings, which I thought had been long extinguished. On a sudden, the crash of numberless trumpets roused me from my medi- tations, and resounded from all parts in harsh and discordant echoes. The transition was abrupt, and most ungrateful 5 all my delightful visions vanished in a moment, and nothing re- mained in my mind, but ideas of war and ra- pine. I never felt a shock so painful aud offen- sive ; I uttered an involuntary execration, and hastily quitted the scene. The trumpets which belonged to various regiments, and to various nations, brayed out their usual hymn to sunset, in every note of the gamut ; and the discord was of itself i sufficiently disagreeable, inde- GRAND TRIANON. 107 pendent of the circumstances under which I had the misfortune to hear it. My guide, who now joined me, conducted roe to another part of the garden, which I had not seen, and pointed out the wanton mischief committed by the Prussians; such as cutting down curious shrubs, chopping off the fingers and toes of statues, and a thousand petty in- juries of the same nature. On my return to the town, I stopped a short time to view the Grand Trianon, which is a sort of Versailles palace in miniature. It consists of a magnificent suite of apartments, and is about equal to some of the best residences of the English nobility. There is a fine gallery of paintings, but I had not time to examine them. One, however, was so exquisitely beautiful, that I could not avoid noticing it; a picture by David, of Cupid stringing his bow. It is not easy to persuade oneself, that it is really a flat surface of canvas ; it represents a boy, about the age of fourteen or fifteen ; his figure is very elegant, and the face most captivating, I think it exceeds in beauty the celebrated picture by Cipriani, in the collection of Lord Bradford. One of the rooms of this mansion is an ele- gant specimen of the taste of Maria Louisa. The walls are entirely hung with light blue satin, lined with pink, drawn aside at intervals. 108 GEAND TRIANON. and shewing a mirror. The deling is the same, drawn together Hke a tent, and held in the centre by a golden eagle; the festoons are fastened with gold roses, and the whole hang- ings fringed with gold lace like epaulettes, in double rows round the bottom. There is some- thing so light and so elegant in the tout ensemble of the room, that I cannot conceive it possible for any additional ornament to make it more beautiful. This house was the favourite residence of the Empress, and Buonaparte came hither frequently ; indeed since his former wife was divorced, he had never used any other residence in the coun- try than this and St. Cloud, which latter may al- most be called a town house, for it is not much more out of Paris than Highbury from London. Previous to his marriage with Maria Louisa, his usual place of retirement was Malmaison, but when that was allotted to Josephine, it was not thought any longer decorous to continue his vi- sits thither. I endeavoured to ascertain from some of the domestics of Buonaparte, who had been most at the Grand Trianon, if he was ap- parently attached to his new wife, and she to him ; there was much discrepancy in their re- spective accounts, and of course I do not depend on them ; but in general they agreed that Maria Louisa was in the highest degree fond of her child, but if she had any regard for her husband^ CHARACTER OF BUONAPARTE. 109 she took care effectually to conceal it, and al- ways treated him with a degree of haughtiness which offended him severely, and was a con- stant source of quarrel and disagreement. — From other sources of information, I believe this to be fact. The character of Buonaparte is certainly esti- mated much lower in France than in England, and this quite independent of political senti- ments. It is said, that " no man is a hero to his valet de chambre," and perhaps the French saw him too near. In the moral, as in the phy- sical world, a small addition to the ordinary standard, makes a great man ; and when we have an opportunity of contemplating heroes and statesmen intimately, we are surprised to find how little they are superior to their fel- low-creatures. This is especially true of war- riors, and it happens that we have been en- abled to see some of the greatest in their dishabille ; such as Charles the Xllth of Sweden, Frederic of Prussia, &c. whose biographers have given us the real sentiments of those whole- sale killers of mankind. The account published of Bounaparte's journey to embark for Elba is too well authenticated, to allow one to doubt the most trivial facts therein narrated, and it certainly shews that his grandeur and fine pomp- ous sentiments were foreign to his soul j — that he had been acting a character only, on the 110 CHARACTER OF BUONAPARTE. throne, and that his nature was mean, selfish, and despicable. It is extraordinary that the man who had displayed so much courage in bat- tle, could exhibit such childish cowardice out of it. Like many similar heroes who have graced " the new drop^' in the Old Bailey, he v^2i^game only, when he had plenty of spectators to ap- plaud as well as witness his " gammon.'* In the language of a great writer, his conduct takes away all dignity from distress, and makes even calamity ridiculous. — Montrez nous, guerriers magnanimes Votre vertu dans tout son jour, Voyons comment vos Coeurs sublimes Du sort soutiendront le retour : Tant que sa faveur vous seconde, Vous etes les maitres du monde, Votre gloire nous ^blouit ; Mais au moindre revers funeste — Le masque tombe, I'homme reste, Et le heros s'^vanouit. J. B, Rousseau. ( 111 ) CHAPTER XII. AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN OF AN UNCOMMON SPECIES. MUSEE DES MONUMENTS FRAN9AIS. CURIOUS MIS- TAKE OF A PAINTER. PANTHEON, OR CHURCH OF ST. GENEVIEVE. ONE of my fellow-lodgers at M. Maurice's hotel, at Paris, was an English clergy- man, of a genus which, for the honour of the profession, I hope is very uncommon. He was about sixty years of age, and extremely plain in his features. He stated, that being on a visit to Brighton, with his family, he had taken a sud- den resolution (on the sight of a French packet) to come over to Paris, and form an opinion of Frenchmen for himself. " The coat I have on," said he, " will do ;" so packing up his " silk breeches" he at once embarked in the packet, leaving his family to amuse themselves as they pleased in his absence. Without knowing a sin- gle word of French, and not even aware that it was at all necessary, he had arrived in Paris alone, and took up his abode at the first hotel to which he was conducted. Here he found many English, and the master of the house was himself well acquainted with the language, 50 112 AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. that for a short time he did not meet with any great inconvenience ; but afterwards became so annoyed with the stupidity of the people, that he was in a constant prespiration hath with an- ger. Every morning we used to hear him quar- relling with the chambermaid, in violent passion that she could not understand him when he spoke so plain. — " Bring me some warm water to sh a ve, " — " Q we veut Monsieur Z' * ' — " Br ing m e water to shave," said he, louder and louder, with the voice of a raven. — ** Je ne vous comprend pas" said the chambermaid. " I tell you again, you stupid creature, I want water to shave, and I want my breakfast." ^^ Brekfaste — qu'estce que brekfaste — je vous prie de me dire en Fran- fais." " Why you impudent hussey, don't I speak as plain as possible, you can understand me, you $lut, get along and do what I bid you." The girl burst out a laughing, and trusting to the influence of her eyes, replied, ** oh mon paiwre Cupidon, que j'ai envie de te baiser,'* " Oh fie fie," said he, ** you are a naughty girl, I'm sure you are a wicked girl — go get away, get away, don't laugh at me, go along, 1 won't speak to you any more." The girl understood enough to know that she must send some other person and quit the room herself; so Mr. Meurice was obliged to come up and receive the commands of his lodger. This scene was repeated ten times a day. In vain did we endeavour to AN ENGLISH CLERGYMAN. 113 convince him, when he dined at the table d'hote, that it was impossible they could understand his language ; so small a modicum of intellect had Nature allotted to him, that he could not per- ceive the absurdity of his conduct, and always replied with great emphasis, " Sir, I speak plain Englishj and all the French I meet with in Eng- land can understand me very well ; I am sure they know what I mean here^ but they are so stupid ; I speak over and over again — louder and plainer, and I am certain they know very well what I say, but they don't choose to be civil and respectful — they are rude people, and I shall change my lodgings." It was impossible to argue with such a man, so he went on daily in the same errors, to the no small amusement of his fellow-lodgers, and the whole of M. Meu- rice's domestics. The pretty chambermaid at last found means to mollify his anger, by an oc- casional kiss ; and as she was really very beauti- ful, this seldom failed of the desired effect. The other inmates of M, Meurice's hotel, were chiefly British officers, and as they had visited most parts of France, and resided a con- siderable time in the country, I naturally looked to them for information as to the state of man- ners and feelings. This they afforded very abundantly, but the memorandums I made as the result of such conversation, I afterwards found so exceedingly incorrect, that I did not 114 BRITISH OFFICERS. hesitate to destroy them. The appearance of a foreign uniform was, very naturally, enough to make Frenchmen wrap themselves up, and, like the hedgehog, present only the offensive points of their disposition ; — nothing else could be expected. Could they feel an inclination to cultivate friendly intercourse with men who had just inflicted so severe a punishment on their national pride ? — Even those who were most friendly to the royal cause felt the mortification almost as keenly as the Buonapartist. All the information derived from military sources under such circumstances is then necessarily erroneous, and the result of impressions produced by a state the most unfavourable to candid inter- course. Very few British officers would do jus- tice to the good qualities which they could not deny, and it was only from such officers as had had the good fortune to remain any considerable time inmates of the same family, (when their un- assuming and compassionate conduct extorted the goodwill of their hosts,) that I could obtain an impartial opinion. From such men I often heard anecdotes which do honour to human nature, and which almost reconciled me to the horrible calamity of war, in considering its com- patibility with the exercise of so many Christian virtues. I had the good fortune afterwards to take up my residence with a French gentleman whose open-hearted candour and generosity left me no- MUSEUM OF MONUMENTS. 115 thing to wish, but that his countrymen were what he, in perfect good faith, supposed them to be, but which I certainly cannot concede to them. My friend took me one day to view the Mu- see Royal des Momimens Frangais, better known by the name of Depot des Petits Augtistins, so called from the building which contains these specimens of sculpture. It is a very magnificent collection of sepulchral and other monuments* Busts, columns, cenotaphs, sarcophagi, &c. which have been rescued from revolutionary fury. M. Alexander Lenoir has the honour of first suggesting the propriety of such an undertaking to the National Assembly in the year 1790, when religious houses being suppressed, a great num- ber of fine monuments were deprived of an asy- lum. The Duke de Rochefbucault, at that time president of the committee for the alien- ation of what was called National Property, not only encouraged M. Lenoir in his project, but got him appointed to the office of selecting, arranging, and preserving them, and M. Lenoir, with great vigilance, perseverance, and con- tempt of danger, succeeded in saving about ^ve hundred of the most valuable, very often at the risk of his life. The arrangement of these monuments is very scientific and ingenious. They are placed in chambers, each chamber containing the pro* I 2 116 MUSEUM OF MONUMENTS. ductions of a century, beginning as far back as the reign of Clovis the First, who died in 511, and continued to Louis the XVIth. This classi- fication renders them exceedingly useful to the historian, and ascertains the costumes of the different ages with great precision, making, (as M. Lenoir expresses himself,) a monumental history of the French monarchy. There is also much skill in placing the monuments, that the light may be best distributed for effect, and give a sufficient degree of distinctness to each object, as it is more or less adapted for close examin- ation. The windows are mostly composed of curious specimens of stained glass, and the whole building, being old and Gothic, gives a sombre air, which is suited to its purpose. This collection well illustrates the gradual progress of the arts, and is conducted in better taste than many of the more splendid exhibitions of Paris. The first apartment, called the Salle d' Intro- duction, contains such specimens as could not be conveniently arranged, or of which the num- bers belonging to each age were not sufficiently considerable to fill separate chambers. I was much struck with a magnificent mausoleum of Diana of Poictiers, who is represented lying on a tomb of black marble, which is supported by four sphynxes' heads ; the whole on a pedestal supported by four nymphs. The pedestal is ornamented with the most beautiful paintings in enamel by Leonard de Limoges, representing MUSEUM OF MONUMENTS. 117 various incidents in the life of Christ. Portraits of Francis the First, Claude, Henry the Second, and of Diana herself, whose name does not sug- gest that of her namesake the goddess, except in the way of contrast, she having been rather notorious, or as a Frenchman w^ould delicately phrase it, celebrated for her amours ; especially with Henry the Second. Among many others, perhaps, equally or more worthy of attention, I could only notice the following — it would have required some weeks to examine them all ; viz. The mausoleum of Francis the First, and of Claude, his wife. This is a splendid piece of sculpture, and is placed in a sepulchral chapel, built expressly for the occasion ; it was saved from the ruins of St. Denis, and is well worthy of its present honor- able position ; it is composed of a sort of ca- nopy or dome, highly sculptured, supported by sixteen Ionic pillars. Francis and Claude are lying on the tomb, as is the case in almost all monuments of that period, which were intended to honour the dead. The chapel is enclosed with a superb screen, ornamented with bass re- liefs, in gilt bronze. A tomb of Louis the Xllth and Anne de Bre- t^gne. Their statues, which are of marble, and quite naked, are lying on their backs as usual ; but there is one peculiarity which attracted my notice rather curiously ; they are represei ted I 3 118 MUSEUM OF MONUMENTS. with their bellies ripped open and sewed up again ; this is meant to shew that they have been embalmed. There is so much expression in the countenances of both, and such a de- cided character, that I have no doubt but they are good portraits. A bust of Voltaire, so excellent, that it seems as if the sculptor had borne in mind the epigram *' Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin," &c. never did marble more exactly embody the meaning of these three adjectives. A small monument to the memory of ** Guil- laume de Dwglas, Lord Comte d' Angus." A very fine sepulchral urn, containing the heart of Francis the First. A monument to Car- dinal Richelieu ; several columns of white mar- ble ; some of porphyry, jasper, &c. Some beau- tiful specimens of Mosaic work and enamel; with many exquisite fragments of sculpture, of which the date and purpose are unknown. The cielings of most of the apartments are ornamented with sculptured stone or plaster. Various statues on their knees, taken from tombs, with others at full length, which have not been appropriated to religious purposes, are to be seen. There are also some modern groups in plaster, exceedingly well executed. I noticed a very fine statue of David, executed in the fifteenth century. He is represented as MUSEUM OF MONUMENTS. 119 Iiaving returned from the destruction of Goliah, and the giant's head is at his feet grinning hor- ribly ; the forehead beaten in by the stone. A very large monument to the memory of Le Brun, the great painter, with a very long and eloquent inscription, praising his loyalty as well as his professional talents. This monument was not rescued from the revolutionary Goths till they had chisselled out the words King, Royal, Loyalty, Fidelity, &c. so that it now stands to commemorate something more than M. Le Brun. On one of the windows of painted glass is a picture of Christ carrying his Cross, (an incident which bye the bye is not true.) I observed, lower down, another head of Christ, exactly the same in colour, size, &c. and at first sup- posed that the painter meant to represent con- secutive circumstances in the same picture, as Raphael has sometimes taken the liberty of doing. On looking more narrowly, however, there appeared no hodij to the head, and it was not, till after much puzzling, that I attained a knowledge of the painter's object. It is ex- plained, that Mary Magdalen, who accompanied Christ to his execution, observing his face co- vered with dust and sweat, wiped it with her veil, which instantly took and retained an exact repre- sentation of the surface it had been apphed to. This is not meant by the author as a mi- I 4 120 PANTHEON. racle, but as a natural fact within the laws of physics. The garden is prettily laid out, planted with cypress and fir-trees; some vases and ancient urns, with enormous marble basons, are filled with earth, and planted with shrubs and flowers^ The tomb of Abelard and Eloisa is a very strik- ing object, it is a kind of open chapel; the figures are lying on the top of the tomb as usual, like many of our own monuments. Weep- ing willows hang their branches over it, and over several other smaller ones, which are spread about the garden. The effect is rather pretty than impressive, indeed, the place is much too small to allow scope for picturesque beauty. I went from the Depot des Petits Augustins to the Pantheon, formerly the church of St. Genevieve. It is by far the most noble build- ing I have seen, and is, perhaps, the most chaste and complete specimen of Grecian architecture which modern ages have produced ; it is about three hundred and fifty feet in length, and nearly two hundred and sixty wide in the centre, from which rises a dome sixty-three feet wide, and reaches to the height of three hundred and seventy feet from the pavement ; so that its di- mensions are not vastly inferior to St. Paul's. No wood is used in the whole building. The colonnade at the west end, is the most noble thing of the kind which I have ever beheld. PANTHEON. 121 The inside is very impressive, the lower range of windows is blocked up, and the light only admitted through the dome. This adds a gloomy solemnity, which is suited to the appropriation of the building — tlie burial of great men ; whose bodies are placed in the vaults beneath. The funeral of Marshall Lasnes, Duke of Montebello, is described to me as an extraordinary piece of pomp and splendour. On that occasion the whole of the inside of the dome was hung with black, and every thing the Catholic religion, with its gaudy ceremonies, could add to military honours, united to produce effect. Two towers are erecting at the eastern ex- tremity, and are now about twenty feet above the original elevation, which was little higher than the base of the dome. The work has, however, been stopped from the conviction, that such additions would rather diminish than en- crease the beauty and perfection of the whole. The plan appears to me so exquisite, that any attempt to alter it, in my mind, must necessarily do injury. The only defect is one which has been introduced from necessity at the base of the dome. The original pillars in the inside being found too weak to carry the weight, al- ternate spaces were filled up, and the place of the pillars supplied by pilasters. ( 122 ) CHAPTER Xlir. FOUNDLING HOSPITAL OF PARIS. MODE OF ADMITTIN(5' CHILDREN. — NUMBER AT NURSE IN THE COUNTRY. POLICY OF SUCH AN ESTABLISHMENT ON THE SCORE OF MORALS. ^- THE LOTTERY. T WAS exceedingly gratified with a visit to the -^ Hopital des Enfans Trowves, the Foundling Hospital of Paris ; it is now called F Hospice de Maternite, and is a branch of a larger establish- ment, comprising also an hospital for lying-in women ; and a committee for superintending the great number of children sent to nurse in the country. Having a letter of introduction to M. Chaus- sier, the physician of both hospitals, I selected the time of his going round to present it. A very respectable looking woman, about forty years of age, in a square black cloth veil, lined with white linen, and so thrown over the head as to leave but a small aperture for the face, told me, that although Mr. C. would not pay his visit to-day, she would be happy to conduct me round the hospital. I accepted the offer, and followed her to the music of an enormous bunch of keys tied to her apron string, but of FOUNDLING HOSPITAL. 123 which I did not observe any absolute necessity in the visit we were making. Without doubt, however, the good lady considered it a mark of dignity, as she took the trouble of tying them on for the purpose. The first room she shewed me into was very large, and contained a double row of iron cribs down each side, neatly painted and filled with very excellent soft beds, and lirjen of dazzling whiteness ; each crib had very neat curtains of glazed yellow cotton. The boys* cribs tied with blue ribbon, and a rosette of the same on the top ; the girls were distinguished by a red ribbon and rosette. The room was kept beautifully clean and well warmed by open stoves down the middle. It happened that no cry was heard, they had all been just fed, and were sleeping very quietly. It was really a beautiful sight, about three hundred infants rescued as it were from destruction, and re- ceiving all the care of the most tender parent from strangers, when they had been abandoned by those whom nature had appointed to that ofiice. The attendants were all clean and re- spectable, and the whole establishment had the air of being managed with judicious humanity. No expence is spared to procure every com- fort, and whatever can contribute to their health is administered with a lavish hand. I after- wards went into the infirmary, and am sorry to say it comprised a very large porportion of the 124 FOUNDLING HOSPJTAL. whole number of infants in the hospital. This, however, is not extraordinary, when it is con- sidered that the objects of this charitable care are generally the offspring of misery, vice, or disease. The children are kept in the hospital no longer than till they can be provided with nurses in the country, and the number so dis- posed of, existing at the present day, exceeds fourteen thousand. I afterwards went through the different ma- gazines of flannel, linen, &c. which were ar- ranged with great regularity ; distributed every hour in the day, with great celerity; kept scrupulously clean, and in the greatest abund- ance. The spirit of order seems to pervade the whole establishment. On coming away, I staid a few minutes in a kind of lobby, conversing with the good lady, who was telling me a long story of her cares and anxieties. A tingle tingle of the little bell, interrupted her discourse : she immediately went to a little box at the side of the wall, resem- bling that old fashioned barometer, a salt-box ; lifted up the lid, and took out a very fine female child, dressed in a coarse white frock, and wrapped in flannel. On its breast was pinned a label of paper, with the word Marie. This is all the ceremony of introduction requisite ; no person ^aid to render account of its birth and parentage, but it was at once carried away to FOUNDLING HOSPITAL. 125 its crib, to be registered. On the morrow it would be christened and vaccinated, and thenceforth considered a child of the state, dropped from heaven with no progenitors at all. The parents of these children may, how- ever, receive information as to their existence and health, by applying at the office at stated hours. It is very seldom indeed that this privi- lege is claimed. The sum paid for their nursing in the coun- try, is so large, (about 45. 6d. per week) that it insures them good care, and makes it the interest of their nurses to keep them in health. A nurse who should exhibit her charge in a state which implied the least neglect, would never be entrusted with another. No more than one child is ever placed under the care of one woman 5 and it is a very common occur- rence, that at the age of (I believe) ten years, when the hospital ceases to support them, on the presumption that they are then capable of obtaining their own living, their adopted mo- thers continue to take charge of them, and enter into formal recognizances to that effect. On the outside of the painted window, which forms one end of the hall, I have mentioned, is a very beautiful statue of an infant Jesus ; the only one in which I ever saw real expression of any thing superior to the most common specimenof hu- man nature. The following inscription was placed 126 POLICY OF THIS ESTABLISHMENT. there a century ago, when the building was ap- propriated to the education of young choristers, " Sanctissimae Trinitati et infanti Jesu sacrum." With the following quotation from the Gospel of St. Matthew : — " Invenietis infantem pannis involutum." Since the establishment of this hospital in the year 1640, there have been received about half a million of infants. In the first year, only 372 ; but the number has gradually augmented, till in the present day it exceeds six thousand per annum. Madame Giroud, who formerly occupied the place of the lady with the bunch of keys, of whom I have spoken, actually received into her own hands, during the forty years she passed at this hospital, two hundred and twenty-one thou- sand children. The policy of such an establishment, on the score of morals, has been much debated. I have heard the arguments on both sides very temperately and fully stated, and my own con- viction is perfect, that the effect of it on the whole, is beneficiah I have no idea of any ob- jection to it, which would not apply in a much higher degree, to our Magdalen Hospital. Yet, I believe, the most enthusiastic reformer would not wish to destroy that asylum, on the ground POLICY OF THIS ESTABLISHMENT. 1^7 that it encourages prostitution. Nevertheless, such is sometimes the case ; and the idea that there will be a last resource after she is shut out of society, probably destroys, in some de- gree, the horror with which a woman looks forward to the latter end of a life, spent in that manner. Maternal affection is the strong- est and most uniform impulse, not only of hu- man nature, but of animals. It is an instinct implanted in every species, for the preservation of it, and women scarcely possess it in a higher degree than the brutes. The mother who is so weighed down by poverty, or by the fear of shame, as to deposit her infant in an hospital where she will never see it more, would not long hesitate to destroy it, if no such resource were open to her ; or at least the child would fall a victim to neglect, less speedily, but not kss surely fatal. The state of French society cannot be brought as any proof of the advantage or disadvantage of the system. Almost all the children sent to the Hopital des Enfans Trouves^ (or at least by far the greater number,) are thus sacrificed by their parents from poverty alone. I think that both parental and fihal affection are more general and more influential among the lowest class in France, than in England. The last sepitiment is by far the most honoura- ble, being peculiar to the human species, and the effect of gratitude for benefits received. At 128 LOTTERY. any rate the French calendars do not coritaiij those frequent and shocking examples of in- fanticide, with which our own are loaded 5 and which are always adduced as a proof of thp necessity of such an establishment in En- gland. The Lottery in France, is an evil of the same nature as the gaming-houses ; but although the profit to the Government, amounts to the enor- mous sum of fourteen millions of francs per annum, 1 think it does less mischief than ours. The plan of adventuring is totally different. You merely place on any number you choose, a sum of money from three livres to twenty thousand. If chance favours your attempt, they return to you six, eight, or ten times the amount, according as the lottery of the year is constituted. The drawing takes place like ours ; two great wheels ornamented with mirrors, are placed on a table ; two boys dress- ed in blue, with a red girdle, have their sleeves tucked up tight, so as to prevent decep- tion. The first boy draws out of one wheel, the cards of the numbers one after the other, and shews them to the public. He then passes them to the other boy, who encloses each suc- cessively in a pasteboard case, and throws it into the other wheel, which is immediately turned round a number of times with great velocity, so as completely to mix the little cases. THE LOTTERY. 129 which are all exactly alike, and of the same weight. Another boy then passes his hand in, and draws out ^ve of the packets, which are the ^ve prizes, and the others remain undrawn. This ceremony is repeated very often, in every town in the kingdom. ( 130 ) CHAPTER XIV. THE GREAT NATIONAL LIBRARY. CURIOSITIES WHICH IT CONTAINS. FREE ACCESS TO ALL OBJECTS OF CURIOSITY IN THE FRENCH CAPITAL. REASON OF THE UNIVERSAL ADOPTION OF THE FRENCH LAN- GUAGE. npiLL a few days befoFe I quitted Paris, -*- I had not had the opportunity of visiting the great National Library. Many reproaches had been bestowed on me by my various French friends for my indifference to that splendid orna- ment of Paris. Perhaps there is no single mo- nument of which the French are generally so proud, not even the boasted column of the Place Vendome, I have now had it in my power to form an opinion for myself, and though the praises bestowed on it so lavishly are in some degree unmerited, it is a noble monument of national grandeur. The best informed men at Paris are, however, extremely ignorant of the nature, extent, and even existence of the other collections of books in various parts of Europe, and especially in England ; half a dozen of which, if collected into one library, would probably exceed in number and value the Bibliotheque Nationaky formerly Bibliotheque Im* NATIONAL LIBRARY. 131 periale, but now the Bibliotheque Roy ale. Till this be done, however, they are certainly right in calhng this the first library in the world. The building itself, situated in the Rue de Richelieu is a plain, unornamented, oblong square, immensely large, and was built under the orders of the celebrated Colbert in the reign of Louis XIV. A considerable collection of books existed before this time however in the Louvre, and gradual augmentations by gifts, legacies, and purchases, have brought it to its present enormous extent. The establishment is divided into four departments. Printed books, — manuscripts, — medals, and other antiquities of that nature, — and engravings. I could not learn the number of printed books, but if I were to form an estimate, I am inclined to think very near two millions, though I have no mode of ascertaining how far my guess may be correct. I think however I am rather under-rating than over-rating the number, as I carry in my mind the size of a collection I once saw of 50,000 volumes. A very large portion are splendidly bound, and they are arranged in a very neat and convenient manner. Among the rarities in this collection are " An Account of the Expenees of the Royal House- hold in the Time of Philippe, surnamed Le Bel*^ about the year 1290, written on a kind of tab- lets coated with wax. The letters of Henry K 2 132 NATIONAL LIBRARY* the Fourth to the *« charmante Gahrielle.'' The manuscript of Telemachus, in the hand-writing of Fenelon, and Memoirs of Louis the XlVth. in his own hand-writing and composition, besides a great number of others, which there was no time to inspect, or even to take down the names. The manuscripts amount to more than eighty thousand ; there are many collected during the famous expedition to Egypt, and many more from the Ambrosian and Vatican libraries. These last, it is probable, will be reclaimed by the Pope, who has indeed already presented many remonstrances on the subject ; but the French government is very unwilling to part with them. As to the statues, &c. in the Louvre, the Allies " helped themselves ;" but as the Pope has none of those temporal claws called soldiers, at Paris, perhaps he may not be equally successful ; the ministers are from long habit tolerably callous to paper arguments. The cabinet of medals is most superb, the num- ber, the rarity of some, the richness of others, and the judicious arrangement of all, make this a most delightful treat for an amateur; there are said to be nearly an hundred thousand. This hall contains also some curious antiques, aynongst which are the armour of Francis the First, and a whimsical arm-chair of King Da- gobert. ♦ ThQ rooms containing the engravings form a NATIONAL LIBRARY, 133 beautiful exhibition ; specimens of the art from the earliest ages are selected and arranged ac- cording to their dates ; the walls and" sides of the windows are covered with frames containing the most exquisite examples of excellence, and immense numbers are preserved in sheets. There are some wood-cuts of very ancient date, much superior to any thing of the kind by living ar- tists. In one of the rooms of the library is a cu- rious piece of workmanship by Titon du Tillet, called the French Parnassus ; it is a very pic- turesque rock about eight feet high, made of some composition, and painted to imitate bronze so accurately, that I should not have discovered the deception had not a piece been broken off by some clumsy visitor, whose eyes were at the end of his cane. On the top is a figure of Apollo, and at different heights, according to their merits, (or at least M. du Tillet's estima- tion of them,) are placed all the poets who have distinguished themselves in France. The figures are of real sculptured bronze, each about ten or twelve inches in height, the faces worked into very excellent portraits. The whole is ar- ranged with taste, and, though so whimsical, forms a very pleasing object. Apollo at the top, is a likeness of Louis XIV. But the most striking object of attention to Si casual visitor, who has not time to enter into a K 3 134 NATIONAL LIBRARY, minute examination of the contents of this great hotel, is a pair of globes, so large that, although the rooms are remarkably lofty, they were ob- liged to cut a circular aperture for each through the cieling ; they project about ten feet into the upper apartment, and are there surrounded by a ballustrade to keep them from injury. 1 never could receive pleasure from viewing a celestial globe, it seems to me so very preposterous a mode of representing the position of the stars ; and this, with its monstrous sprawling dragons, disgusted me still more ; but I cannot express the feeling with which I contemplated the other. It seems so enormous a mass of matter as to be perfectly unmanageable by a human being-— too vast to grasp. ** I seem advanced To some secure and more than mortal height. The world turns round submitted to my view.*' I know not the date of these noble monu- ments of Coronelli ; but from their appearance, and from the circumstance that none of the late discoveries in the Pacific Ocean are taken no- tice of, I conjecture them to be at least a cen- tury old, or perhaps more, as Lord Anson's voyage, and even some previous navigators seem to have been unknown to the author of them. The library is open every day to all the world, and the Public of Paris make great use NATIONAL LIBRARY. 135 of it. I saw great numbers sitting at the ta- bles, taking notes or copying from the scarce books, and admired the very respectful care which was taken of them. Paper and ink are always on the tables for the use of visitors. There are plenty of attendants to accommo- date the readers, and to see that no injury be done to the books. Every attention is paid to the wishes of the Public, and from the manner in which the whole establishment is conducted, it is evidently exceedingly useful, and affords great facilities to authors who in this country would be totally excluded by poverty from such sources of information. I have often had occasion to remark the feel- ing of ownership which seems to pervade the minds of all Frenchmen, with respect to the national collections and ornaments; it is this feeling which makes it practicable to admit the mob to all the museums without the least risk of their injuring any thing by vulgar astonishment or rustic examination. In Paris you see none of those attempts at immortality so common in London, by cutting the names or initials on monuments, or breaking off a little bit to take away as a specimen, like the man who carried a bit of the stone in his pocket to give people an idea of the house he was building. The cabinets of medals, manuscripts, &c. are K 4 136 DIFFUSION OF FRENCH LltERATUKFf* only open two days a week, Tuesdays and Fff* days, but, with a degree of liberality, (which has always distinguished the French,) foreigners are admitted at all times on shewing their passports. These kind of facilities indeed are afforded for viewing, and even copying, all curiosities and works of art at Paris, and the French use it as one great argument (the sole argument which has the slightest pretensions to vaUdity) that the Allies ought to have left them in their possession, and have contented themselves with calling it the European Collection, the capital of France being beyond all doubt the centre of the civilized world. " We are the real distribu- tors of Fame,'' said one of the most moderate and intelligent of the French gentlemen to me, — "a man may (added he) acquire reputation, and even be considerably known at London, Berlin, or Vienna, but unless his fame originates at Paris, or is afterwards impelled from thence, he cannot be considered as an eminent Euro- pean character." I do not exaggerate when I say, that this is by no means an opinion con- fined to the vain, the ignorant, and the unedu- cated, but is spread amongst men of real learn- ing and talent. It is not mentioned as a subject of boasting ex cathedra^ but allusions are often made, w^hich shew it to be the real sentiment of the nation. The universality of the French language may DIFFUSION OF FRENCH LITERATURE. 137 perhaps explain this, as whatever is publish- ed in France is soon known throughout Europe, if it deserves to be so, whereas the literary works of other nations must be subjected to a translation, and thus lose a great portion of their beauties before they can be accessible to the French. A modern writer, a most intelligent and unprejudiced Frenchman, condemns in very strong terms this kind of ignorant presump- tion, whicli he compares to the vanity of a blind man, who should boast that he was seen by all the world, while he saw nobody. The simile is very just and apposite. The Turkish Monarch has ambassadors from all the powers of Europe and the adjoining parts of Asia, at his court, but does not condescend to send any in turn. The natural and obvious consequence of which is, that while all the others know the politics of Turkey, he is totally ignorant of those of other states. The prevalence of the French language has been generally attributed to the victories of Louis the XlVth. but it seems to me a natural consequence, that as some one modern language must be fixed on for the intercourse between nations, that should be selected which had the easiest grammar and rules of pronunciation, and was therefore most easily acquired ; and at the same time was the language of the most powerful and the most polished nation of the continent. ( 138 ) CHAPTER XV. CHARACTER OF THE DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. — CAUSE OF HER MELANCHOLY AND RETIRED BIANNER, RE- TURNED EMIGRANTS. EFFECTS OF SOME ENGLISH NEWSPAPERS IN KEEPING UP THE IRRITATION OF FRENCH FEELINGS. nr^HE Duchess d' Angouleme is apparently -*" rejected by all parties. The royalists ac- cuse her of degrading the dignity of her station by condescension towards rebels and regicides, and the modern French are indignant that she does not sufficiently harmonize and assimilate with the ** novi homines,'^' But worse than all this, she is a devotee. There is something very prepossessing in her countenance — an air of mildness and dignity, joined to a pensive melan- choly, which never allows her features to relax into more than a half smile, the result evi- dently of a mind broken by misfortune. Her character was formed too early to admit of change at her present period of life. At the age when the feelings are most susceptible, and when filial affection is a pure instinct of Nature, occupying the whole soul, she saw her father and her mo- ther cruelly murdered — her. brother perish in prison — her friends and relatives massacred or DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. 1S9 proscribed — her country torn to pieces with factions — the guilty flourishing — the good de- stroyed or beat down to poverty and shame ; she saw France become the terror and the disgrace of Europe, till the very name of Frenchman was a stigma ; the vulgar and bad man elected to supply the place of her amiable father, calling into action all the worst passions of human na- ture, and making them the passport to power and honour. Without a hope of returning to the rank of which she had been deprived, an exile in a foreign land, and depending on the bounty of strangers, what resource had a fe- male so situated, but religion ? And is it won- derful that she clung to this sole support with fervour and enthusiasm ? The only firm friends of herfriendSy through poverty and perils, were the ministers of religion; — every other class bowed ithe knee to Baal, while the clergy alone preferred exile to submission, or to the sacrifice of those principles in which they had been edu- cated. When the Duchess of Angouleme saw such examples of disinterested fidelity in that class only, she may be pardoned for bestowing on them the greatest portion of her confidence, and for adhering very strictly to the forms and ceremonies eveny of a religion which had stood the test of every species of persecution. That she should also feel no great wish to as- sociate with the vulgar and the vicious charac- 140 DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. ters, who now supply the place of the former po- lished nobility of France, is still more natural. Perhaps there is no greater source of consolation under reverse of fortune, than self-respect; a feeling which, in weak minds is the sister of va- nity, and the parent of affection ; but with those of a different description is the strongest motive to maintain the integrity unspotted. Speaking only of the change of circumstances produced by the alternations of wealth and poverty, I have always observed that those that have been born and educated in rank and opulence, bear severe reverses better than others who, having raised themselves from humble station to power and consequence, are by sudden misfortune reduced to their original position ; the former thinks him- self still of as much respectability as ever, while the latter thinks that as it was money only which raised him, the abstraction of it has sunk him to nothing. He has, during his prosperity, ac- quired habits which he can no longer indulge — tastes which he can no longer gratify — ideas and feelings which " the world'' will no longer concede to him. The former, perhaps, feels more pungently the petty mortifications of life, but the latter finds life itself a burden under the change; and it is a fact which I have often pointed out, that suicides are be- yond comparison more frequent in this class than the other. But to return to my subject. DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. 141 The Duchess of Angouleme, like many others, placed her pride in tlie observance of those delicacies of conduct which are supposed to distinguish people of birth and education ; she cherished probably this feeling so much the more fervently during exile and poverty, as a set-off against the loss of fortune. She could no longer shew the dignity of her station by munificence — she endeavoured to do it by an additional attention to all those established forms of elevated society, which were yet in her power, and she could not overlook the least violation of them. When restored to her former rank, is it surprising that she found it impossible to conceal the abhorrence she felt for the murderers of her parents, and for their coarse and disgusting de- scendants ; their manners and appearance took away all dignity from the bad cause, and shewed the change which had taken place in all its de- formity. It is impossible she can ever harmo- nize with the children of the Revolution, and she will probably never become a favourite at Paris. People forget her life, and the early impressions on her mind ; and they accuse her of being too sombre. They say the French court ought to be the gayest in the world, and that she casts a damp on that spirit of enjouement which sits so naturally on Frenchwomen. She must either affect gaiety or feel it, — if the former, it would be hypocrisy, — if the latter, levity, neither of 142 DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. which qualities seem to form any part of her disposition. The English do not seem to do justice to the character of this extraordinary woman. Her reserve when in England was called haughtiness, and I have often heard her blamed for exhibit- ing on public occasions that retiredness of man- ner which was supposed to be an assumption, and an undue assumption of superiority. The same people who are thus severe upon one of the finest living examples of female heroism, can deeply sympathize in the same feelings, when they meet with them in a novel ascribed to some North-British leader of highland ruffians, whose hereditary dignity goes no higher than the im- memorial privilege of committing murder witli impunity, or his female relatives, who, when the advance of civilization has brought them within the restraints of society, vent their exuberant consequence in a rude assumption of precedence in a ball-room. I must be indulged with a few words more on the subj-ect of the Duchess of Angouleme. One of the strong accusations against her intellect is, that when in exile, she was notoriously addicted to fortune-telling, and would often listen to absurd prophecies about the re-establishment of her fa- mily. A modern writer has defended this practice so much better than I can do it, that I take the liberty of quoting his excellent and humane ob- 8 DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. 143 servations on the subject ; at the same time en- tering my protest against the accusation, of be- ing myself addicted to this weak amusement. " This is a snare more than any other calcu- " lated to allure the heart that is at once sus- " ceptible, unfortunate, and bereft of hope. Its " native rectitude is insufficient to restrain it, ** and when least credulous, it still will yield " to a temptation that for the moment shall " lull the soul and fill it with soothing images. " It is not that we mistake a dream for a re- " ality, but it is a dream which alleviates by sus- " pending (as long as it endures) the sense of " misery. A dream that brings a respite to the " pained and sinking soul, and by an interval of " tranquillity renews its strength. I have met " with persons, and particularly some of active " imaginations, who never for a moment be- " lieved in such absurdities, and nevertheless " gave up whole hours to this practice, merely " as an amusement. Persons of this stamp resort " to fortune-tellers when their minds are under « the influence of any particular agitation, in " the same spirit in which they build castles in " the air, in their more composed and san- « guine moments, while in reality they believe « in neither the one nor the other." I never omitted an opportunity while in France, of raising my voice against that unfeel- ing ridicule of emigrants ^ — of returned eirti- 144 RETURNED EMIGRANTS*' l grants, which is now so common ; they are lam- pooned, caricatured, and insulted, as it appears to me, without a shadow of reason. Some few of them may perhaps assume an undue portion of consequence, and the ostentatious display of a title, may look rather incongruous in a ragged coat, but in general there is no cause to com- plain of their conduct ; if the man who has ac- quired their property by unfair means, be per- mitted to enjoy it with no other drawback than another possessing the name of it, he may surely think himself well off, and suffer the harmless vanity of the new-comer to evaporate in peace. The most sanguine of the returned emigrants cannot indulge a hope of restitution, although our worthy Chronicle labours most assiduously to propagate and maintain such hopes for the purpose of keeping the parties balanced, or at least of exciting such a degree of confusion, as shall give interest to news, and promote the sale of the paper. The many changes which have taken place in what is called national property, make actual restitution absolutely impossible. The losers may at a future time perhaps be allowed pen- sions, but their lands can never be restored. It is singular that the French parliament should have committed so great an oversight, and so manifest an injustice as to order (in the year 1814) that all confiscated property unsold, should NATIONAL PROPERTY. 145 be given up to the original proprietors : so that some have got back the whole, and others no- thing ; for it happened that many of the estates were, from their position or magnitude, unsale- able, or they did not admit of being divided ; or it was more profitable to the Government to re- tain them in its hands, and let them out at rent. Of this nature is the Palais Royal, which though confiscated twenty years, had never been sold, but the Government had let it to respectable te- nants, and received an annual rent. This was returned to the Duke of Orleans, and many other large masses of property have been restored in the same manner. I believe it was Marshal Macdonald who brought forward a proposition to sell all which remained yet in the hands of Government, and to divide the product in equal proportions among the sufferers by the Revolution. This, though a very equitable plan, w^as strongly objected to from the asserted insuperable difficulty of ascer- taining the amount of the respective claims. Notwithstanding all the efforts of all the bad men on both sides of the water, I feel con- vinced that France will sink gradually into order and happiness, unless a quarrel amongst the Allies, or any mistaken views of economy, should induce them to shorten the period of coercion, which has been laid down as neces- sary. Only restrain the bad by force, till the I. 146 FRENCH CLERGY. good have had time to take precautions, and furnish themselves with weapons, and there is^ then no fear of the consequences. The latter have suffered too much, ever to let the former regain their ascendancy. The personal character of the King will go a great way towards producing this desirable con- summation. It is to be hoped, that he will live long enough to accomplish it ; for of all the pre- sumptive successors to the throne, there is not one, but against w^iom there are great objections. The Comte d'Artois is older, much older in constitution, than the King ; he is bigotted, and absurdly monarchical in his ideas. The Duke of Angouleme is a better man, but has the same defects; and the Duke de Berri is a sensual profligate. The only one of the family against whom the French would have nothing to ob- ject, is the Duke of Orleans ; but although his character is irreproachable, and his talents uni- versally acknowledged, yet he is so much the child and champion of the Revolution, that his tetum Would probably destroy the tranquillity of all Europe. Having alluded to the French clergy, I must take the opportunity of expressing my senti* ments respecting them, as I had considerable intercourse with them, and was also enabled to .correct my own impressions, by the testi- mony of many of my countrymen. No one RELIGIOUS DOCTRINES. 147 can have a more sincere disgust for the doc- trines of Popish CathoHcism, than I have ; and I am quite of Swift's opinion, who stated as one of the strongest arguments against the aboli- tion of Christianity, that it would inevitably intro- duce Popery. Yet I can reverence goodness, hu- mility, benevolence, and piety, however erroneous the creed. I can even admire and respect that mistaken submission to the supposed will of God, which does not suffer the intellect to shake off the fetters of superstition ; provided, at least, that this feeling be not carried so far as to destroy chajity and toleration ; and the French clergy, though Catholics, are not Papists. I know some men of strong minds, who admit scarcely any thing short of mathematical demonstration on every other subject, yet who believe, or think they believe, the most monstrous contradictions in their religious system. The fact is, they have so great an awe and reverence for every thing which treats of the relations of the crea* ture and the Creator, that though perfectly ca- pable of forming a correct opinion, if they chos^ to let their mind expand, they think it wrong to enter into the investigation. I was once conversing (in England) with a Catholic clergyman, whose head I honour, and whose heart I love, on the subject of transub- stantiation. I remarked that men of sense pos- sessed nearly the same opinions on all such h 2 lis RELIGIOUS DOCTRINES. subjects, that a man of his profession might not think it right to confess doubt or disbelief of iani/ part of the doctrines of his church, lest it should weaken that claim to infallibility, which was so strongly asserted ; which infallibility was the most comfortable conviction that a man could feel ; and, (if we could ensure a succession of perfectly virtuous priests,) would be the hap- piest and best mode of managing the consciences of the world ; it would give decided and unvarying motives of action, and quash the spirit of en- quiry on religious subjects, into matters out of the reach of human intellect. I added, that it was actually impossible for any human being in his senses, to think the bit of bread he was eating, w^as really raw flesh, or the wine, blood. He might confess it in his creed, and say it was his belief, but that it was no more in his power to feel conviction of it, than to believe that seven and five, added together, made nine. The premises being once understood, the pro- position was self-evidently false and impossible. My friend replied, (with a countenance which expressed his sincerity), " Why, Sir, the words of the Scripture are positive and distinct ; Christ says, this is my body, and this is my blood. Me does not merely say this is a tt/pe of my body, and this of my blood. And if we are to call his expression figurative, what becomes of other parts of his doctrine, and why may we RELIGIOUS DOCTRINES. 149 not suppose that his other ppecept* are figura- tive also, and thus get rid of all the obligations of Christianity at once ; besides," added he, " the Church of England asserts the doctrine of tran- substantiation most unequivocally, and in the children's catechism, it says, that ** the body and blood of Christ are verily and indeed taken and received by the Faithful in the Lord's Sup- per." I could make no reply to such a quota- tion, and immediately dropped the subject. I relate this anecdote to shew the truth of what I have before asserted ; that a man may be virtuous, sensible, charitable, and sincerely pious, with the most preposterous creed. The man I speak of, is an honour to human nature, and fulfils the duties of his station with most exemplary fidelity ; and from all I have seen, I believe the Catholic clergy to be much more virtuous than the Protestants concede to them. In France, they appear to me to be a very respectable set of men, and those children en- trusted to their care for education, are brought up in every respect, better members of society, than such as are taught in the modern philoso- phical schools. Absurdities of doctrine are shaken off as men grow up, and mix with the world, (unless their being destined to teach such absurdities should prevent it) ; but if habits of piety, of humility, of self-restraint, and of sub- mission to the will of God, be not very early L 3 150 RELIGIOUS OPINIONS. impf^ssed on the mind, there is little chance of their being thoroughly engrafted on the dis- position, at a later period of life. Our passions make us msh so strongly to disbelieve ^ that the only chance of success, is to enforce the belief before they are developed. .< 151 ) CHAPTER XVI. EATRE. THE CORN MARKET. TRI- UMPHAL ARCH OF THE PLACE DE CAROUSEL. Buonaparte's column to the grand ar3iy. — BON MOT OF THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA. T^RANCONI's theatre is much like Astley's ; -*- a circus for horsemanship, and a stage for pantomime. I only visited it once, and that for a very short time, and was extremely pleased with the performances. The horsemanship was not at all superior to what I had seen in London, but the pantomime was excellent : it repre- sented a piece of Scottish history, and was a great favourite with the Public, on account of the extraordinary attraction of Scottish habili- ments. They knew that the Highlanders had been amongst their bravest enemies, and their barbarous dress was the subject of everlasting witticisms ; every body was mad to read Ossian, and see Mr. Franconi's pantomime. The music was very good, and the whole performance en- tertaining. I paid only four-pence for my seat, which was in a very good part of the theatre. A rainbow, which was the concluding scene, was excessively beautiful ; I know not, at all, L 4 152 THE CORN MARKET. how it was contrived, but it appeared too light and transparent for painting. A young daugh- ter of Franconi, who exhibited extraordinary equestrian feats, invariably rode astride. The entertainment concluded by sending up a bal- loon, to which was attached a car, containing a tame stag. When up in the air, the car which was composed of fire- works was lighted, and enveloped the poor animal in fire, who bore it with perfect indifference. The Marche au Ble is a very fine building; it is very large, and of a circular form, sur- mounted with a most elegant roof of iron, ex-^ tremely light, and covered with copper. A cir- cular window of plate glass in the centre of the roof, admits abundance of light ; the whole building forming one immense dome, of about an hundred and thirty feet in height, has a noble effect, and appears almost too grand for its purpose. There is an additional outer circle of building, which consists of extensive grana- ries on arches, and answering the purpose of buttresses. In the centre of the building, bags of corn and flour are piled up in heaps thirty or forty feet high, of all shapes and sizes. The National Guards have always a picquet on duty here. 1 could not learn the diameter of the dome, but I think it must be at least as great as St. Paul's ; the area which it encloses appears immense. THE TRIUMPHAL' ARCH. 15? A great waste of labour is produced by the mode in which transfers of corn are made here ; all of it being sent hither from tlie country, and re-distributed to the purchasers ; so that it has probably to travel back very often to the spot it came from. I could scarcely make my French acquaintance beHeve, that in England these transfers were made with so much greater facility, on the faith of a few samples, carried, in the pocket. ^ The triumphal arch in the great court of the Tuilleries, is blamed by almost every visitor as insignificant and in bad taste, and quite un- worthy of the occasion. I do not think so, and nothing appears to me injudicious but its posi- tion. It stands in the centre of a square, more than four times as large as Lincoln's-inn-fields, which is divided nearly in the middle by a hand- some iron railing, about fifteen feet high, of which the bars represent spears, with the tops gilt, and ornamented with a gilt tassel : the larger masses, which answer the purpose of posts to strengthen the fence, are the same spears gathered into a bundle and fastened with a gilt band. One side of this fence is called the Court of the Tuilleries, and the other the Flace de Carousel, The division of the square into two, seems to have no motive, as the buildings on each side are a mere continued line of the \54f TTHE TRIUMPHAL AR€H. same architecture, and seem to form a whole. One side of the square is formed by the palace of the Tuilleries ; the opposite, by that of the Louvre ; the side next the water, by that im- mense range of building called the Gallery of the Louvre ; and the fourth side by the new erections by Buonaparte, intended to correspond. All these buildings are very lofty, and highly ornamented. The trhimphal arch then is no- thing more than a gateway in the centre of the railing, for which purpose it seems much too large, and the railing prevents it from striking the eye as an insulated monument, for which, indeed, it is much too small; and this is the whole secret of its apparent insignificance, when it is really a very superb piece of sculpture, beautifully executed, and in the best taste. It is about ^ftj feet high, and about twenty-five deep in passing through it, but seventy or eighty feet in the direction of the railing. It has three arches, of which the middle one is fourteen feet high for carriages ; another arch forms a pas- sage parallel with the railing, and cuts the former three at right angles ; eight columns of red marble with bronze capitals and pedestals, support a kind of entablature, on which are statues representing all the different uniforms of the French army. They are very minutely figured, and the sculptor has contrived to give a picturesque and elegant air even to the stiffest COLUMN OF THE PLACE TENDOME. 155 costume, by a graceful disposition of the mantle. On the top of the building is the car with the four gilt figures of Fame, which remain to hold the bridle of horses which are gone back to Ve* nice. The idea of having a " Fame" to each horse, is rather whimsical, as the lady is usually described as a single personage, and though supposed to possess a kind of ubiquity, and to be in a thousand places at once, it seems strange that four of her selves should by accident be together. Had this arch been made an entrance to a street, or to the garden of the Tuilleries, in a confined situation, where it would have been only viewed near, it would have been more admired. A tomb which strikes one as mag- nificent in Westminster-abbey, would appear contemptible if placed in the centre of Russel- square. The only fault I find in the construc- tion of this monument is, the variety of the materials — there are stone, bronze, red marble, and white marble ; gold, granite and various other things which destroy in some degree the singleness of the object. Nevertheless, had it been called a Gate instead of an arc de triomphe, it would have escaped condemnation. The first time 1 saw the column in the Place Vendomey I was rivetted to the spot with ad- miration. The same kind of pleasure is de- 2 156 . COLUMN OF THE PLACE VENDOME. rived from viewing this monument, as is given by a very fine specimen of Gothic architecture ; it is not so much an admiration of the plan as of the execution ; the quantity of the labour, and the excellence of the skill ; and though the Gothic style is only an amplification of the mi- nute, yet when there is magnitude sufficient to satisfy the mind, the effect is beyond comparison more impressive than the mathematical Jltness of the Grecian ; this too, is perfectly indepen- dent of that gratification which is derived from the early association of ideas, by means of which we connect such buildings with the age of chi- valry and romance. I do not recollect ever to have felt a similar and equal pleasure from any work of art, except Henry the Seventh's chapel in Westminster-abbey, and King's College chapdi at Cambridge. This column has been so often described, that it is almost as well known by those who have not seen it, as by those who have. I shall not, therefore, attempt to run through a detail of its different parts and dimensions, but merely ob- serve, that exclusive of the statue of Buonaparte, which has been taken down, it is about one hun- dred and thirty English feet in height, is built in very close imitation of the celebrated column of Trajan at Rome ; and that the great mass of the pillar is stone, but that it is entirely covered with bass reliefs in brass, composed of the COLUMN OF THE PLACE VENDOME. 157 cannon taken in the German war of 1805, At each corner of the pedestal is a most beautiful figure of an eagle holding a garland, which reaches all round, and of course forms a festoon on each side. The pedestal itself is entirely covered with representations of cannon, wag- gons, swords, cartouches, spears, lances, bay- onets, muskets, sashes, helmets, caps, coats, man- tles, feathers, gorgets, epaulettes, standards, trumpets, and every thing else relating to the dreadful art of war. They are arranged with great judgement; are in very bokl relief j and so exquisitely finished, that the epaulettes are as minutely and as delicately worked as the originals they are meant to represent. In va- rious parts we see F. II. (for Francis the Se- cond,) on the colours which are supposed to be taken from the Emperor of Germany, and which that gentleman suffered to remain on his former visit to Paris. They are still there, and it is said, are to remain, though all the pictures on the subject, in the various public buildings, have been defaced. In a spiral scroll, all round the pillar to the top, are represented the series of actions which led to the extraordinary success of that war. The figures are about two feet higli, and there must be at least three thousand distinctly sculptured, besides those indistinct masses which represent regiments in the dis- tance. The embroidery on their clothes is 15S COLUMN OF THE PLACE VEXDOME. worked very minutely, and the whole is finished in a most superb stile of elegance. I have stood an hour in admiration of it, tracing out the subjects, and my attention has been so com- pletely absorbed, that I was scarcely aware that I had been ten minutes. The bass-reliefs, re- present every action and even act of importance, during that wonderful campaign of three months, from the departure of the troops from the cskmp at Boulogne, to the fatal battle of Austerlitz. Just over the door which leads to the stair- case in the inside, (by which > ou ascend to the gallery on the top,) is the following inscription : Napoleo Imp : Aug : hoc luonumentum belli Germanici anno MDCCCV trimestri spatio ductu suo profligati, ex oere capto, gloriae exercitCis maximi dicavit. Before I left Paris, however, they were effacing all these fine words, and at present the tablet will be left blank, to be filled up as occasion may serve, with any other name or names which may be most acceptable to the French at the expiration of five years; when the Allies are to leave them to the uncontrouled expression of their sentiments. Buonaparte's statue, which formerly stood on the summit of the column, had been taken down on the former visit of the Allies, and replaced by the white flag. During his second reign the tri-coloured flag again su* perceded the white one, but in the present day BON MOT OF THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 159 the plain banner of the Bourbons once more floats over a monument erected by their greatest enemy. There is a nothingness about the white flag, which is far from agreeable, and as it be- comes dirty in a very short time after it is dis- played, it certainly forms a most undignified emblem of national grandeur. When the Empejor of Russia passed through the Place Ve?id6me on his first entry into Paris, he pointed to the statue on the summit of the column, and said, " if they had placed me so high, mi/ head would have turned giddy as well as his.'* This bon mot was exactly suited to French taste, and was accordingly communi- cated with the rapidity of lightning, and gave a very favourable impression of Alexander's abi- lities. I have heard it quoted an hundred times, as if it contained the very quintessence of all the fine things that ever were said or could be said on the subject of Buonaparte's downfall. The following pasquinade was once affixed to the base of this monument, in allusion to the statue on the top : — Si la Place etoit pleine du sang qu'il a verse Le cruel pourrait y boire sans se baisser ? ( 1(50 ) ISJttifi: CHAPTER XVIL ^I'HE LOUVRE. REMOVAL OF THE WORKS OF ART, -— CULTIVATION OF THE FINE ARTS IN FRANCE. EX" PRESSION OF LOUIS XVIII. TO LORD WELLINGTON. TD EFORE I had an opportunity and leisure -*-^ to visit the Louvre deUberately, it was al- ready despoiled of its principal glories, and ex- hibited a sad scene of confusion^ Packing cases ■ — workmen's tools — mortar — straw — chips, and fragments of marble, lay scattered about the lower rooms. There remained, however, a most magnificent collection of statues, well worthy of their noble habitation ; indeed, comparatively few of them have been removed, and it is chiefly in the picture gallery that the ruin has been com- plete. There are amongst the statues some groups by modern French artists, which require only age i.0 be placed on a par with those which have been taken away. There is one of " Zephyr enlevant Fsyche^^ which is superior to any thing I have ever seen j the attitudes are so elegant and so beautiful, and the figures so exquisitely formed, that it appears to me the ne plus ultra of sculpture. A great number of valuable re- THE LOUVRE. l6l mains of antient art are left, and I should think that those which have been removed are not above a fortieth part of the whole. There are also a very considerable number of splendid pictures remaining, and the exhibition, even yet, is superior to any other in Europe ; it must have been most magnificent when complete, and I am not surprised at the intense feeling of mor- tification which the French have recently dis- played. They say with some plausibility, ** if you had taken them from us in the first in- stance, we should have acquiesced quietly, but having left them, and made a treaty of peace with us ; you did thereby virtually acknowledge, that, however they had been acquired, they were now our property ; and if they are taken away from us now, it ought to be confessed, that it is by < right of conquest,' and then the ac- quisition of them by us, in the first place, is justified." It is in vain to reply, that they were never intended to remain, and that France having acceded to the first treaty, had received benefits, to which her relative situation by no means entitled her, on condition of an absolute renunciation of Buonaparte and his whole sys- tem and adherents ; that by once more joining herself to his cause, she had really cancelled the former treaty entuely, and that the Allies had then a right to treat her according to the es- tablished usages of warfare. My usual argu- M 162 THE LOUVRE. ment was very short ; if the works of art are a legitimate object of military plunder, those in the Louvre become the property of the Allies, in consequence of the battle of Waterloo: if they be not the fair spoils of war, then the French had no right to them ; and they ought to be restored; but this is like arguing with a man who has just broken his leg, that all is for the best; which, however true in the abstract, is not exactly the best topic of consolation to the sufferer. If the works of art had not been re- moved from Paris, certainly the French would never have acknowledged that they were in any respect conquered; it was a shock more grating, as shewing the power of the victors, than from the value of the prize in question. Even in the picture gallery, there remain a great number of fine paintings, among which ** the Deluge" shines forth pre-eminent. There is also one of " the Dream of St. Ambrose," which seems to me impossible to be excelled in all the grand requisites of the art. The light in this great gallery is by no means well adapted to its purpose, as it comes in on both sides, and there are so many windows that the glare is very disagreeable. Many of the best pictures are absolutely invisible, except in particular parts of the room, and the effect of the whole exhibi- tion is rather astounding than delightful. It must have been absolutely impossible to judge THE LOUVRE, l63 each picture separately amongst so great a num. ber, and those which exhibited the most glaring colours and contrasts, had alone a chance of attracting notice. The perspective of the room is more magnificent than can be conceived •, the immense length of the gallery makes the ex- tremity appear like a point, while the decora- tions of the room, the marble pillars, the mir- rors, the gilding, the fretted cieling, with all that good taste and unbounded expense could contrive for effect, make the tout ensemble splen- did beyond the powers of description. In the lower rooms I observed some exquisite specimens of Mosaic work, from Roman baths, &c. an admirable piece of sculpture represent- ing Romulus and Remus suckled by a wolf, in jasper ; a chair of porphyry, formerly belonging to Pius the Sixth 5 with an almost infinite num- ber of sarcophagi, busts, small columns, ceno- taphs, &c. besides a variety of beautiful statues 5 fragments of the Parthenon of Athens, and many other objects of curiosity, too numerous to specify. There is a curious echo in one of these sa- loons ; it is produced by two immense ancient vases, which gtand at a considerable distance from each other; they are shallow and very smooth. If a person, standing on the outer side of one of them, speaks into it, he is heard dis- tinctly by another person placed at the oute/ M 2 164< THE FINE ARTS. edge of the other ; although perfectly inaudible to a third, standing between the two vases, or to any body in any other part of the room. This echo is evidently the result of the reflec- tion of the voice to the cieling, and thence into the other vase ; if the position of the two ves- sels were altered, even a few inches, the echo would be destroyed. A similar thing was ex- hibited some years ago by a travelling conjurer, and the same principle was probably in use with tlie ancient oracles. These, and a variety of such phenomena, prove incontestibly, that sound is not produced by the vibrations of the air, but of some much more subtle fluid which is con- tained therein. It cannot be denied that the Fine Arts are more generally and more successfully cultivated in France than in England. The statues and vases which are exhibited in such profusion in the gardens and palaces of France, would each of them be an object of pilgrimage, if placed in England. Some of the vases in the gardens of Versailles, are so exquisitely sculptured, that had they been dug up from Herculaneum, instead of being the efforts of modern artists, they would be deemed to possess a value beyond calculation. The French estimate modern and living talent much more fairly ; and though they are certainly not deficient in admiration of the ancients, they render full justice to their contemporaries. It is REMOVAL OF THE WORKS OP ART. 165 a common saying among artists, that they must go to England for money, but to France for honour and estimation. The very high respect paid to excellence in the fine arts, is a much stronger motive than mere emolument. The previous studies of a well-educated artist, gene- rate a feeling of independence almost incompati- ble with sordid motives; and perhaps the greatest incitement to progress, is the hope of elevation to a higher grade in society. There is a sense of gratifying exultation in the reflection, that your own talents have levelled the prescriptive barriers of hereditary rank, and placed you on an equality with those who, but for such acquire- ments of yours, would have been your superiors i and as such superiors are usually possessed of better education, and more liberal feelings, they are by so much more desirable for familiar inter- course. A number of strange stories are told of the remonstrances which passed between the French ministers and Lord Wellington, on the subject of the seizure of the objects of art in the Louvre. Every one persisted in believing that the finest specimens were to be carried to London, and, as a corollary it was said, that King Louis, after having argued the point a long time with the Duke of WeUington, said, " Very well, my Lord, the Prince Regent will have a dozen statues the more, and one great man the less," Q^ Douze M 3 166 REMOVAL OF THE WORKS OF ART^ statues de plus, et un grand homme de moins/*') It was in vain that I asserted the improbability of such a thing ; they were sure of it, and indeed most of them had their account from the minis- ters themselves. I was at first staggered with these positive assertions, but soon found that " direct from the minister'* was like Lieutenant Bowling's ladder to the Lords of the Admiralty, that is, they had heard it from a man who was first-cousin to the laundress that washed for the minister's second gentleman. I was often told very gravely, that it had been agreed the statues and pictures should be sent first to Rome to save appearances, and thence shipped for Eng- land. Nay, they went so far as to assign stations to them. — The Apollo to decorate the stair-case at Carlton House, and the Venus de Medieis to take her station in the British Museum. I al- ways answered, that England had acted consist- ently, and with dignity hitherto, and I did riot think would disgrace herself for a few paltry statues* ( 167 ) CHAPTER XVIII. ECRIVAINS PUBLICS. BRIDGES OVER THE SEINE.- — CURIOUS CUSTOM AT THE STALLS IN THE STREETS. THE CRIES. THE PAVEMENT. THE FOUNTAINS, T N most of the great streets in Paris, are to -*- be found a number of stalls, sometimes made of boards, sometimes only of painted canvass, like the booths in a country fair, or travelling habitation of a tinker. They are the permanent residence of a class of men unknown in any other part of the world, except Turkey, Persia, and China, called Ecrivains Publics. It is a sin- gular circumstance that such men are found only in countries of the lowest and highest degree of civilization, or at least of inter-social structure. Their office is to give ** the wretch's aid'* to those unhappy beings, who either cannot write at all, are too busy, or who never can write well when the wind is in the east. These gentry who thus oifer their services, keep a very extensive stock of love-letters, ready written, and a dis- consolate dustman has only to select that which best expresses the ardour of his passion ; it is immediately sealed with flames and darts, and M 4 iSS ECRIVAINS PUBLICS* sets off to assure Fanny the fish-girl, that he is her adorateiir tres humble et tres respectueua:. Not that M. L'Ecrivain is at a loss for an ex- tempore piece of eloquence, but as most of his applicants are under the painful necessity of trusting to his talents in composition ; and as he knows from experience, what collocation of soft words will melt a milkrmaid, and what a soubrette, he takes care to have a sufficient stock in hand to cause as little delay as possible. All this important service is performed for the very trifling remuneration of ^^r^e-pence (six sous). When you go into any public building, church, or indeed to an ordinary exhibition, you are not allowed to carry your cane with you ; a man at the door receives it, and returns it when you come out ; for this service the regular remune- ration is one penny y for which you are entitled to a low bow and respectful thanks. The Pont des Arts is a very light and elegant bridge, made of iron, and covered with planks ; it is about thirty feet in breadth, and about four hundred in length, (one-third the length of London bridge;) it extends more than twice the width of the river, as it reaches from one quay to the other. Each side of the bridge in sum- mer is covered with flowering shrubs, by the pro- BRIBGEIJ. I6g prietors of the toll, who make it a kind of mar- ket, and it forms a very pleasant and fashionable lounge — The toll is a halfpenny. The Pont d'Austerlitz is also of iron, and is much larger ; the mode in which it is supported is strikingly elegant, and it is certainly the hand- somest bridge on the river. The Pont de Jena is of stone, remarkably plain and substantial, but in exceedingly good taste. It has a very bold cornice, and the piers are adorned with the eagle sculptured in bold relief, holding the thun- der. Except these, it is totally devoid of orna- ment. The Prussians were unable to do any se- rious mischief to it, though they laboured very hard to blow it up ; but it is built so well and so substantially, that they had not time to ac- complish their object before the entrance of the other Allies deprived them of the opportunity. In general all the bridges of Paris are much wider in proportion to their length, than ours are, and the Pont au Change is, I should think, twice as broad as Blackfriars ; the parapets be- ing very low, you see the passengers without obstacle, which gives a more animated appear- ance. The foot-paths, or ^Urottoirs,'' are covered with stalls, and they seem about the best sta- tions for such gentry ; but these encumbrances give a shabby appearance to the bridge, when you are upon it, and would be an intolerable nuisance, but for the very great width. — The 170 STALLS IN THE STREETS. Pont Netif is disfigured by a parcel of beg- garly shops, in all the recesses over the piers. A curious custom is observed at all the little stalls in the streets of Paris ; viz. that of selling every article at the same price ; the proprietojr stands by his little cargo of varieties, and bawls out " the livelong day '* the same set of words without intermission, " cinq sous la piece^^* — " Huit sous la fiece^^ — ** Vingt sous la pieccy* or whatever may be the price of his various arti- cles. 1 bought at the same stall a cane, a map of Paris, a clothes-brush, a large tumbler, and a purse, each for twenty-five sous. The same stall contained toys in great numbers, books, slippers, spurs, and a thousand other things. There is a great advantage in this practice ; you are not under the necessity of marketing, and of course cannot be cheated but by your own want of skill and judgment. It is dis- agreeable not to buy in a shop when one has asked the price of an article, but as all the various wares are here exposed at once to view, you give no trouble by looking them over, and if you think them too dear, you can walk away without ceremony. In general, the things are sold exceedingly cheap at these places; the men have no taxes to pay, and a very small profit is sufficient for their very humble expences. It is surprizing how much of this irregular kind LIGHTING THE STREETS. I7I of traffic is carried on in every street in Paris* I believe that the shops do not depend much on chance custom ; if they did, they would wage war very unequally with these industrious vaga- bonds. Although this mode of carrying on trade has a very uncommercial air, it contri- butes much to the interest excited by the ap- pearance of the streets of Paris. My first exclamation was, that the town resembled a glass bee-hive- — each could see what all the rest were doing. A modern traveller makes the same remark, and all who have been at Paris will acknowledge, how completely it conveys the sensation excited by a ramble through its bustling avenues — the hubbub of London is as silence in the comparison. The cries exceedingly resemble those of Lon- don. Water, which is retailed through the streets all day, and employs a great number of men, is heard under the sound of glieu (meant for Veau,) and is prolonged for half a minute with an exquisite ad libitum cadenza — it struck me as exactly the same as milk in London, which we all know resembles the word milk about as much as the fluid itself does the reality. The other exclamations are perfectly unintel- ligible, and are only understood (hke our own) from association of ideas, by which we can connect contrarieties as easily as resemblances. The mode of lighting the streets is certainly 17^ PAVEMENT. better than our own, till the introduction of gas. The lamps are large, and suspended in the middle of the street by a rope from each side ; they are let down by means of a pulley, one end of the rope being shut up in a box in the wall, of which the lamplighter keeps the key ; they are hung very high, and are fur- nished on each side (up and down the street) with a reflector, like the section of a funnel. I remember seeing one of the same kind at Pa- trick's in Newgate-street ; by means of this reflector no light whatever is lost, as it cannot escape upwards ; whereas, in our mode, one half of the light is absorbed by the dark-coloured wall to which the lamp is attached ; the white houses of Paris also make tJie most of the light thus given them, while those of London give back none at all. It is hardly necessary to mention a fact, sa generally known and so universally complained oi\ as the absence of side-pavement in the streets of Paris. Carriages, horses, and foot-passengers all mingle together in one promiscuous masSy and the only guard for the weak consists in a set of low stone posts placed against the walls,, to prevent carriages from breaking the windows. When you are very hard drove, you retreat to the wall, and fixing yourself close to one of these homes, you have the pleasure of kissing the . upper edge of the wheel as it passes by, and THE FOUNTAINS. 173 covers you with mud, thus ascertaining, to a hair's breadth, how near you can go to a wag- gon without being crushed. Accidents are con- tinually occurring, and very often prove fatal ; yet it is impossible to convince the people of the practicability of adopting the EngUsh plan. The reason they assign is the number of coach-gates in every street, so that the pavement must be interrupted every sixty feet ; but although this is a reason for not being able to make a con- tinued pavement, it is not a reason for having none at all, and as stone is so exceedingly cheap here, Buonaparte might have given the Pari- sians the comfort and advantage of the plan for not much more than he laid out in useless mo- numents. However, he best knew the taste of his subjects, and that he should please them better by monuments of glory than of utility. The fountains, which are the subject of ex- travagant praise, are certainly elegant and use- ful, but in point of real value they will not bear a comparison with the mode in which London is supplied with water. Perhaps the scarcity of this article at Paris may account for, and in some measure excuse, that neglect of cleanliness which is so offensive to the senses of an Eng- lishman. You buy water at a penny a bucket- full (voie d'eau,) and this being a tax which it is possible to evade , many choose to give the three or four pence for a cup of coffee, rather 174 THE FOUNTAINS. than for so many pails of water. Buonaparte built several new fountains, some of which are worth notice ; that on the Boulevard du Tern" pie, near the Porte St. Martin, is composed of several circular shallow vases, one above another, gradually diminishing to the top ; they are beautifully and most classically sculptured, and the abundance and transparency of the water, as it falls from one to the other, produces a very charming effect. At the base are eight Egyp- tian lions coupled, which throw the water from their mouths into another circular reservoir at the base, of considerable size, within reach of the water porters. This fountain being in the centre of a very public promenade is a conspi- cuous object, and in fine weather is surrounded with people who stand to admire it ; the trees add to the effect, and the whole is a judicious specimen of good taste ; it is the only fountain in Paris, I believe, which supplies water faster than it can be emptied ; in general, we see the porters standing round for a considerable time before it comes to their turn to dip. As mere objects of ornament, fountains are certainly very beautiful appendages to a great city, but their utility has a sad drawback in winter, when they are covered with ice, and all the streets round about are almost impassable from the water slopped from the pails and frozen, making ft al- most impossible to keep on one's feet, and very 3 THE FOUNTAINS. 175 dangerous for horses and carriages. During the latter part of my stay, they were all frozen up, and the porters were obliged to bring ice from a distance as a substitute. With the facilities we have in London, what beautiful ornaments of this nature might be erected at a small expence; but Englishmen in general seem too easily satisfied with comforts only, and they despise appearances further than good sense requires. There are many fine situations for ornamental fountains in London, though if they are to be erected in the same taste as that hideous thing in the Green Park we are certainly better with- out them. < 176 ) CHAPTER XIX. tHE BARRIERS. THE QUAYS. THE MODE OF WASH- ING. COOKERY. THE FLOWER-MARKET. COFFEE- HOUSES. — ^ PALAIS ROYAL. npHE Barriers of Paris are nothing more than -■- toll-gates, but larger and more ornamen- tal ; they are about the distance from the mass of the town that Kennington Common, or the cross road at Islington, is from London. Walls run from one to the other, and completely en- viron the town, so that it is impossible to bring any thing in without paying the very heavy tax which is laid on here. All articles of food and general consumption, wines, spirits, &c. pay a large sum, which indeed forms a consi- derable source of revenue to the state. Those who wish to drink wine at half price must go outside the barriers, where there are plenty of public-houses for that express purpose, which are frequented on Sundays like the White Con- duit House and Bagnigge Wells. The Quays, as they are called, do not join the river, but are a raised road, formed by a very substantial stone wall, at about thirty or STREET MUSIC. 177 forty feet from it on each side. The goods are landed on that space, and not on the quays, which are only carriage-ways and foot-paths. The parapet is always covered with second-hand books, which are spread along almost the whole length. These quays are certainly of great public utility, and the best of Buonaparte's un- dertakings. The edge of the water inside the quays is lined with a row of washerwomen. I observed them even to-day, (Novem. 19.) in great numbers, though the ground is covered with snow, and the air intensely cold. All weathers are these poor creatures thus exposed. They kneel in a little machine like a wheel-barrow with two legs in front, instead of a wheel, and sit half in the water. The washing consists only of dip- ping the clothes into the water, pulling them half out, and thumping them over the edge of the barrow with a short wooden spade. The clothes are previously soaped at home, other- wise, I should not think them much cleaner for such washing. These rows of women, all with red checked handkerchiefs on their heads, form a curious spectacle. An Englishman is surprised at the kind of music which he hears in the streets ; ballad- singing perambulation seems to be practised here by quite a different class from those who annoy us in the streets of London. They ge- N 178 RESTAURATEURS. nerally sing very well, and with a considerable knowledge of music, always accompanying themselves on some instrument, as the guitar or harp. I have heard some voices in the streets of Paris, which are not to be equalled on the London stage, except by a small number of the best. French music is very scientific, very chro- matte ; but by no means pleasing. It is only when they play German pieces, that one can re- ceive much pleasure from it. This art is culti- vated much more generally than in England, and I have often heard the people at work in the fields, singing in concert extremely well. Almost all the shops and restaurateurs' dining rooms are ornamented with a profusion of the most beautiful plate-glass, in mirrors, &c. ; they are often, however, left with two or three sum- mers' fly-marks upon them. The people seem to think, that if they have once been fitted up in high style, there needs no future care and cleanliness, and accordingly the walls are al- lowed to become abominably dirty ; this too seems more conspicuous from the splendour* Marble tables and side-boards, silver plates, dishes, basons, and soup-tureens in astonishing abundance, in what appear to be only second or third rate houses. I was astonished at the quantity of plate in common use. Some houses are punctihously clean, notwithstanding the fashion; as Very^s^ MassinofSy and Cafe de FRENCH COOKERY. 179 Milks ColanneSy &c., and in all, you have linen of snowy whiteness, without a spot. Every one is furnished with a clean napkin, and the whole economy lof the table is a striking con- trast to the negligent and dirty appearance of the walls and floor. In general, I admire French cookery very much. But those dishes which are peculiarly pleasing to French palates, are in my mind the worst. The variety is astonishing ; I have seen bills of fare, in which two hundred and eighty different dishes were enumerated. At first, I supposed them to be like Boniface's larder, but my friend soon convinced me that they really had all this Heliogabalan variety ready to put on the table ; ten or twelve kinds of soup ; fish of six or eight kinds,, dressed each in as many dif- ferent modes ; beef in twenty ways j mutton and veal in similar fashions; poultry, vegeta- bles and fruit, tarts, &c. &c. &c. The name of the dish has very little to do with its merits, as the sauce makes a savoury dish out of cocks* combs, chickens' feet, or pigs' ears. One of the dishes I was very fond of, (till I Jearnt the mode in which it was made,) ome^ lette souffiee. Each person's allowance comes in about the size of a quartern loaf, and re- sembling a batter-pudding, but two or three blows with the back of a spoon, reduce it to the size of an egg. A spoonful of batter, I N S 180 FLOWER-MARKLT. understand, is put into a frying-pan, and white cooking, is blown up to that enormous size, by means of a long pipe and the cook's lungs. I could not reconcile myself to it, when once I understood the manufacturey though we eat veal in England which is served in the same manner, and make no qualms on the occasion. Warm plates are a luxury totally unknown, and you cannot persuade a Frenchman that they add to the comfort of dinner ; the coldest day in winter it is impossible to obtain one, and they think it perfectly ridiculous to wish for such a thing. The Marche ana: Fleurs is an oblong square, on the banks of the river, planted the whole length, with four parallel rows of trees, which are yet but young. There is a broad walk along the middle, the flowers and shrubs being ar- ranged on each side in splendid profusion. In the middle of November 1 saw abundance of roses, tulips, mignionette, and ranunculus, in the highest perfection. They tell me there is some mode here of forcing these sorts of flowers into an unnatural state of health and beauty, by means of lime. I noticed, at least, that all those which I, or any of my friends bought, w^ere presently dead ; and pots of ranunculus which seemed to have a succession of flowers to last a considerable time, were quite withered in a week. A long row of orange-trees in full COFFEE HOUSES. 181 bloom, formed part of this exhibition, and scented the air all around. I have often had occasion to notice the attention of the French Government, (under all its changes,) to take all opportunities of making every thing that can be called public y ornamental. This Marcke aux Fleurs forms a very delightful promenade ; draws a great number of customers, and is in no respect more expensive than the confused jumble of stalls and rubbish at Covent Garden ; a place where a respectable woman can hardly make her appearance, while the same establish- ment at Paris is an ornament to the city. The number of coffee-houses at Paris is really astonishing ; yet they seem all well filled. For what they call a demi tasse de caje^ (but which is really a good sized cup and saucer full,) they charge 8 sous, and they give you sugar enough for half a dozen cups. The custom is to put as many lumps into your coffee as it will dis- solve, and pocket the remainder. The first time I saw this trick, I set the man down for a shabby rascal, and mentioned the circumstance to my friends : they laughed at my barbarous notions on the subject, and said it was universal. I had proof enough afterwards, having seen men oF the highest rank do the same thing, and, in short, though it is impossible to use all the sugar they give you in your coffee, I never saw any body leave a single piece behind them \ N 3 18^2 PALAIS ROYAL* and the waiters seemed to give a contemptuous glance of pity on my squeamishness, which would not allow me to follow the example. The universal custom at Paris, is to take coffee without milk, immediately after dinner, and always to finish with a glass of liqueurs. This last is furnished in small glasses, about half the size of a wine-glass, and costs six, eight, or ten sous. The glass is always filled till it runs over and fills the little stand. I found this very disagreeable, as it was sticky and dirty to the fingers ; but Frenchmen seem always determined to have as much as they can for their money. The Palais Royal is the place of paramount interest to all strangers visiting Paris. It is a very large and high building, forming an oblong square ; like all others in this great town, it is built of very handsome freestone j a row of pi- lasters support the upper stories and form piazzas on the three sides of the building which are finish- ed J the fourth is composed only of temporary wooden sheds to complete the quadrangle. The square thus enclosed is a garden 5 and rows of trees down each side with a space in the centre for flowers and flowering shrubs. The shops under the piazzas are the gayest in Paris ; they are divided in general into very small compartments, but are fitted up with great taste and expence. PALAIS ROYAL. 183 Here live the most fashionable jewellers, cutlers, perfumers, tailors, watchmakers, goldsmiths, hatters, and booksellers : here are the handsomest coffee-houses and restaurateurs. A great num- ber of exhibitions of all kinds find here their sup- ply of visitors. The story above is composed of club-houses, gambling- houses, brothels — more coffee-houses and restaurateurs — higher still, the same or worse. Every thing which Paris contains is here to be found. It is one vast " Exchange" of vice and vanity, and forms a kind of metropolis of itself. From seven in the morning till twelve at night, this great square is thronged with visitors of all descriptions ; thousands are al- ways walking about, lounging in the shops, promenading the piazzas, or sitting under the trees in the garden eating ices, and reading newspapers and pamphlets. Amongst the loun- gers, we observe great numbers of a description that are never seen walking for pleasure in London, except on a Sunday, but very often, when you enquire, you find them ** all honour- able men." The Allies of course add very con- siderably to the bustle in this extraordinary vortex. I have seen more than five hundred Prussian officers in the place at once. The continued movement — the noise — the succession of brilliant objects — the music — altogether produce a strange feehng of delight-v 184f PALAIS ROYAL. fill confusion. At night, when every windoxr in the whole building is illuminated, the scene is exceedingly beautiful, and in some degree resembles Vauxhall, but that the crowd is sa much greater in proportion to its size. It seems a little world of itself, and to one who does not know, or who does nc^ at the moment reflect^, of what materials this motley assembly is com- posed, it is really a most interesting spectacle. I have been told of many detestable exhibi- tions which this place contains ; but having no wish to ascertain facts so disgusting and so humiliating to human nature, 1 cannot speak from my own knowledge, nor can I admire the inverted sense of delicacy in those who seek out proof, on purpose to display pious indigna- tion, at that of which they ought ever to be ignorant^ ( 18^ > CHAPTER XX. CELEBRATION OF HIGH MASS AT THE CHURCH OF ST. ROCH. THE FEELINGS WHICH IT INSPIRES. TENETS OF THE CATHOLIC RELIGION. AURICULAR CONFESSION. I HAD frequently attended the celebration of high mass in England, and had often ad- mired it as a fine and imposing spectacle, but never saw it in so great a degree of perfection as on a festival at the church of St. Roch. I do not remember the occasion, but am not likely ever to forget the ceremony or the feelings it inspired. I had been previously harassed with unusual fatigue ; had passed several nights of broken rest, and had pursued my studies with a degree of assiduity and intensity which had quite unhinged my nerves, and left me in a state of body approaching very nearly to hys- terical agitation. Under a feeling so oppressive and distressing, I looked about anxiously for something to turn the current of my thoughts, and tranquillize the painful irritation of my brain. The church of St. Roch was open and illuminated with unusual splendour. I passed in, and hiring one of the little chairs, of which 186 EFFECT OF CATHOLIC CEREMONIES. many hundreds are always ready, seated myseir and waited patiently for the commencement.^ The long preparation added still to the effect, the organ swelled out its majestic tones with the most exquisite modulation I ever heard. The music of the Romish ritual is exceedingly fine, and here it was heard to the fullest advantage — the venerable air and magnitude of the build- ing — the great numbers of the communicants — the gorgeous habiliments of the long train of priests — the splendour of the prolonged ce- remony — the exquisite chanting of the singers — altogether were infinitely impressive. I was so overpowered with my own emotions, that I could scarcely stifle the hysterical sobs which rose in spite of my exertions ; I felt a sensation of awe, of reverential awe, which made me almost dread to lift up my eyes, lest I should encounter the reproving glance of an offended Deity. My conscience brought before me all the faults I had ever been guilty of, and I was overwhelmed with a sense of my own unwor- thiness and reprobation ; forgetting for the mo- ment, that I was assisting at a communion of which 1 was not a member j T knelt down and received the sacrament with as sincere a devo- tion as ever influenced the breast of the most bigotted believer in modern miracles. I thought not of the peculiar tenets of CathoHc or Pro- testant, and only reflected on the power and EFFECT OF CATHOtIC CEREMONIES. 187 the mercy of the Creator, and on the miserable impotence and unworthiness of human nature ; I thought on that perfect man who sacrificed his hfe for the benefit of his abandoned fellow creatures; and I ate the bread in reverential commemoration of His sufferings. My feelings were excited to a degree of intensity, which could not long have continued without causing madness. I wished to retire, but had not the power to remove myself; on a sudden some quarrel at the door respecting a dog which had been admitted into the church, turned the whole course of my ideas, and all the pomp and mag- nificence which had before produced so strong an effect on my mind, faded into nothingness and folly. I returned home dissatisfied and disappointed. When I " communed with my own heart in my chamber, and was still," I reverted to the occurrence of the day. My body was now re- novated by rest and refreshment, and I could calmly review my feelings and the cause of them. How did all the magnificent spectacle I had witnessed, sink into nothing, when compared with the humble prayer of a contrite heart. I was angry and dissatisfied with myself, at the conviction that pressed itself upon me, that the feelings which were at the moment so subHme and overwhelming, were really the result of cor- poreal, and not of intellectual impressions, and 188 EFFECT OF CATHOLIC CEREMONIES. that the same ceremony would have had Hon such effect had I been in health and vigour; yet the highest enjoyment of these blessings would not have incapacitated me from relishing and sympathizing with the ardent unaffected piety, the saint-like purity of devotion which characterized the late Hugh Worthington ; a man, whose religious tenets I know not, but whose lively, influential -iaith, whose energetic performance of his duties, whose exquisite sim- plicity of heart, and overpowering eloquence, rendered him a worthy member of the ministry of Christ, and an honour to human nature. When I considered more deeply the nature of the feelings which I had just experienced, I recollected how often I had witnessed a similar enthusiasm in ignorant and uninformed minds, excited by the senseless rant of a Methodist preacher; how often I had seen a degree of devotion bordering on insanity, produced by a foolish and unmeaning collocation of words, which to 7716 conveyed no ideas at all ; 1 felt humiliated at the reflection, that with my boasted advantages, I had been at least equally excited by a ceremony which was in itself as unmeaning and ridiculous ; and I was more and more con- vinced, that the simple, unaffected utterance of the real feelings of an humble and repentant spirit, must be more acceptable to the great GOD OF NATURE, than all the pomps and cere- ' STATE OF RELIGION IN FRANCE. 189 monies which the mis-directed ingenuity of man has ever contrived. Had I been assisting at a sacrifice in the Temple of the Sun, or in the palace of Jagernaut, I should perhaps, have ex- perienced equally vivid emotions, and been equally abstracted, and incapable of forming a reasonable judgment. The sublime is a very short distance from the ridiculous, and the more splendid and magni- ficent a ceremony, the more easily is it turned into ridicule. Human nature cannot long bear great elevation, without a certain consciousness of insignificance obtruding itself on our most pompous abstFactions, and the higher we have risen, the more rapid and profound is our fall. Let us then make our humility, our pride, and we shall not fear the transitions whicli are so fatal to the opposite system. The King of France, who has himself expe- rienced the consolations of religion, is sincerely anxious to re-establish it in his dominions. It is a great misfortune to him, that the religion of his forefathers, in which he has been educated, is a religion of pomp and show, which at the same time makes larger demands on credulity, and even on self-government, than most men are willing to allow. Had it been his Jot to have professed the Protestant, or rather any other still simpler form of worship, he would have had much less difficulty in restoring his nation 190 STATE OF RELIGION IN FRANCE. to that State of religious feeling which has been by every mode discouraged for the last five and twenty years. His processions and his masses excite only ridicule, and many are disgusted with the thing itself from the con- tempt which the forms of it inspire. This is the opinion of the most intelligent and respectable men in France, and has often been a subject of regret and disappointment. No one doubts the necessity and advantage of restoring religious habits and feelings, but most of them doubt or deny that the mode now adopted is calculated to produce the intended effect. Men have been set a thinking, and the mummeries of catholic page- antry are no longer impressive. By association of ideas too they are connected with the age of tyranny and oppression, and in reviving the old forms of worship, people fear the revival also of that arbitrary system of government, which it was the object, and the legitimate, object of the Revolution to destroy. Religion itself is so consoling, and so delight- ful a resource from the unavoidable miseries of Nature, that no man of sense and feeling but would wish it to be the ruling principle of his fellow-creatures. The excellent Dr. Beattie, says, in speaking of the philosophers who would shake our faith in the justice and omnipotence of the Deity. — " Caressed by those who call themselves tJie great, engrossed by the fbrmali*- STATE OF RELIGION IN FRANCE. 191 ties and fopperies of life, intoxicated with vanity, pampered with adulation, dissipated in the tu- mult of business, or amidst the vicissitudes of folly, they perhaps have little need and little re. lish for the consolations of religion ; but let them know that in the solitary scenes of life there is many an honest and tender heart pining with incurable anguish, pierced with the sharpest sting of disappointment, bereft of friends, chilled with poverty, racked with disease, scourged by the op- pressor; whom nothing but trust in Providence, and the hope of future retribution, could pre- serve from the agonies of despair. Will they, with sacrilegious hands, violate this last refuge of the miserable, and rob them of the only com- fort which had survived the ravages of misfor- tune, malice and tyranny? Will they disturb the tranquillity of virtuous retirement — deepen the gloom of disappointment, and aggravate the horrors of the grave ?" How lamentable is it then, that the sincere and meritorious attempt to restore this blessing to a nation which has suffered so much, (and made other nations suffer so much,) from the want of it, should be rendered nugatory by the forms and ceremonies attached to it. Forms and ceremonies which were adapted to the age in which they were invented, but are totally in- compatible with the great advancement that has 19^ AURICULAR CONFESSION. taken place in the developement of human in- tellect. Perhaps one of the strongest objections to the Catholic religion in France is, the authority claimed by the priests in the article of confession, which is manifestly an infringement of intellec- tual liberty that cannot be tolerated in a nation so far advanced in civilization. It is a claim of superiority which we cannot fairly concede to human beings, whom we know to be subject to the same passions and weaknesses, liable to the same infirmities and frailties, the same errors, and the same crimes; and who have, equally with ourselves, need to implore the mercy of their Creator. In spite of these objections against the practice of auricular confession, I must continue to think it an excellent instrument in the education of children ; if judiciously exercised, it may be a most important means of annihilating the first rudiments of vice, and turning aside the steps, which though apparently deviating but little from the right path, will, in the end, lead to misery and crime. I have the pleasure of knowing in- timately some very respectable Catholic families, and I have admired very strongly the perfect purity of thought which has been encouraged and established by this method of tuition. It may be said that z. parent is the best and most natural depositary of a child's confession ; 3 AURICULAR CONFESSION. IQS and that none other can be so well qualified for the office of monitor. — Not so. — The strongest motive which can actuate the breast of a child, is the wish to acquire the affection and esteem of its parents, and it will endeavour to retain these even by the sacrifice of truth. You can- not induce it to confess to them the petty faults and improper ideas which have been either spon- taneous, or the result of evil communications, because it will always fear to lose their regard, and, although forgiven, feel itself less worthy in their eyes — an impression which should be most cautiously avoided, for self-respect is one of the strongest motives of human nature. But it may acknowledge its little transgressions to the priest under the seal of secrecy, and thus avoid the shame of exposure ; and the priest, if a good man, (as I believe they are, much more ge- nerally than is allowed,) can always give such advice to the parents as shall be calculated to benefit the respective dispositions of the children who fall under his care. However, I would strictly confine the practice of confession to children ; when they are old enough to con- ceive a proper abstract idea of the Creator, and no longer think him an old man sitting in the sky, they should be taught to confess and hope for pardon only from their Maker. To prolong the period of subjection to this inqui- sition, is either to shock and disgust their o 194f AURICULAR CONFESSION. ideas of right and wrong, or it is the means of distorting their judgment to fit the prac- tice. In the prayer books of Catholic congre- gations, I have been often disgusted to find very long and detailed censures and arguments on crimes, of which (but for such admoni- tions) children would generally remain for ever ignorant. ( 195 ) CHAPTER XXL PRUSSIAN ARMY. DRESS OF THE OFFICERS. — RUSSIAN ARMY, THEIR VERY DIFFERENT BEHAVIOUR. — DUEL BETWEEN A RUSSIAN AND A FRENCH OFFICER. CONDUCT OF THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH RECIPRO- CALLY. T CONFESS myself very much disappointed ^ in the Prussian army, and especially the officers. I expected to find the former, stout large men, well-disciplined, with iron visages : and the latter had always been described to me as elegant, martial figures, and peculiarly digni- fied in their deportment — how widely different was the reality ! The men (except the King's body guard) were almost without exception small, sickly, mean-looking, undisciplined rabble, and more like a band of robbers than a regular army ; and the officers more foppish and fantastical than any caricature could possibly do justice to. They are drawn in at the loins like an ear- wig, with a band so tightly fastened that they seem almost divided ; and really one cannot help fearing that they will tumble down and break asunder. They are stuffed and padded over the chest, till they look like women, or craw- pigeons. Their hair is frizzed behind into a bushy o 2 196 DRESS OF THE PRUSSIANS. , wig, and cut smooth over the forehead ; their pantaloons are stuck out at the side of the leg with wire and leather, till they occupy as much space as a lady's hoop ; high heels and spurs sixteen inches long, complete the lower part of the figure ; the head is ornamented with a cap of which the crown is miich wider at the top than next the brim, and it is kept on the head by a black strap, which instead of coming under the chin, as adopted by all others, crosses the point of the chin, and thus divides their co- mical flat faces diagonally into two equal parts. Their manners do justice to their dress, and are so insufferably insolent that quarrels daily arise with the French, and not unfrequently with the English. That blundering old fellow Blucher encourages this feeling of conqueror- ship in his army, and we all know that it is much more easy to be obeyed in such sort of commands, than in the opposite system of re- straint. 1 never yet could exactly agree in the excessive admiration of that man which has been so fashionable. He has lost every battle he ever fought, very frequently when the time and place were his own selection, and his army considerably more numerous than his enemy. His courage and perseverance are undeniable^ but the former has frequently been only the fury of revenge, and the latter obstinacy in despair* The French are especially indignant at the pre- THE RUSSIANS. 197 sent conduct of the Prussians. ** Men (say they) who never could stand against us in the field, even when they were defending their homes on their own soil ; who carried submis- sion to its uttermost extreme while we were their masters, will come here, behind the English^ and ravage the country with unnecessary, wan- ton, and foolish cruelty. Oh, (say they) if we ever go to war with them again, woe to their recollections of France ; — only leave us to fight it out fairly, and if they ever gain one battle we will lay down at their feet in silence." I have heard many young men of property say that they would willingly give up every farthing they possessed, and go as private soldiers for the sake of wreaking vengeance on the Prussians. Should they really quarrel with Prussia, and that power be not immediately succoured by the others, I think the French would fight stone walls, and perform " impossibilities '' to accom- plish the burning of Berlin. Although the Russian officers imitate the Prus* sians a good deal in their dress, they are far from adopting that supercilious and empty pup- pyism of manner which makes the latter so ridiculous. There is scarcely an instance of a quarrel between the Russian officers and the French, although duels were exceedingly com- mon between French and Prussians. The man- ners of officers are, of course, adopted by the o 3 198 RUSSIAN SOLDIERS. soldiers in their respective spheres of action, and accordingly nothing could form a more de- cided contrast than the conduct of the two armies. I know a family in whose house thirty- four Russians were quartered for several months, to whom they were obliged to furnish three meals a day gratis ; a little straw was all the bed which was required, and washing quite supererogatory. During the whole time, and with several changes of inmates, they never committed the least disturbance, — took care not to make any noise, and were constantly apolo- gizing for the inconvenience to which they sub- jected the family, — voluntarily performed every household office, and executed little commis- sions in the markets, &c. with scrupulous fidelity. They rapidly acquired the French language, and spoke it without a foreign accent. Some of them were Tartars from the frontiers of China, and some of them Cossacks from the banks of the Don; yet they were all equally mild and gentle in their behaviour. 1 have often asked Russian officers by what art they were enabled to retain such a set of half civilized savages in the bonds of good order and morality, and the reply has generally been the same. " By love for the sovereign.** " You cannot conceive,'* said they, " to what a degree of en- thusiasm they carry their affection for Alexander — there is scarcely a private soldier in the RUSSIAN SOLDIERS* 199 whole army who ever drinks without mentioning his name, or goes to bed without a short prayer for his safety ; they know his wishes, and they strive to fulfil them. — Such a character as that of our beloved Emperor will do more to civilize the empire than could be accomplished by au- thority in ages." As far as 1 had an oppor- tunity of judging, they are correct in their opinion. Mildness of character, if it be accom- panied by personal courage and contempt of death, is the most " taking" quality which the commander of an army can possess, and even the rough soldier admires gentleness in his com- mander. Alexander has many real claims on the love of his troops j he visits the wounded and the sick with an air of interest and of com- passion w hich is not affected ; he is anxious to reward merit, and carefully seeks out the ex- amples of it; at the same time he has that happy art of conferring a favour which so very few can attain, which enhances tenfold the gift^ and reconciles those who are less fortunate to the success of their comrades. He is often called a " weak man," which is to be intei-preted a man with some degree of conscience. Happy had it been for Europe, if the thrones of every state had been filled with such weak monarchs for the last century. One instance of duel between a Russian and French officer did however occur during my o 4> SOO A DUEL. Stay at Paris, Captain B. was breakfasting at the Cafe Montmisier, in the Palais Royal, with Captain R., an officer of the Legion of Honour, and formerly aide-du-camp to Carnot, in his defence of Antwerp. A Russian officer came in, who had been taking his breakfast with a friend by invitation, and had drank two bottles of Champagne with it (a common article at breakfast here;) he swaggered about the room for some time, talking loudly of a recent suc- cess of the Russians in taking some town on the frontiers of France ; from this he digressed to the campaign of Moscow, and becoming more and more inflamed with the glorious recollec- tions which rushed into his giddy brain, at last marched up to B., and taking hold of the order of the Iron Crown, which appended to his but- ton-hole, stammered out, ** Did - - - you get this at Moscow, Sir." — B. started up, struck him a violent blow on the ear, which sent him to the other side of the room, and replied, " You got that at Paris, Sir,*' Of course the business could not rest here, — a coach was called, — B. got into it with R. as his second, while two Prussian officers, who happened to be in the room, accompanied the Russian, to perform the same office for him. They reached the Champs Eh/sees, and having selected a retired spot, the parties prepared for action. In a very few passes B. perceived that his adversary was A DUEL. gOl completely at his mercy, as the wine he had drank had now made such progress in confound- ing the intellects of the Russian, that he could no longer parry or thrust with the least chance of success. A generous man, under such circum- stances, if he would not have deferred the con- test, would at least have been satisfied with in- flicting such a wound as would disable his oppo- nent without destroying his life; but B. had been at Moscow as well as his second, and had, like him, left a few toes behind him, the mortification he then experienced would be satis- fied with nothing less than summary revenge ; he therefore passed his sword through the belly of his antagonist, with the edge turned out- wards, and cut through the whole length ; the Russian fell instantly, and his bowels protruded shockingly. Captain R. then said, " Come gen- tlemen, which oi you is to finish the affair with me." ** Why Sir," said one of the Prussians, *< you must have observed, that we did not coun- tenance or encourage this gentleman in the in- sult he gave to your friend. We allow it to have been gross and unprovoked, and we only accompanied him hither from a sense of duty, as the two nations are allied, and, of course, have a right to expect mutual succour. We have no quarrel with you. Sir, unless you choose to think so, and in that case you will have the goodness either to select your man, or we will 202 A DUEL. draw lots which of us is to have the honour of fighting you." " Indeed," said R. " I have not the least inclination to fight for fighting's sake, therefore I will simply request you to take care of the wounded man to the Hospital of St. Louis, and 1 will give orders that he be well attended to." — This was done. On the following day, the surgeons infoKined the poor man that he could not survive, and begged to know if he wished to see any one before his death ; he asked for B. and R., they were sent for im- mediately, and, on their appearance, he ad- dressed the former to the following effect : " I forgive you my death from the bottom of my soul. Still, I think, it would have been more honourable in you to have delayed the punish- ment of my folly, and had you waited till my recollection returned, I think I should have made an apology for the insult I first offered you^ rather than have wished to resent that which you gave to me. — I am dying, — I have maintained a fair character hitherto, and I hope it will not be dishonoured by your report of me. You know the anxiety the Emperor has always manifested, that his officers might exert every mode of conciliating the French, and you may suppose the mortification which my friends would feel at my being convicted of a gross and deliberate insult to a man who had given me no cause of offence. — Assure me, that you ENGLISH AND FRENCH OFFICERS. 203 will not let my name be made public, and I shall die in peace." This of course was pro- mised, and he expired in a few hours after- wards. In the neighbourhood of Paris there were very rarely quarrels between English and French officers ; but in the provinces, and more espe- cially in the south, where the people were thought most partial to us, quarrels and duels were frequent. It was much more common, however, for disputes between them to be set- tled after the fashion of school-boys j and I know several instances, where English officers have had immediate recourse to fists, on receiv- ing an insult from French officers. This mode of deciding a quarrel is peculiarly offensive to French feelings ; a blow is considered by them as the climax of disgrace and shame. There was one advantage attending it however ; it made them much more cautious of giving of- fence, as the punishment was immediate and inevitable, and the remote chance of wiping off the disgrace by a successful duel, was but a very scanty consolation for a pair of black eyes, and a skin full of aching bones. The only wonder is, under such circumstances as those in which the two nations were placed, that quarrels should not arise frequently and daily, rather than that they should occur so often. So many idle young men, with the constant indulgence 204^ CONDUCT OF THE BRITISH. in wine to excess, with the haughtiness of vic- tory on one side, and the humihation of defeat on the other, could not be expected to come frequently in contact, without frequent collision ; and it is but justice to both parties to say, that English officers shewed in general a very per- severing spirit of conciliation, and that French officers behaved to them with mildness and respect. The French, after having exhausted themselves in invectives against our terrible Government, descend to the praise of our army with equal enthusiasm. It is acknowledged by all, that no army ever conducted itself more humanely, or with more strict discipline. In the hands of a gentleman high in office under the French Go- vernment, I have seen letters official and demi- official from every part of France. Some were in the nature of petitions, to be released from the horrible extortions of the Prussians, and to have EngHsh troops sent to them for security. Some were from towns which had not yet been visited by foreigners, asking for English to avoid their own soldiers. Many were letters of thanks for the favour of having English troops quar- tered upon them> and expressing the happiness they experienced at being able to go to bed in peace and confidence. The gentle, unassuming manners of the English officers, when inmate* of respectable families, were so different from. CONDUCT OF THE BRITISH. 205 what they had been led to expect, that in num- berless instances, their departure to other quar- ters was celebrated with tears ; and when our army finally quitted them, they entreated to hold occasional intercourse by letter. In most instances, the English officers refused to accept the rations which their billets entitled them to, and insisted on paying for the provisions fur- nished to them. Where this would not be ac- cepted, they generally contrived an equivalent in presents. This was often the subject of amicable contention between the hosts and their guests ; a thing rather unusual in modern war- fare. ' Walter Scott mentions that it was a common circumstance to see the Highlanders serving in the Httle shops where they were quartered, while the landlord was gone to the vineyard, and his wife to the river to wash. This may seem an extraordinary degree of confidence to place in the soldiers of a foreign army, but really it is hot so, and I have no doubt would be the case every where, except when any peculiar spirit of revenge was the immediate motive of the war. It is surprising how soon parties thus situated, assimilate and become one family ; the chief obstacle to it, is ignorance of the language, and that for ordinary purposes is soon sufficiently removed. Once convince a soldier that he can- not be unjust with impunity, punish slight crimes 2 206 CONDUCT OF THE BRITISH. with severity; and where he no longer dares to acquire respect and good offices by means of terror, he immediately sets himself about ac- quiring the confidence and good will of his host, by quiet, orderly behaviour, and by all those little favours which entitle him to little concessions in exchange. There are a thou- sand ways in which the one may annoy the other without giving cause for a formal accu- sation, and if the soldier dares not enforce obe- dience, he has no alternative but to exchange civilities, or go without them. However this be, it is certain that the circumstance above alluded to, was exceedingly common, and not confined to the Highlanders alone, though their good conduct was conspicuous, but it was the same with other regiments of the English army, and very common indeed with the Russians. ( 207 ) CHAPTER XXII. CONSCRIPTION LAWS. ABUSES AND CRUELTIES IN THE ADMINISTRATION OF THEM. A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE TRENCH CONSCRIPTION AND ENGLISH IMPRESS- MENT. 1WAS anxious to ascertain how far the tyranny of Buonaparte had operated on French opi- nion to contribute to his overthrow, and I had very extensive opportunities for this purpose, as my professional character, and the great number of letters of introduction which I took out with me, gave me access to many societies, from which my travelling countrymen, (and es- pecially the military,) were strictly excluded. One could not but respect the feeling which induced the French to refuse any intercourse with foreigners under the circumstances of pub- lic calamity they were placed in. It was so difficult to gain admission, that many of my compatriots went away with a most erroneous impression, and either attributed that to national character, which was only the result of acci- dental circumstances, or else felt too much offended at the exclusion, to do justice to such parts of the structure of French society, as 208 THE CONSCRIPTION. they "were acquainted with. I supposed, (and indeed the advice was strongly urged upon me before I set out,) that it would be necessary to keep a strict guard on my tongue, lest I might get into embarrassment by shocking the politi- cal opinions of those with whom I might con- verse. I had therefore made a kind of vow be- fore leaving England, that nothing should in- duce me to argue either on politics or religion ; supposing very naturally that the irritable feel- ings of a conquered nation would be more than usually susceptible of offence, and that delicacy alone ought to restrain me from giving utterance to any sentiments which should wound their feelings, although they might be prejudices. I soon found, however, that such precautions were not at all necessary, and that if I would not talk politics, I must be silent altogether. My being an Englishman never seemed to be any restraint whatever on conversation, and my only difficulty lay in answering the multitudi- nous questions which were put to me by half a dozen at once. I found some very intelligent men who would take the trouble of going into detail with me ; and from an attentive compa* rison of a variety of opinions, I think the fol- lowing may be depended on as a tolerably cor- rect statement of public feeling. The conscription, although oppressive almost beyond endurance, was yet tolerated from its THE CONSCRIPTION. ^09 absolute impartiality. In vain did a young man try by every stratagem to evade the law, and by dint of bribery corrupt the officers appointed to conduct the conscription ; nothing could avail. He might purchase his freedom for a few years by providing a substitute, but that could not be done for less than five hundred pounds, and all incidental expences paid. Even this did not secure them long together, as, after a severe battle they were again drawn, and had the same to do over again. It was in vain they pleaded their exemption, signed by the Emperor's own hand ; the reply invariably was, ** the Emperor thinks the present posture of affairs too serious, and his grand projects must not be impeded for a few trumpery certificates." I know one young man whose Jreedom was thus purchased three several times by an indulgent father, at an ex- pence of more than two thousand pounds ster- ling. His health was so delicate, that every one knew he could not survive a campaign, and he had abundance of certificates from the most respectable medical men to that effect. They were only laughed at, and when a physician who accompanied him to the Council of In- spectors, stated that he would never be able to reach the Rhine, they replied, ** then let him die on the road j if he is so sickly, he is of no use to the Emperor j" accordingly he went, was laid up at Frankfort with a severe fever, p 210 THE CONSCRIPTION. which nearly cost him his life, and when ema- ciated and reduced to the brink of death, ob- tained permission to return home only by dint of bribery, to the amount of two hundred pounds more. I have had hundreds of similar instances, w^ll attested, related to me, and many, many families were absolutely ruined : yet some still continued to purchase their exemptions time after time, in the hope that each successive certificate, (which was given each time with encreased for- malities,) would be held more valid than the last ; but in vain. Even after a large sum of money had been thus repeatedly extracted for the " wants of the state,*' there remained some few thousands of young men, whose large fortunes had enabled them to escape Buonaparte's fangs, and as he very naturally suspected that they did not retain so ardent a love for him, as those who had " covered themselves with glory," he hit upon that notable expedient, his " guard of ho- nour," by which he was enabled to carry with him to the battle of Leipsic about twenty-five thousand hostages for the good behaviour of the families he left behind, and these hostages were first sacrificed. This impudent violation of faith throughout all the acts of Government, is the most remark- able feature of Buonaparte's system, and it was pursued with a nonchalance that was perfectly THE CONSCRIPTION. Sll unique. If a man made a contract for a given time, he was dismissed without ceremony or apology, when he asked for payment j and all such creditors were obliged to bribe through a phalanx of ministers to get their bills paid at all ; then to enable them to bribe high enough, they were obliged to charge proportionably higher, for which reason the public paid nearly double for every thing ; while the Princes, Dukes, Marshals, and ministers, put by something for ** a rainy day." So that although such large sums were received from other nations, whom the success of their arms had rendered tributary, yet the Government was always embarrassed, always in arrears, and its wants were supplied by such audacious impositions as surely no other nation could have tolerated. If any one pre- sumed to complain, there were the new prisons established purposely, (as the official decree stated,) for the confinement of those against whom it was not thought proper to prefer a public accusation. ** The faithful'* did not immediately Jeel these acts of tyranny, and the victims never had an opportunity of complaining of them. This has been too much the case always in France, each has directed his atten- tion only to those oppressions which affected himself, so that each suffered in turn, without the power of exciting compassion or retistance. p 2 212 IMPRESSMENT. However severe were the provisions of the conscription laws, they were not in themselves unjust ; their abuse is a different consideration, but they were impartial ; they took in all classes of the community, and they were inevitable, and this caused them to be submitted to, as to the physical evils of nature, earthquakes, storms, or inundations. Conceding the necessity of an armed force to such an extent, the mode was not to be complained of, and was certainly a less violation of the rights of man, than our system of impressment ; a system so detestable, that nothing but prescriptive custom and false rea- soning could have continued it so long. Like the law which rendered every man liable to arrest who was found out of his parish, (and which law was in force but a few years back,) it was continued, not because it was in itself just, but because it was thought to be seldom exercised unjustly, and because it affected a class of men who were incapable of making their case known to the clear judgment of the public. Oh! say the advocates for this worse than slave trade, surely you have never read Judge Foster's arguments on the legality of impressing seamen — if not, you cannot be a fair judge of the merits of the question. — No, I have not read them, and it is for this reason that I am an impartial judge. I will not read them, if IMPRESSMENT. 213 they are to have such an effect : there is a con- viction which supercedes argument, and I feel it in this instance. To hear reasons assigned for so monstrous a violation of justice, would be a voluntary abandonment of the Creator's best gift to man. Should 1 listen to an orator who told me he would prove that murder was no crime? We may be entangled and embar- rassed by logical subtleties, and our understand- ings may be confounded by false reasoning, but no conviction can be more complete after ten millions of arguments, than that which I feel at this moment — that the thing is unjust and wicked, and ought to be abolished. But how would you man your navy? Would you suffer foreign powers to obtain the supre- macy of the ocean, merely to avoid a slight in- fraction of the liberty of the subject? Necessity has no law, and the glory, and even safety of old England, could not be maintained without it. Then I would reply, they ought not to be maintained on such terms. We are not under the necessity of impressing captains, lieutenants, and midshipmen. Why not make the situation of the common sailor as advantageous, with re- ference to the class of men from which he is taken, and give him sufficient inducement to volunteer ? But we could not afford it — the expence would ruin the nation. p 3 214 IMPRESSMENT. Indeed? Then we ought to relinquish our maritime dominion, if we do not think it worth paying for, instead of compelling one part of our fellow subjects to fight for the glory of the other. But say the advocates again — You will re- member, that none but the lowest classes are liable to this hardship ; they never impress any but idle and disorderly fellows, and it is a great advantage to society that the police should have the power of removing such characters. Exquisite logic! Are not the lowest classes then under the protection of the same laws as the highest ; and shall we give to the police of a free country, an authority greater than was ever claimed by any civilized tyranny? Even under the various despots of France, ^ome forms were at least necessary before a man was pu- nished, although a trial was not allowed. The Lettres de Cachet were granted on a petition from the members of the culprit's family, and Buonaparte himself thought right to alledge a crime before he incarcerated his victims — but in the affair of impressment, the men have in general committed no infraction of any law whatever, and the magistrates are authorised to send off all such as have no visible means of ob- taining a livelihood. If the consequence of intrusting these extra- ordinary powers to the police, were the perfect IMPRESSMENT. 215 security of persons and property, if it would rid lis of the gangs of thieves and pickpockets who infest this great city, we might have some plea for acquiescence; but when our police is no- toriously the most defective in Europe, we can no longer rest any thing on this kind of expe- diency, and we are forced to resort to the last argument which I have. ever heard started; viz. You cannot make sailors without many years^ of maritime education, and landsmen are quite useless on board ship. When war takes place suddenly, you must have recourse to weapons of defence with the least possible delay, and before you could man your navy by volunteers, the enemy would be on your shores. No. — If the enemy have only the same means for maritime warfare that we have, why should he be ready sooner — and what reason is there to suppose that a nation possessing a greater num- ber of seamen than any other nation in the world, should be more at a loss to man her ships of war than others, who in peace have so little commerce, that if they took all their seamen to fight, their navy would still be insignificant ? In fact, the change from peace to war throws out of employment so great a number of seamen, that the necessity for impressment is less then than at the subsequent periods of the war. Be it remembered, that if all the arguments which are urged, were allowed to be valid, there p 4 216 ' IMPRESSMENT. would still be no plea for impressing any but seamen. W the permanent necessity, or at least the permanent expediency of so large an ar- mament be acknowledged, then let us adopt a mode that will at least equalize the burthen among the different classes of the community. Let there be a conscription by lot as for the militia, and if the case be still thought so urgent as to require it, let the conscription be of chil- dren, of such an age as that they may be qua- lified to learn the art of seamanship to advan- tage. If this plan be impracticable, and cause too much delay, let every man be informed, when he enters the merchant service, that in being allowed to practise so lucrative a profession, his country considers him as liable to be called upon to defend it in case of war, and then let the merchant seamen be chosen by lot, even if the navy should require three-fourths of the whole number. Above all, let the time of service be limited, let the sailor at least have a definite period to which he can look with confidence, and he will bear the hardship with fortitude. — " Hope de- layed, maketh the heart sick ;" and it is a dis- appointment beyond endurance, to have the expectations successively raised and destroyed, as after each successive cruize tbcfy return to their native shores, only to be again dragged IMPRESSMENT. 217 away to the opposite side of the world ; as I have often known the case — from the West Indies to the East, and from the Indian Ocean to the North Sea. Let the recompence for such compulsatory service be liberal, and with these regulations I believe the " crime" of impressment may be superceded, or so modified as no longer to pol* lute our political code with its barbarous vio- lation of the social compact. But I am not bound to furnish a perfect plan, because I object to one that is unjust and op* pressive, and unworthy the noble character of my country — this is the duty of statesmen — Oh, how I envy the glory and the heartfelt satisfaction of that man whose eloquence, and whose integrity shall be the means of rescuing his noble country from the continuance of this disgrace ; that shall wipe out this blot on the bright page of her annals ; this solecism in po- litics, which, in a land of freedom, suffers one class to endure hardships unappreciated and unrewarded, in order to promote the security and the glory of the others ! No period could be so favourable for the dis- cussion of this great question as the present, when every navy in Europe has ceased to be formidable. As to a thought of danger from the encreasing strength of our revolted colonies, it is too remote to have much weight, but such 218 IMPRESSMENT. as it exists, it is encreased by the dread of our oppressive system, sending British seamen into their service. Few years have passed by since the slave trade was advocated by many men of talent and humanity. Now thank God it is infamy to de- fend it, and I hope to live long enough to see the subject of this digression viewed in the same light ; but do not let the cause be taken up by the mountebank liberty-mongers, and the ar- guments addressed to the feelings and passions of the populace ; let it be debated with moder- ation and honesty, in the sole arena worthy of the cause — the House of Parliament. ( 219 ) CHAPTER XXIII. FRENCH OPINION OF THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT. — * THEIR BELIEF THAT IT HAS BEEN THE CAUSE OF ALL THE MISERY OF EUROPE. MILITARY COURAGE. OTHER countries, as a modern writer re- marks, have had their Nelsons and their Wellingtons, but where will the historian find another example of a nation which, in the very- zenith of glory, and plenitude of power, pre- ferred mercy to extended empire, and asked no- thing so earnestly from the Government she had supported — the Allies she had rescued — and the people she had conquered, as compassion to the unfortunate, justice to the oppressed, and humanity to the wretched in the most distant parts of the world ! This is, indeed, a triumph to England far beyond the glories of Waterloo — a triumph which even France may admire and imi- tate in future days, when her present perverted system of morality, and general state of demoral- ization, shall have given place to that " single- ness of judgment" which results from honesty of intention, and which scorns to erect even national glory on a false and wicked basis. At present, such 9 ^20 FRENCH OPINIONS. a consummation is more to be wished than ex- pected : — there is an obliquity of mental vision, a kind of moral squint, throughout the nation, which can only be conceived by those who have witnessed it, and which pi'events them from viewing any of the great political questions in their true light. This it was that rendered them incapable of appreciating the mercy which was exercised towards them by injured and insulted Europe ; a mercy of which their subsequent con- duct has proved a large part of the nation to be un\Vorthy, and has, at last, subjected them to a punishment in some degree proportioned to their offences. Making every allowance for the feelings of irritation and of mortified pride, and for the hu- miliating apprehension, that they were objects of contempt to their conquerors, — that they had ceased to be respected the moment they ceased to be feared : — taking into account also, the distress occasioned by the pecuniary punish- ment inflicted on them by the Allies, of which they knew neither the extent or duration ; and the bitter reflection, that, had they but remained quiet, they might have reaped all the advantage of Buonaparte's triumphs, while the disgrace of his cruelties would have attached to him alone. Giving the French the benefit of these allow- ances, there was still something monstrously ab- surd and ridiculous in the pertinacity with which FRENCH OPINIONS. 221 they continued to attribute all the misfortunes of France and of Europe to the English Go- vernment. The English, individually, or as a nation, were certainly respected and admired, but their Government was considered a Pan- dora's box, from which had sprung all the evils which have desolated the globe for these thirty years. To listen to Frenchmen of the new school, the monster Pitt organized and directed the Revolution — sustained each party in turn to keep up the equilibrium, and prevent them from returning to habits of order and peace. The English Govern- ment promoted the success of Buonaparte — fed him with victories, and led him on to those acts of extravagance and folly which ended in his destruction — kept him long enough in power to exhaust all the nations of the continent, and render them tributary to England, with the con- viction that they could put him down and crush him at any time it should so please them. That finding France not yet sufficiently exhausted, and the French fast returning to happiness and the arts of peace, the English Government urged Buonaparte to return from Elba, and thereby afford a pretext for ruining the country, by draw- ing down upon it the vengeance of all Europe. — That, fearing from some accidental circum- stances which transpired, that their plans would be detected and exposed, they were under the 2S2 FRENCH OPINIONS. necessity of destiwing him at Waterloo much sooner than they had intended, but they keep him alive (contrary to every idea of justice and policy,) to be used " in terrorem " to the King of France, if he does not submit to a disgrace- ful peace and a ruinous treaty of commerce. It was in vain to argue with them on this subject : — " trifles light as air," were to them ** con- firmations" much stronger than '* proofs of Holy Writ." Whether they did really feel the con- viction they expressed, or only affected to feel it as a veil to another still more mortifying, I cannot pretend to say ; but I found that all my reasoning was thrown away, and only produced a storm of words uttered too rapidly to be un- derstood or refuted. I generally concluded such disputations with observing, that if they per- sisted in attributing such diabolical motives to a Power which had shewn as much mercy, huma- nity, and forbearance, as could be parallelled in History, England would do well to act as their accusations merited, and leave them to the cha- rity of their continental friends ; in which case, 1 saw no possible termination to the contest, than utter and irremediable destruction : — that Eng- land was the only Power from which they could expect their re-establishment as a Nation ; and that the greatest punishment we could inflict on them, would be to leave them entirely alone. Their exaggerated ideas o^ our power, wealth, FRENCH OPINIONS. ^^ and intellect, might have gratified one's vanity under different circumstances ; but it fell dead on the ear like the praise of beauty from a blind man, from the consideration that the orators were too ignorant to know what they were talk- ing about. The French have been so long shut up from political intercourse with other nations, by the arbitrary authority of their Government, that they are as completely unconscious of the sentiments of foreigners as if they were inhabit- ants of a different planet ; and as it is their na- tional maxim, never to take the trouble of as- certaining a disagreeable truth, they remain ignorant of many things on which it was very possible for them to have procured correct in- formation. I have met with many men of education, and of respectable station in life, who had never heard of the battle of Salamanca, and not a few who knew not that there was such a name as Vittoria in the world. This inay seem incredible to those who have not had much intercourse with Frenchmen, but others will immediately bear testimony to that happy art of unthinking which they carry to so great per- fection. " We knew perfectly well," have I been often told, *' that the bulletins were lies, but they were pleasant lies ; and if misfortunes had occurred, we knew also they would be re- medied, as far as human means could avail. If we wished to form an estimate of the facts^ we 2S4* FRENCH OPIKIONIS. divided the enemy's loss by ten, and then mul- tiphed our own in the same proportion;" but this was a painful piece of ratiocination, and not often resorted to. In general, they preferred the pleasant picture, even against conviction. Even the day that the news of the battle of Wa- terloo arrived in Paris, the disastrous result of which was even exaggerated by report, the theatres were more than usually full, and at each, the audience demanded the favourite national air o£ Lu Victoire est a nous, which was received with such enthusiastic transports of applause, that any stranger would have imagined they were just rejoicing for some great victory, instead of deploring the loss of a battle which annihilated a fine army, and left their country to the mercy of the Conqueror, who was expected every hour at the gates. When I remonstrated against this childish violation of decency, I was always an- swered, " Oh, what would have been the use of doleful lamentations ; the song we had been ac- customed to, excited pleasant sensations a little longer ; and even those who could not produce the illusion that such things "were at that time, recollected that such things had been. At the time the Allies were bombarding Paris (in 1814), when the cannon resounded on all sides — when fifteen thousand men were killed and wounded in one day at Montmartre, (a place not further from Paris than Islington from London,) and FREN^CH Ol'INIONS. 225 the streets thronged witli the wounded who were being carried home on litters, the theatres were all open — every exhibition was in unusual acti- vity ; and there was a masked ball at the opera, brilliantly attended. I knew many young men who were in the corps of volunteers, and who confessed that they went out several times in the course of the day to fight — came in to dine at a Restaurateur* s — went again to Montmartre to oppose the enemy — ran into the city just to take a peep at the ball, and see one act of the play, and again went to take their turn in fight- ing. From the manner it is described, one would suppose it to have been a game at cricket or foot-ball, instead of a bloody battle. The indif- ference with which the modern French encounter death is really incomprehensible, and would be heroic, but that there is so little dignity attend- ing their courage, that one cannot help consi* dering it incongruous, indecent, and ridiculous. ( 226 ) CHAPTER XXIV. i»RESENT STATE OF FRANCE. SOURCES OF NATIONAL WEALTH. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. PROGRESS OF SOUND THINKING. STATUE TO THE LATE ALDER- MAN BECKFORD. TT is allowed by all parties, that France is ^ richer and more prosperous in the present day, than at any former period of her history. The revenues of the state must be much larger than the Government has ever confessed to the AUied Inquisitors ; for notwithstanding the terrible contest in which they have been engaged, and the unheard-of burthen of more than twelve hundred thousand foreigners at free quarters in the coun- try, besides their own immense armies — the-con- tributions have been regularly paid, and the pub- lic salaries are scarcely at all in arrear. How is this to be accounted for. One should expect that so dire a calamity would have extinguished industry, and in its place have substituted de- spair, but it is not so. — Every one labours in his vocation, and with an alacrity and chearfulness that deserve honour. Yet if we are to credit the arguments of all the great writers on politi- cal economy, the present system of minute divi- sion of property in France, must be unprofitable to the state, and injurious to the individual. SOURCE OF NATIONAL RICHES. ^^7 There is no doubt that the larger the masses of property are in a nation, the greater propor- tion of it can be spared to the government. But is that the state in which the largest portion *will be so spared? The possessors of great wealth have necessarily great influence in the forma- tion of fiscal laws, and they will not tax them- selves to the highest point they are able to bear, while they can evade it, or lay the burthen on others. It appears wonderful that a nation can sustain the enormous exertions which we have witnessed so often within the last twenty years, when the expenditure has been more than the fee-simple of the whole property in the kingdom. We know that if an individual possessing ten thousand pounds, spend five thousand, he can have but five thousand left ; but a nation will go on for a considerable time expending half its annual income, and be richer at the end of the period than at the commencement. I would resolve it all into motive : — almost every man can do more than ever he attempts to perform, if he have a sufficient motive to impel iiim forwards. We have frequent instances of men walking to see the object of their affections, a distance, half of which would have destroyed them, had they been urged to perform it con- trary to their inclinations ; and this is the reason why men can continue their exertions for a ^28 SOURCE OF NATIONAL RICHES. much longer period than brutes, which possess greater strength of body ; because to the latter you cannot convey motive. In a state of war, great numbers of human beings, who were satisfied with such a degree of exertion as should just procure a subsistence, find themselves compelled to part with a portion of their earnings, to answer the necessities of the state y but when thus induced to additional la- bour, they are not satisfied with performing just enough to answer the additional demand, but often go beyond this point, and produce a sur- plus which encreases their original stock of wealth. Thus have I observed very often amongst farmers — the man who was starving when he paid an hundred a year rent, would save a fortune when he was compelled to pay two hundred. A very large proportion of society do not ex- ert themselves to the extent of their powers. Wealth is evidently, in all its ramifications, only the produce of labour: — a man who possesses a moderate portion of it, labours to greater advan- tage than another who has no such accumula- tion ; and in a state of warfare, a great many of the former class are called again into action, who would otherwise have remained idle and sa- tisfied. He who in time of peace possessed three or four thousand pounds, would retire and live upon the income of it \ but when war de- SOURCE OF NATIONAL RICHES. 229 mands great taxes, he finds that it will not pro- cure him the necessaries of life, and the comforts to which he has been accustomed, and he is compelled once more to enter on the stage of exertion, and encreasc his stock by his personal industry, or sacrifice his enjoyments to his lei- sure. Most men prefer the former, and thus a great number oi sleeping partners are again made active. Moderate taxation then encreases the wealth of a country, for the man thus compelled to part with some of the produce of his labour, does in the end receive a portion of it back again indi- rectly, while the same impelling motive that in- duces him to work for the purpose of paying his taxes, also induces him to accumulate the surplus, and form it into a fund for future wants. In this way is war henejictaly but then there are so many drawbacks on its advantages ; it produces so much vice and misery, that the boast- ed calling forth the virtues of courage, devotion, self-denial, and all the other effects of excited energies, weigh as nothing in the balance ; and if taxation be carried beyond its proper bounds, it produces apathy and despair. — A small quan- tity of opium is a delightful stimulus to the nerves — you may encrease it, till it produce stupor, delirium, and death. The perfection of legislation is to substitute Q 3 230 STATE OF FRANCE. for the stimulus of war, the stimulus of national pride, and to turn into the channel of public utility, the various energies of the nation. Pub- lic monuments, canals, bridges, roads, enclo- sures, and a thousand other things, are so many resources for a good government, and if properly made use of, we need never resort to the horrible and unchristian alternative of war- fare. But to return to the state of France. I have made this digression, to explain its anomalous prosperity, which I attribute entirely to the strong motives which have been acting on the mass of the population, for the last twenty years. Another source of national wealth in France, deserves notice — the industry of the women. Among the lower classes universally, they work as severely as the men. You see them plough- ing, harrowing, and sowing, and attending to all the operations of agriculture by themselves : even in the middle station of life they are abund- antly more active than the same class in Eng- land. The most respectable tradesman has his wife at the desk and in the shop. If a man have an appointment in a public office, his wife also keeps a " magazin.^' By this means the nation has the benefit of nearly twice the labour with the same population. There is another conse- quence of this system too, which might be ex- PROGRESS OF INTELLECT. 231 pected. — Frenchwomen are men in their virtues and in their vices, I have been often asked since my return, if I do not think that, on the whole, the French revolution has been favourable to the progress of the human intellect. I answer, yes; but by no means in the degree which is generally conceived, and asserted by its advocates. Like an injudicious friend it has done mischief to a good cause, by over-weening zeal. It has shewn the dangers along with the advantages of innovation, and has laid most emphasis on the former, as Sir Francis Burdett and his fol- lowers have unintentionally been the strongest friends to corruption, and have prevented that moderate reform in Parliament, which would otherwise have been called for, and compelled by the progress of opinion ; because they have disgusted all the real friends of liberty, and in- duced them rather « , to bear the ills they have Than fly to others that they know not of." The absurdities and atrocities of the French Revolution, have in like manner chilled the ardour of patriotism, and thrown doubt and discredit on every attempt at reformation. It is my firm belief, that the sole cause of the present deplorable state of Spain, and of the disgraceful submission to the tyranny of Fer- Q 4 232 PROGRESS OF INTELLECT. dinand the Beloved ! is the Iiorror of change produced by the French Revolution, which, to many men, has proved that the chance of bene- fit from a radical change, is not equal to the risk, and that it is better to wait for a good King, than punish a bad one. The energies, however, that have been called forth by this great event, though like a volcanic eruption they have overwhelmed the unhappy beings, who immediately surrounded the crater, have fertilized and invigorated others who, (placed at a greater distance,) received only the slighter and beneficial influence of the tremen- dous visitation. Many wholesome prejudices have been torn up by the roots along with others which poisoned the soil ; but men have been set thinking, and when the passions, the hopes, the fears, and the apprehensions of the present day shall have passed away as a dream, the world will reap the benefit of the change, and the next generation receive the reward wdthout suffering the punishment. To a man who loves to watch the progress of knowledge, it is gratifying to observe the change that has taken place within the last fifty years in the advance of sound thinking ; and though the aberrations of human intellect are in them- selves at all times painful objects of contem- plation, yet for the purpose of comparison, when the comparison is so much to our advan- PROGRESS OF INTELLECT. ?33 tage, we may dwell on them with a degree of pleasure. I do not here speak of the minor subjects of congratulation, but will just observe en passant, that chemistry has done much towards removing some of our grossest physical prejudices. We no longer hear of pounding white cats in a mortar, and distilling their animal spirits to make an elixir, (a receipt which I have seen in the hand-writing of a noble author no longer in existence,) nor of those many other follies which disgraced the family journals of our coun- try gentlemen, whose whole life was, fifty years ago, spent in travelling from one mansion to ano- ther, and^ communicating these important pre- scriptions. But I allude to political and social ideas ; and I cannot give a more pertinent illustration of the change on which I congratulate my countrymen, than to speak of the statue erected in the Guildhall of the city of London, to the late Alderman Beckford. At the beginning of the reign of George the Third, the citizens presented a petition of grievances, or rather a remonstrance on some of the public acts. The King, who was at this time surrounded by a set of profligate and worthless advisers, received the petition rather cavalierly, and Beckford took on himself to make an extemporary speech to His Majesty on ^34> PROGRESS OF INTEULECT. the occasion. It is inscribed on the pedestal of his statue, and was at that time considered the boldest and most energetic appeal which had ever been addressed to " the Lord's anointed." Yet the speech thus praised is so fulsomely humble, and so circuitously deferential, that if a Lord Mayor in the present day were to make a similar harangue to the Sovereign, he woulci probably (when he returned to his constituents, to give an account of his mission,) be kicked out of the room for his meanness. I think we have nearly attained that happy degree of independence which gives to the station, all the respect which the station de- mands, but gives to the man no more than he deserves. We reverence the chief judge, while his conduct is consistent with his office, and even a little longer ; but when he is notoriously a disgrace to it, although the welfare of the state will not allow us to remove him, we take care to let him see that he is an object of scorn and abhorrence, and that the sole mode in- which he can obtain our respect, is by de- serving it. ( 235 ) CHAPTER XXV. 3fARSHAL NEY ACCUSED OF TREACHERY IN THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS EXECUTION. HIS APPEARANCE. T If THEN Marshal Ney was under trial, I ^ ^ was astonished at the great interest which seemed to be taken in his fate by the very men who had all along wished him hanged for having been the cause of their losing the battle of Waterloo. Not willing, of course, to suppose it possible for Englishmen to beat Frenchmen by fair fighting, they were under the necessity of assigning a cause, which could alone recon- cile the contradiction, and Marshal Ney was every where openly accused of treachery. He was the first who in the senate raised his voice against further resistance ; he declared that it was no longer possible to make head against the conquerors ; that submission was the only mode of averting absolute destruction, and that Buo- naparte's removal was a step .which it behoved them to take as a preliminary, without which negociation would be totally unavailing. " The bearer of bad news," as Shakespeare says, ^S6 MARSHAL NET. «< hath but a losing office," and after so disagree- able a truth, Marshal Ney had little reason to ex- pect that his tongue would ever again sound plea- santly, or his name excite any but painful feel- ings. Nobody had a doubt, or at least every one affected to have no doubt, of the truth of the tale, which said that he had made an arrangement with the King previous to the battle, and that he had been the immediate cause of keeping back the corps under the command of Grouchy, which corps alone was wanting to complete the annihilation of the Allied armies. I have been told by many soldiers, that they had carried all the intrenchments but one, and had very nearly accomplished that also, when the treachery of Ney made it necessary to sound a retreat. The waiter at M. Meurice's had been a private in Buonaparte's Garde du Corps, and when the conversation of the guests seemed inclined to give the English the credit of the conquest, the man always took the liberty of interposing with a " demande pardon Messieurs,'' and an asser- tion that he himself, along witli his corps, had carried three distinct lines of works, and that they were on the glacis of the fourth, when they were ordered to retreat. The man had told the lie over and over again, so often, that at last, I am sure that he believed it, and I dare say, would have encountered the same risk again to prove the truth of his assertion. It was, how- MARSHAL NEY. 237 ever, quite certain, that our army had no en- trenchments or fortification whatsoever to sup- port them, except walls of flesh and blood, which, by the bye, have ever been found most difficult of access. Marshal Ney was at this period the object of execration, and indeed, till his trial before the Council of War, his name was never mentioned, but coupled with the most opprobrious invectives. When his guilt was made too manifest to be denied, the tide of popular favour instantly turned, and he was regarded as a bold honest fellow who meant no harm, and had only given way to the " force of circumstances." Mr. B. one day said to me, before a large party. " Why does not the King send him out of the realm, and make him give his word of honour not to enter it again ?" ** And is that really your opinion of a French Marshal, and above all of Marshal Ney ?" I re- plied, — " you differ much from the inhabitants of other nations in your estimate of their honour. I was not aware that they were esteemed for any thing but courage, even in France, and I can assure you, that in England, the idea is, that it would be necessary to lock up your silver spoons before one of Buonaparte's Mar- shals paid you a visit." I heard the report of the musquets when he was executed, but was not aware of the cause ; he was not found guilty, or at least sentence S38 MARSHAL NEY; was not passed on him, to a late hour of the night, and the general opinion was, that he would either be conducted to the ^^plaine de Gre- nelle/' if he were to be shot, or to the Place de Greve, opposite the Hotel de Ville, if he were allowed the ** privilege" of decapitation ; so that very few were actually present at his death beside tiie immediate agents. I was soon informed of the circumstance, and ran up to the spot from a feeling which I cannot describe — it was not curi- osity, it was not certainly a wish to witness the sufferings of a fellow creature. I had never been present at such a scene in England, because I never could sympathize with the energies of thieves and pick-pockets, but I could not sup- press a wish to ascertain in what manner a man^ who had so often braved death for the sake of glory, would meet it under the feelings of ig- nominy. Not that I think it any test of a man's real disposition, the being able to en- counter death with firmness when he has plenty of witnesses. There is a pride which sustains •even cowards at such a time, and we have not on record an instance of more perfect heroism, than that of Louis the Sixteenth, whom even his best friends allow to have been weak and timid to excess. Whatever might be my mo- tives, I used every exertion to see him before his death, but was too late. They were carry- ing him off the ground, and his blood was the MARSHAL NET. ^3^ only evidence of his fate. He was shot so close to the garden wall of the Luxembourgh, that the balls had all lodged in the chalky stone of which it was composed, and I fancied that I could even perceive the stain of blood around the orifices they had made. 1 took my knife, and tried to extract some of them, but it being but a very small one, I found it impossible to accomplish it. I returned after the lapse of a few hours, with one that was better adapted to the purpose, but they were all gone ; somebody had anticipated me, either out of regard to the memory of the unfortunate man, or perhaps, from a feeling similar to my own. I asked the by-standers how he had borne his fate, and was answered, " Comme tm soldat Frangais.'^ The young gentleman near me exclaimed bitterly against the officers who were appointed to superintend the execution ; he said, they went up to the body immediately that he fell, and without waiting his actual death, one of them standing over him, addressed the other, with " He was a well-made fellow by G — , was not he ?*' To which the other answered, " Yes ; he has got his deserts at last.'* The dying man lifted up his eyes, and regarded them steadily for a moment, and then expired without a groan. This event was a terrible death-blow to the hopes of the factious, and every Salon de Lee* 240 MARSHAL NEY. tiire and coffee-house in Paris, exhibited a gloomy set of faces which was not at all in unison with the ordinary appearance. According to the hopes or fears of the individual who made it the subject of conversation, the event was either lamented as a necessary, but painful sacrifice to justice, or condemned as an act of unnecessary revenge. In so far, however, as it shewed both the inclination and the power to punish, it had a salutary and beneficial effect, and I never afterwards heard that open and impudent de- fiance of the government, which had often been the case before. Returning over the Pont Neuf a few hours afterwards, a" fish-woman addressed her com- panion with " what is the cause of all that bustle at the Luxembourgh to-day ?" Why re- phed the man, " The Ogre was hungry, and wanted some more flesh ; they have given him a good breakfast this morning on Marshal Ney, but he'll soon be hungry again." I have often had occasion to defend the conduct of Louis the XVIIIth towards Ney, against the accu- sation of breach of treaty, which has been so strenuously urged both by Frenchmen and foreigners. The arguments which were gene- rally made use of by the King's friends, have always appeared to me to weaken the cause, and I think the matter admits of a very simple and unanswerable defence. People choose to u MARSHAL NEY. g4i confound the occupation of Paris by the Allies, with the submission of the rebel army, whereas that army remained powerful and united for a considerable time afterwards, and all those who have been punished as rebels, continued in op- position to the government of the King. The article of tlie treaty, on which so much stress has been laid, could only allude to those who were left in Paris to the mercy of the con- querors, and certainly not to those who, by re- tiring with the rebel army, took the chance of another change in the position of the two governments ; a change by the bye, of which they did not despair long after the British had taken Paris, and even after the King returned to it. If after that period they found it impos- sible to keep together an army sufficiently for- midable to negotiate an unlimited pardon, (and they tried very hard to accomplish both the one and the other,) they necessarily were compelled to unconditional surrender, and were entitled only to so much mercy as it should please the King, and the other parts of the Government to exercise. I never saw a man whose appearance was less calculated to excite sympathy than Marshal Ney. He looked gross, vulgar, brutal and mean, and his countenance was not at all that of a gentleman. 1 have the less scruple in saying this, because he was really a man of acknowleged MS MARSHAL NEY« bad character. I should have guessed him more likely to have earned his death by picking poc- kets, or coining bad shillings, than by heading a revolution ; yet the deliberation with which his trial was conducted, and the test it seemed to afford of the stability of the new government, gave a painful and paramount interest in his fate. When parties and party feelings shall have ceased, I do not think he stands any chance of going down to posterity as a martyr. It is my firm opinion, that if the council of war had, in the first instance, declared him guilty, and condemned him to death, the King would have pardoned him in spite of the remon- strances of the royalists ; but after the violent and indecent exultation which was shewn by the disaffected in the event of his first trial, it would not have been safe to extend mercy to him, I know many respectable men who were in the first case anxious for his safety, but who, after- wards declared, that they should consider his pardon as the signal of another revolution, and that the King must now be compelled to sign his death-warrant. ( 243 ) CHAPTER XXVI. <&ALIGNANl's LIBRARY. — STATUES OF TOLTAIRE. THE LUXEMBOURG GALLERY OF PICTURES BY RUBENS. PREPOSTEROUS MIXTURE OF FACT AND ALLEGORY IN HIS PRODUCTIONS. GALIGNANI'S library is a place of great resort ; it is a very large, and I should suppose a very profitable establishment ; the pro- prietor edites an English newspaper, which is extensively read, and is found on the tables of almost every coffee-house in Paris. Perhaps this may be principally on account of the num- ber of Britons at present here, but I understand it had a great circulation, even during the time of Buonaparte's greatest rigour against them; it is generally used as a lesson by those who are learning the language, and I have been often amused by French gentlemen reading it aloud to shew their erudition; certainly it sounded like any thing rather than English. However, great numbers of Frenchmen have learnt our language grammatically, who have not the least idea of the pronunciation — it is becoming every day more general, though for the tranquillity of Frdnce, I could wish the ac- R 2 £44 STATUES OF VOLTAIRE. quirement were deferred a little longer. The inflammatory paragraphs in some of our popu- lar newspapers lose much of their effect by being spelt over deliberately, with a memorandum of every tenth word to be searched in the diction- ary at leisure. If the fermented poison prepared for them co^ld be drank in copious draughts, intoxication and desperation must be the inevi- table consequence. In the entrance hall of the Theatre Frangais is a most exquisite marble statue of Voltaire. He is represented sitting in a loose night-gown which gives free scope for exhibiting the skill of the sculptor without violating decency : each hand rests on the arm of the chair, and dis- plays his long and skinny fingers with anato- mical precision. He is so thin, that you may distinguish the tendons. His face expresses more vigour and vivacity of mind, with extreme debility of body, than I should have supposed the chissel could have represented. Instead of the broad and uniform eye-ball which gives such a deadness to the countenance of statues in general, the artist has cut very deeply the pupil of the eye>. and left just a pencil of stone, of which the round or polished end is towards the spectator, and produces that reflection of light which the painter usually represents by a spot of white, or by a small pearl. There is another statue of the same person. LUXEMBOURG GALLERY. 345 in one of the rooms of the library at the Insti- tute. It was erected by his fellow members, and represents him nearly at the same period of life as the other. It is considered a much finer specimen of sculpture; but except Boydell's plate of Silenus, I never met with any thing so thoroughly disgusting. The sickly skeleton figure of the old man is quite naked, and has a most nauseous and loathsome appearance. It does not speak much for the taste or delicacy of Messieurs les Membres de VInstitut. The Luxembourg being closed during Ney's trial, I had not an opportunity of visiting the gallery of pictures by Rubens, till afterwards. I had heard much of them, and was impatient to form an opinion. My disappointment was excessive ; and if my mind were not tolerably clear of the correctness of my ideas on these subjects, 1 should be ashamed of saying how completely I was disgusted with the whole of them. The fault of his day, (that of mixing allegory with reality,) he carries to the most absurd extreme, and to me there seems nothing in the ejcecution of his pictures, to make amends for the wretched incongruities in the composition, Mary de Medicis in one of them is represented in her chamber, immediately after her accouche- ment, with the pain she has undergone the moment before, still expressed in her counte- nance ; while vai'ious gawky women, under the R 3 'Mfi) RUBENs' PICTURES. names of Fortitude, Justice, Valour, &c. &c. are washing and dressing the child ! ! In another picture, the Queen is walking along dressed in an embroidered satin gown, her hair frizzed and powdered, high cap and lappets, hoop and fardingale, followed by a nasty looking, naked woman, with the monstrous peculiarity of four pair of breasts from her neck down to her hips. This is meant for Dame Nature ! ! ! I could particularize many still more and more prepos- terous, but have said enough to shew the strange obliquity of judgment and taste in a man who has been so highly praised j for after all, there is a coarseness and an unfinished appearance in his works, which induce his admirers to rest his reputation principally on the skill of the " Com- position." I am aware that I am now uttering heresy, and that I shall be censured for an ig- norant wretch, who has no soul for the sublime art of painting, who does not understand « breadth" and «' depth," and " light" and '* shade," and " tone" and '^ colour," and '' warmth" and " chiaro-oscuro," and the Lord knows what beside. I^urely there is more cant among painters, than amongst any other class whatever. If the merits of a picture be such as can neither be felt nor relished by men of liberal education, warm feelings, and perfect eye-sight, what is the use of the art ? Is paint- ing like heraldry 5 a mere combination of arti- 10 RUBENS* PICTURES. 247 ficial marks, which but by chance become beau- tiful ? which can only be understood by those, who have studied the science, and which are " gilt gingerbread" to the uninitiated. If painters only paint for painters, they might save themselves some trouble, by instituting a set of masonic signs, and let the pictures be trans- mitted by description. That I am not totally devoid of unadulterated and unprejudiced taste on such subjects, I am sufficiently convinced of to satisfy my own vanity y and am further made easy on the subject, by observing that there are some celebrated pictures, whose beauties I can feel as enthusiastically as the most perfect pedant that ever ruined himself by purchasing spoilt canvass. R 4 (248 ) CHAPTER XXVIL PHYSICIANS. — COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH PHYSICIANS. STATE OF MEDICINE TWO CENTURIES AGO ; — ITS IMPROVEMENT. — MEDICAIr EDUCATION AT PARIS. '"I^HE word physician {jphysicien) is used by -■- the French in its primitive sense only, of a man " learned in physics," and is by no means considered as indicating a medical man, for whom the usual term is medecin. A watch- maker, chemist, mathematician, or mechanic, who has displayed more science than the ordi- nary proportion belonging to his respective class is called a learned physician, while the medical practitioners are rarely honoured with the term. Robertson, who keeps the mechanical exhibi- tion, (of which I have spoken,) is always called un jphysicien, Garnerin the aeronaut, is called also a physicien, but the medical physicians are, (I fancy,) not often entitled to the term. They form a very different body of men from the same class in England ; they are by no means so respectable, or held in such estimation ; and as to practice, are more than a century behind them, having all those exploded and absurd FRENCH MEDICAL PRACTICE. 24*9 notions about fluxions, humours, revulsions, &c. which made the practice of medicine at that period, so compKcated and so absolutely useless or mischievous. Established errors are not easi- ly eradicated, and though in the present day anatomy is cultivated at Paris with great assi- duity and success, and physiology every day advancing, there is the most curious and absurd mystery regulating the practice of physic which can be conceived, and every really important medicine is absolutely excluded as a ** poison ;" a word which saves a great deal of argument. The severe sarcasms of Moliere on the prac- tice of medicine and its practitioners, were (I have no doubt) perfectly applicable and fair in his day, and really remain so now to a very great degree. Yet there is such a great pro- gress made within these few years, that in the natural course of things, it cannot long remain so. When we have once passed beyond a cer- tain point in the acquisition of knowledge in any science, we cannot retrograde ; each sue- cessive student has the advantage of the labours of all those who have preceded him, and actual knowledge produces a conviction which cannot be unlearnt. As an instance of the futility of medical prac* tice in Paris, I will adduce one which occurred to myself, and which is grossly palpable. A lady with whom I visited on terms of intimacy. 250 FRENCH MEDICAL PRACTICE. asked me to prescribe for her ; the complaint, a chronic obstruction of the liver ; a disease, which, unlike many others, has no disposition to cure itselfi and produces symptoms too clear to be mistaken. A gentle mercurial excitement kept up for some time, would have cured her as certainly as Peruvian bark cures an ague, and I accordingly wrote for such medicines. 1 tried several places to have it compounded for me, but the preparation I wanted, (which by the bye, is the most simple and most efficacious of all,) was unknown. I at last went to an apo- thecary employed by the family, and described the mode of making it. He promised to do it without delay ; sent it home, but accompanied with a message to the lady, guarding her in very serious terms against the dreadful poison which the foreign gentleman had been pre- scribing. The lady was much offended at my presuming to administer so dreadful and dis- gusting a medicine, and sent immediately for a French physician of eminence. It was in vain that I asserted the efficacy and safety of my plan, and assured her that in England such medicines were given daily ; she persisted that my having sent such a prescription with her name attached, was a most indelicate and thoughtless insult. Her fears and my expectations were equally unneces- saiy and nugatory, for observing that the medi- cine had not the expected appearance, I subjected FRENCH MEDICAL PRACTICE. S51 them to several tests. I found that the Phar- macien had taken especial care that they should do no mischief, for there was not a particle of mercury in tliem. The physician was sent for, and after an attentive investigation of her case, he did not doubt the existence of the disease, but preferred a milder mode of treating it, and accordingly ordered her a ttsanney or light infusion of orange-flowers, lime-flowers, and elder-flowers; which important medicine was ordered to be very strictly attended to, as he expected the greatest effects from it. The consequence was as might be expected; the complaint has continued to the present day, and has since produced a very severe fever ; the natural progress. She has narrowly escaped with life, owing to the very extraordinary care of her physician, and will now carry with her to the grave, a painful and oppressive disease, which might have been cured in the first in- stance, without confinement or restraint of any kind. I have seen one of the most eminent physi- cians of Paris attempt to cure an acute inflam- mation of the brain by a leech applied to the foot, without the aid of any internal remedy more active than a grain of rhubarb ; but I re- serve what I have to say on these subjects for my professional memorandums. I will only remark here, that the surgeons of Paris are a 25S MEDICAL SCIENCE. better educated set of men by far, and that all who have been instructed by the improved means and system adopted since 1799, are superior by much to those of the former school. The con- test for public favour is now carrying on be- tween Charlatanerie, on one side, and Science on the other. Give them free play, and we need not doubt of the result. Even in England, the land of mental free- dom, where every species of knowledge and of genius has free scope for developement, and. where the public mind is perhaps less influenced by prejudice and deference for authority than in any other country of the world — even in Eng- land, only thirty or forty years ago, it was no no uncommon thing for a physician to be asked to join a consultation, to which some advertising water-doctor was a party ; and many are the in- stances of men of rank and education discarding the best advice which the then state of know- ledge could supply, to place themselves in the hands of a man who knew not the difference between an artery and a nerve. The doctrines of medicine a century, or a century and a half ago, were about on a par with the doctrines of religion. The public had equal faith in both, and each was equally a mass of prejudice and error. I have in my possession a book called " Di- rections for the Cure, as well as Prevention of MEDICAL SCIENCE. ^53 the Plague, set forth by authority," in the year 1665, and composed by the College of Physi- cians, which shews the state of medical know- ledge in those days not in the most favour- able light. Among other medicines on which great stress is laid, walnuts, figs, and bole arme- niac, seem to hold a high rank. The whole work is a jumble of the most preposterous and contradictory advice, and must have had about as much effect in arresting the disease, as in cor- recting the air, or regulating the course of the winds. Another important medicine therein " set forth," is literally as follows : — " Take of bole armeniack a dram, juyce of orange half an ounce ; of white-wine an ounce ; mix them, and give it as soon as the party suspects the disease." I have also another curious book, entitled, •* The Englishman's Treasure, with the true Ana- tomic of Man's Body -y compiled by that excel- lent chyrurgion, Mr. Thomas Vicary, Esquire, Serjeant chyrurgion to King Henry the 8. ; to K. Edward the 6. ; to Queene Mary, and to our late Sovereigne Qu. Elizabeth ; and also chief chyrurgion to St. Bartholomewe's Hos- pitalL" A book so published, and so sanctioned, may fairly be considered evidence as to the then state of the art ; and, if that be allowed, then I must be of the opinion of M. Jouy, that so great a 554 MEDICAL SCIENCE. blessing as medicine may or might be, it has, on the whole, injured and destroyed more than it has benefitted and saved. One of the prescriptions in this book is a me- dicine " to kill dead flesh !" — another, an in- fallible remedy for " an inward ayle 1" — and another, " to purge and amende the heart ! ! !" Thank Heaven, those days are gone by ; and though there remains, and probably ever will re- main, a great deal of error, and a difficulty some- times of ascertaining whether a patient has reco- vered by the aid, or in spite o/'the physician, yet possessors of infallible remedies, and self-taught geniuses, are now only resorted to by the very weak and the very ignorant. The high reputation which British physicians have acquired is of a nature to wear well, for it is earned by a degree of study and application which no other profession can equal. I include in my panegyric the higher class of surgeons, who are at least equally entitled to public con- fidence ; because, with them, it is still more impossible, (if I may use the expression,) to enjoy reputation without merit. I beHeve there is not in Europe a class of men so uniformly respectable in talent, character, and general information on all subjects which come within the compass of human understanding, as those of whom I have been speaking. Certainly the other learned professions do not equal them. ENGLISH PHYSICIANS. 255 except perhaps in that brightest acquirement of the mind, eloquence ; yet, although their avoca- tions do not call into play this talent, I could yet mention some who are even in this respect scarcely inferior to the highest characters of the Pulpit, the Bar, or the Senate. The political rank assigned to this profession in England does not seem to me adequate to its merits. Those who arrive at eminence in the Law, in Divinity, in the Army or Navy, or in- deed in any other department but Physic, look forward to *' Peerage and Pension" as their right, and it is bestowed on them liberally and judiciously ; whereas a knightship is considered sufficient reward for the most successful exertion of superior genius or talent in medicine. Surely no unprejudiced man will contend that the other professions require more intellect or industry, or that they are more beneficial to society. The only mode of explaining such neglect is the general ignorance of the public in this science. A man of education would be ashamed to be entirely ignorant of law. Every one thinks himself a competent judge in divinity and poli- tics, and we can all criticize the operations of a Wellington or a Nelson ; tell them where they were wrong, and how they might have done •better ! ! but in the medical branches of know- ledge, no one thinks it a disgrace to be convicted of the grossest ignorance, and not to know whe- 256 i'RENCH PHYSICIANS. ther nerves are things of imagination or tangi- bility ; yet there is no object of study more use- ful, more gratifying, and more necessary, than one's own structure. If any kind of learning can be strictly called knowledge, it is this ; and it ought to form an essential part of every liberal education. This would add much to the diffi- culty of successful imposture, and we should no longer see the Brodums and the Solomons carry^ ing away the rewards due only to real acquire- ments. The fees in Paris are so small, and the esti- mation in which the public holds the profession, is so low, that a gentleman can hardly enter it with reputation. The class of students is of a much lower description than in this country; a large portion of them are quite rabble. A friend of mine, who lodged in Rue Bourbon^ at a barber's, pointed out to me a young phy- sician in the shop, whose face was familiar to me at the Ecole de Medicine ; he had passed through all the gradations, but not yet received his diploma. He had for many years obtained his living by shaving and hair dressing, and very naturally lauded the present system of medical education, which enabled him to get his degrees without any expence. This might be very w^ell for the individual, and highly honourable to his industry, but does not add to the respectability gf the profession. PHYSICIANS. W^ A physician of some merit, whom I knew, said to me, " my father was a day-labourer, and my mother a washer- woman j have I not reason to praise the Revolution, which opens so many paths to Genius ! ! !" I could have replied, that as we cannot all be at the top, for every one who rises from the lowest station, another must go down to it, or we must soon have too large a supply of Gentlemen, ( 258 ) CHAPTER XXVIII. BOXING. DELICACY OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH. SEN- TIMENTALITY OF THE FORMER. THEIR FEELINGS TOWARDS FOREIGNERS. A MONG the amusements of the English •^"^ officers were regular boxing matches, and some of the most notorious bruisers were brought over from England to exhibit their prowess at Paris. I perfectly coincided in the disgust which this practice excited in the French, and cannot but think it highly disgraceful to those who encouraged it. I used occasionally to remark to my military friends, that they were exciting a very unfavourable opinion in the minds of our national rivals. The reply generally w^as, " who the devil cares what their opinion is j we shall follow our inclinations.'* However I might ad- mire the independent spirit which dictated the reply, I was not the less an enemy to the prac- tice, it is always defended on the ground of promoting courage and confidence in the lower classes, which qualities render them so terrible in battle ; also, that if they had not that mode of deciding their quarrels, they would have BOXING. ^59 recourse to knives and daggers. I don't believe either one or the other. No one will surely assert, that the French peasantry are deficient in courage, or that they are addicted to the practice of assassination, yet no public boxing matches are known among them ; and I am sure the habits of such of our peasantry as are ad- dicted to this amusement do not speak much ia favour of it — they are generally brutal and fe- rocious — treat their wives and children with cruelty, and are often brought before the tri- bunals to answer for serious crimes. But my strongest objection to the practice of boxing, is, that it makes the triumph of a cause depend on the strength or skill of the party, and that a little man or a weak man, may be in- sulted with impunity. Besides, every man of common delicacy must be disgusted at the en- tire oblivion of rank and proper dignity which takes place on these occasions. I have seen noblemen and men of fortune sitting down to dinner with a set of black-guard, " gentlemen of the fancy/* the highest of whom had never been in a station of life more respectable thau the keeper of a pot-house in an obscure alley. I have always observed too, that celebrated boxers are depraved, worthless characters, ad- dicted to drunkenness and every species of practicable vice, and that those who encourage^ them are very little better. To look at the se^ s 2 260 DELICACY OF NATIONAL HABITS. of men collected together on any of these im- portant occasions, excites in me a most mor- tifying sense of " the dignity," of human nature j and I feel humiliated at the reflection that such beings belong to the same species as myself. Those who have never seen an assemblage of this kind, in the vicinity of London, are not aware of the full extent of the expression, " dregs of the people," for really the mass of gentlemen who usually attend these exhibitions, are as much inferior, and bear as little resemblance, to the respectable part of society, as the pole-cat to the lion. They have two legs, are unfea- thered, and have the gift of speech, but the likeness reaches no further ; and it is by taking in only a very few parts of the complex idea that we can call them human beings. The French and English are continually knocking backwards and forwards like a shut- tle-cock, the reproach of dirtiness, while at the same time neither party adheres to the general habits as a test, but fixes on some of those cus- toms which are mere customs, and as much the result of fashion, as high or low collars or petti- coats; or at least, they mix these complaints together, as if they were all equally important and chaiacteristic. For example, the English- man exclaims, ** look at that dirty fellow, he wipes his knife on his bread before he attacks the public loaf with it, instead of asking for a DELICACY OF NATIONAL HABITS. 261 clean one; he spits on the floor and wipes it with his foot ; he comes down to breakfast with a great coat, unshaved, unwashed, and without his breeches and stockings; he goes into a dress party of ladies with pantaloons, and a coloured handkerchief round his neck; in short, the French are a set of filthy slovens." The Frenchman says, " there you see an English party ; they wipe their lips and fingers on the table cloth ; half a dozen drink from the same glass ; and they wash their mouths and spit into a bason placed on the table by the side of their fruit plate. Oh, what barbarians !*' Each might take a good lesson from that which disgusts them in others, and I really believe that those who have much associated together, do gene- rally relinquish the indelicate habits of both. The last accusation against the Englishman is a serious one, and I have been really sickened very often v^th the sight of it ; however, it is now pretty generally discontinued. Nevertheless, I must confess that I claim for my country-men generally, and especially for my country-women the palm of superior delicacy. French- women make the same accusation against English-women that Swift alludes to, where he says, ** a delicate man is a man of indelicate ideas," and they say, that an English-w^oman's imagination must be extremely turbid if she cannot talk before men of her *< shift," and of s S f 62 DELICACY OF THE WOME^r^ <* going into the bath," without blushing. 1 do not know which is the best system of defence to adopt for my fair country-women, and I will Hot do mischief by injudicious zeal in their cause^ I will simply say, that I think them very superior to their Gallic rivals in genuine modesty, and that I prefer the quick sense of indelicacy which carefully avoids any allusion that can suggest such ideas, to the bold delicacy which utters them in defiance. Let me also do justice to the other party, by stating, that where French-women really are modest, they have much more merit in it, as from the state of society their modesty can never be merely the effect of ignorance or prejudice, but must result from a deliberate conviction of the judgment. With every disposition to do justice to my coun- try-women, I must confess that the contrary is sometimes the case here. The French Revolu- tion called forth instances of female virtue, which have not been excelled in any age or country ; the fidelity, the chastity, the heroism, and the pure affection exhibited on numberless occasions, are in the highest degree honourable to the character of French- women, and shew what I have often asserted, that there are materials in France for a noble nation, but hitherto they have never been properly arranged and made tise of. My readers will be surprised to hear that of SENTIMENTALITY. S63 all English authors the most popular in France is Dr. Young. — His Night Thoughts are in every body's hands, and the editions are almost as numerous as those of Shakespeare in England. They are constantly quoted in conversation, and the strain of sombre melancholy in which they are written, is in perfect unison with the senti- mental taste of Frenchmen ; nor is this extraor- dinary. We always observe most levity in those who give way without restraint to their feelings ; and they who are elated by trifles are also de- pressed from causes as insignificant. I believe that this rapid alternation of feeling is perfectly natural^ as we unifoimly see it in children till they become artificial beings. The Frenchman goes to the Theatre immediately that he has lost a valuable friend, and he does so to turn the current of his thoughts, which are too painful. — • So would the Englishman very often, if it were not for the opinion of society. Let the latter receive afflicting news at a distance from home, where his person and his character are equally unknown, and he will run to a public place of recreation to divert his attention. — This I have often witnessed. There is a degree of affliction which extin- guishes all relish for amusement, and there is also a species of grief of which the indulgence is a luxury ; sometimes too, the mind has a feel- ing which counteractsthe pain, although ashamed s 4 S64' FRBNCH CHARACTER. to acknowledge it. — " Thus did Rasselas mourn " over his misfortunes ; yet derived consolation <* from reflecting on the delicacy with which he " felt, and the eloquence with which he be- " wailed them." These kinds of distress are not what I allude to, and though I cannot ap- prove the levity of the Frenchman, I still think him a more natural character. There is, how- ever, a dignity resulting from consistency of conduct, which can only be conceded to the Englishman ; and which is perhaps more con- ducive to the good of society than the habit of giving vent to all the evanescent feelings of the mind. If I say that the French are the most sincere nation in the world, my assertion will be attri- buted to the love of paradox — yet nothing is more true. A Frenchman gives way to the first impulse of his soul, and makes protestations of attachment, and offers of service, without reflect- ing that on a further acquaintance, he may find the former undeserved, and the latter impracti- cable : nevertheless he is sincere when he utters these sentiments, and I believe generally feels the affection which he expresses ; but then his sense of the ridiculous is so very obtuse, that he has little embarrassment in retracting his ex- pressions; where an Englishman would be asham- ed of again encountering the object. The lat- ter is more slow in uttering such declarations FRENCH CHARACTER. 263 of regard, because he expects to be bound by them ; but the former allows the same liberty that he takes, and considers them as only in- tended to give a zest to the intercourse of society. — Yetgentleness of manner, and the non-assump- tion of superiority in a foreigner, do certainly call forth from Frenchmen a very grateful return, and nothing is considered by them as enough to shew their sense of such conduct. I speak from experience, and from the experience of many of my friends. — I never found these little concessions thrown away, or unappreci- ated, and was often surprised to find that what was merely the result of common politeness and delicacy towards their political feelings, was re- quited by real obligations; they would suffer their attentions to me to interfere very materi- ally with their engagements, and put themselves to trouble and expense on my account, which really embarrassed and distressed me. Such 1 be- lieve was the invariable conduct towards all who did not grossly offend their self respect. I have often heard of their rudeness to the English, and the Morning Chronicle teemed with reports of quarrels, some of which were stated to have taken place where I happened to be at the time, and had seen the most perfect tranquillity. I often heard British officers speaking of the inso- lence shewn by the Parisians, and indeed the 3 266 CONDUCT TOWARDS THE ENGLISH. mass of Frenchmen towards the English. When I asked, " Have you ever encountered such beha- viour personally ?" It was always, " Oh ! no, I can't say but they have always been very civil to me." Ask whom I might, the reply was still, " Oh ! no, they have certainly behaved with propriety and civility towards me." "Then for God's sake gentlemen," I rejoined, " speak of them as you find them," '« Nothing extenuate *' Nor set down ought in malice.** And make some little allowance for the natural irritability of the human mind, when its highest hopes have been quashed by heavy calamity j and when it is compelled to be always in contact with the cause. The French are very sentimental, and this feeling can be indulged with less alloy, from the absence of that tact for the ridiculous which, in Englishmen, often defeats the most strenuous attempt of an author to excite the sympathy of his readers ; any incongruity is immediately perceived by the latter, and pro- duces bathos, while the former sees nothing but the pathetic. The difference between the two nations is perhaps more remarkable on this sub- ject than on any other, however trifling it may appear. ADVERTISEMENTS, 567 It is no uncommon thing to see advertise- ments for situations, where the applicants de- scribe themselves as possessing an agreeable, or indeed handsome countenance, with pleasing manners and address, and with a disposition which will inspire the most perfect confidence. Perhaps all this may be even mthin the bounds of truth, and if so, it seems not to be thought ridiculous in France, but in England the very idea of its being self-praise, excites only disgust or laughter. ( 2G8 ) CHAPTER XXIX. TRAGIC THEATRE. DUCIS TRANSLATIONS OF SHAK- SPEARE. MACBETH. TALMA AND MADEMOISELLE GEORGES. TTAVING several times visited the theatre -*■ -*■ called " par Excellence^^^ Theatre Fran- gatSy I am enabled to form some opinion on the comparative merits of the two nations, with respect to dramatic talent both of authors and actors. Mr. Talma (who enjoys a reputation on the French stage quite equal to that which Gar- rick maintained on ours) is the Magnus Apollo j and as all excellence is relative, I do without he- sitation assign him the highest rank in his pro- fession in France, and considering his disadvan- tages, perhaps in Europe. French tragedy is a thing sui generis — and French acting is as much limited and impeded by it, as is a dancer who shall wear clogs, or put on fetters. The best French authors adhere most rigidly to the unities of the Grecian drama^ and therefore to compare them with the Eng- lish, would be as absurd as contending which was most beautiful, — a horse, or a piece of em- FRENCH THEATRE. 269 broidered satin. There is in fact so little simi- larity, that the two things do not admit of com- parison. At a French theatre, you have an ex- quisite piece of versification (I will not say poetry) recited with appropriate gesture and scenery ; every line is admirably worked up, and the words so arranged, that they shall follow each other melodiously, and without hiatus, — every line tells — every line means something, and is really concise prose — bold images are not al- lowed, but highly wrought descriptions, pathetic narratives, and sound reflections abound in every part ; the rhyme assists the memory of the actor, but adds still more to the artificiality of the com- position, and the whole excites admiration of the same kind as that which is created by a man who violates the laws of gravitation, and walks along the cieling, or the still greater merit of another who, having formed the letters of the alphabet into a column, writes a poem of which the lines shall commence with the res- pective letters in succession. All is art, and the admiration is excited by difficulties overcome — as such, the French stage has its merits, and with these great disadvantages, I allow the actors all the talent for which they claim cre- dit. How different is the English theatre, where the illusion is perfect, — where the mix- ture of the heroic and the ridiculous is too inti- mate for our sell-esteem, but by no means con- S70 DRAMATIC TASTE. trary to nature ; and where the language is such as the agents might use under the influence of strong passions ; each kind has its respective excellencies, and we can only estimate the de- gree of merit by ascertaining how far each is calculated to answer the end proposed. To see the stage change from Athens to London, or from Rome to Milford- Haven, produces on a Frenchman the impression described by the poet — " Quodcunque mihi oste?idis sic, incredulus odi;^' — while the Englishman is at least equally disgusted with the succession of plots, love- scenes, murders, and intrigues, all taking place on the same spot, which is at the same time too public to admit of any of them. Each is right and each wrong — there is no judgment without appeal with regard to dramatic merit, and I conceive that to be the best which pro- duces respectively the strongest ^ffect on the nation for which it was intended. The taste for dramatic beauties is necessarily formed very early in life, from the perusal of our native authors, and from the exhibition of their works on the stage, and like orthodoxy in modes of religion, that which deviates from the code we have first acquired, becomes necessarily wrong in our estimation. If we proceed to study foreign authors, we read with a certain mental reservation which makes us incapable of appreciating many of the beauties of a different DRAMATIC TASTE. ^1 system ; and as every system has some real and indubitable errors, those first strike the obser- vation and increase the prejudice against the whole. The excellencies of the French tragedy can only be felt and appreciated by those v/ho have received a certain degree of education, in which education were mingled some prejudices ; but the most illiterate and uncultivated of na- ture's sons can enjoy the plays of Shakspeare, with almost as high a relish as the perfect scholar (obsolete phraseology is a distinct consideration). Part of the admiration excited in the former, is directed to the art of the poet, while the latter ^ives himself entirely up to the influence of his feelings. There are in our dramatic works, and especially in those of Shakspeare, such outra- geous violations of probability, and even possibi- lity, that the author's genius alone can reconcile us to them — the difficulty of transfusing the beauties into another language, makes the incon- gruities more palpable ; and I am far from join- ing my countrymen in the condemnation of French tragedy, or in their contempt of the French taste for not being able to admire ours. A London audience can receive a very high and enthusiastic gratification from hearing Mrs. Siddons recite Collins's Ode on the Passions j and even the lady who copies her so closely, Mrs. Bartley, can attract a large house by the same piece of recitation. I never had the pleasure of $72 DRAMATIC TASTE. hearing Mrs. Siddons on such an occasion ; but I know many good judges who assert that she could alternately excite terror, and melt to tears by it. Just such is the species of pleasure de- rived from seeing the representation of the plays of Corneille, Racine, or Voltaire. Such actors as Talma and Mademoiselle Georges can over- come all the disadvantages inseparable from rhyme and " the unities ;" and I have been as highly excited by those exquisite performers, as by Mr. Young or Mr. Kemble, Mr. Kean or Mrs. Siddons. There is another disadvantage which the French tragedians have to overcome ; a species of canting whine, up-and-down, up-and-down, which has been so long and so firmly established on their stage, as the real, genuine, right, and orthodox mode of reciting verse, that an actor who attempts an alteration, and who would give his auditors the benefit of a more natural in- flexion of the voice, is immediately overpowered by public censure, and obliged to relinquish the attempt. Before we condemn this feeling too earnestly, let us consider what would be the effect on a London audience, of consulting com- mon sense, and leaving out that monstrous piece of tangible absurdity, the ghost of Banquo. Macbeth's guilty conscience can much more easily be conceived to see a ghost w^here it is not, than that the actualy reaUfat Mr. Pope, can MACBETH. gyS be seen by us and Macbeth, and yet be invisible to all the rest of the company. The fact is, that fashion, in dramatic performances, though it does not vary so rapidly and so frequently as fashion in habiliments, will yet tolerate equal absurdities, and make beauties out of real viola- tions of good sense and right reason, quite as monstrous as hoops, perriwigs, and pigtails. M. Ducis, the best poet of the present day in France, has translated, or rather adapted to the French stage, several of the best plays of Shak- speare; Othello, Hamlet, and Macbeth, and, I believe, some others. I shall select die last named as that in which he has adhered most closely to the original, and as being most po- pular at Paris ; but the alterations will be found 80 numerous, and so important, that it may al- most be considered as an original composition of M. Ducis, with considerable plagiarisms from Shakspeare. The play opens with a representation of a forest, rocks, precipices, and caverns, and the sky dark and threatening. Duncan, the King, and Glamis, (whom the author makes first prince of the blood,) are in earnest conversation ; in which the King explains that his motive for bringing Glamis to such a place is, that he may be a wit- ness and counsellor in a conversation which is ^oing to take place with Sevar, who has brought up the son of Duncan in the solitude of the T 274 MACBETH. forest to preserve him from assassination. The replies of Sevar are almost translations of the old man's account of the two sons of Cymbeline, in the play of that name. The young prince, who is called Malcolm, is ignorant of his rank, and supposes himself the son of Sevar : he is described as possessing all the qualities necessary to form a good man and a good king. Duncan now decides, that if the battle he is about to give should terminate in his favour, Malcolm should be made acquainted with his high des- tinies ; but, if otherwise, he shall for ever re- main ignorant of them. He describes the dis- tracted state of his kingdom, and that he has no hope of success against Cador, (the successful rebel), but in the talents and devotion of Mac- beth : he at the same time expresses his suspi- cion even of him, as he has been so often deceived by others who appeared as faithful. The second act commences with a soliloquy by Lady Macbeth, (called in this play Frede- gonde). She is exulting at the glorious suc- cesses of her husband, who has just vanquished Cador, taken off his head in triumph, and totally dispersed his army. Macbeth enters with a dis- tracted air, and with his mind intent upon a vision which has appeared to him on his return home through the forest of Inverness. He is preceded by the trophies of his victory : he dis- misses his officers by various orders, and remains MACBETH. 275 alone with Fredegonde, The latter remarks his agitated manner, and urges him to explain the cause of it, being so different from the glad countenance she had anticipated. After much persuasion, he describes to her a dream which had distressed him on the night after the victory. This speech is the most beautiful in the whole composition, and is, in my mind, infinitely more impressive than the scene of the witches, as re- presented on our stage. Indeed, I never re- member to have witnessed that scene at our theatres without its being accompanied by peals of laughter from the audience. — " Je croyais traverser, dans sa profonde horreur, D'un bois silencieux I'obscurite perfide ; Le vent grondait au loin dans son feuillage aride, C'etait Theure fatale ou le jour qui s'enfuit Appelle avec effroi les erreurs de la nuit L'heure oii souvent trompes nos- esprits s'^pouvantent, Pres d'un chene enflamm^ devant moi se presentent Trois femmes. Quel aspect ! non, Poeil humain jamais Ne vit d'air plus aflPreux, de plus difFormes traits. Jaeuv front sauvage et dur, fletri par la vieillesse Exprimait par degres leur feroce allegresse. Dans les flancs entr' ouverts d* un enfant ^gorgc Pour consulter le sort leur bras s*etait plonge; Ces trois spectres sanglans, courbes sur leur yictime, Y cherchaient et 1' indice et 1' espoir d'un grand crime ; Et ce grand crime enfin se montrant a leurs yeux. Par un chant sacrilege Us rendaient graces au dieux. Etonne je m'avance, " Exister-voiis, leur dis-je — T 2 276 MACBETH. Ou bien ne m*ofFrez-vous qu*un efFrayant prestige? Par des mots inconnus ces etres monstrueux S'appellaient tour a tour, s'applaudissaient entre eux — S'approchaient, me montraient avec un ris farouche Leur doigt mysterieux se posant sur leur bouche t Je leur parle, et dans I'ombre ils s'echappent soudain, L'un avec un poignard, I'autre vm sceptre a la main L'autre d'un long serpent serrait le corps livide Tous trois vers ce palals ont pris un vol rapide Et tous trois dans les airs, en fuyant loin de moi M'ont laiss^ pour adieux ces mots * Tu seras roi/ " Fredegonde exclaims, " T'ont-ils reveille ?" Macbeth replies, *- Non. Ma langue s'est glacee. Un execrable espoir entrait dans ma pens^e ; — Si loin du trone encore, — comment y parvenir ? Je n'osais sans trembler regarder I'avenir. Enfin dans mes exploits, dans ma propre innocence, Ma timide vertu trouvait quelque assurance : Je cherchais dans moi meme un secret defenseur, Et deja du repos je goutais la douceur. A I'instant j'ai senti sous ma main degouttante Un corps meurtri — du sang — une chair palpitante ; C'etait moi, dans la nuit, sur un lit tenebreux. Qui pergais a grands coups un vieillard malheureux." The metaphor in the line marked in italics was too strong for French taste, and it never escaped a hiss ; for a Parisian audience does not tolerate any thing which *we should call poetry. M. Ducis, on another occasion, used the following expression, <' Voyez ce point de rocher que le soleil devore.'* A London audience would have thought it an MACBETH. 277 exquisite idea, and would have applauded it ac- cordingly; but the Parisians condemned it as monstrous and intolerable, and after many vain attempts to procure a revocation of the edict, M. Duels thought proper to withdraw it, and expunge it from the play. In uttering the line '* L'autre d'un long serpent serrait le corps livide," Talma imitated with his hands the act of crush- ing with the nails the slippery serpent as it tries to escape, and he did it with such admi- rable pantomime that the audience shuddered with horror. Garrick used to display a similar stratagem. He would, in company, take a napkin from the table, and folding it into the shape of an infant, pretend to be playing with it while leaning out of a window. On a sudden, letting it fall, he uttered the shrieks and lamen- tations of a parent who had negligently killed his child, and this, with such an admirable sem- blance of reality, as to draw tears from all who were present, though their first impulse had been that of laughter, when they saw him making the preparation. Talma pronounces the word non with a de- sponding fall of the voice, and at the same time dropping both hands, which had been ele- vated while talking of the witches. It contrasts admirably with the violent exclamation of Fre- degonde which precedes it. T 3 278 MACBETH. Macbeth has scarcely ended this sublime speech, when Duncan enters, and claims his hospitality for the night, intending in the morn- ing to make him acquainted with the existence of Malcolm, and with his intention of resigning the throne to him. Presently Duncan retires to rest, and the scene which follows between Macbeth and Fredegonde, is very similar to the same scene in Shakspeare. Some fugitive bands endeavour at this moment to surprize the castle, when Macbeth, whose ambition was previously worked up by his wife, takes advantage of the confusion and murders the King and Glamis ; it passes for the act of the insurgents, who are repulsed j and Macbeth is praised for his sup- posed unsuccessful bravery in defence of the man he has destroyed. Loclin next brings Macbeth the books of laws, to which he is to swear fidelity in accept- ing the crown ; while Macbeth is signing it in presence of the people, he fancies that he sees the ghost of Duncan, and starts back in horror. Lady Macbeth argues with him on the folly of his conduct, when he exclaims that he saw writ- ten in the book, in letters of blood, "1*^0 par- don for assassins !" This is a simple, but natu- ral incident. Macbeth may be supposed to have opened the book at that part which treats of murder and its punishment. He becomes at last more calm, and takes hea- MACBETH. 279 ven to witness that he will pursue the murderer of Duncan for ever, and revenge his death. On a sudden he starts aside, and makes that beautiful address to the phantom which appears to his imagination, that Shakspeare's Macbeth makes to the ghost of Banquo ; the translation of this passage is quite literal. Confusion arises in the assembly, and Fredegonde dismisses them with expressing her compassion for Macbeth^s disordered intellect, the result, as she says, of the strong attachment he bore to the King and of horror at his murder. The audience being dismissed, Macbeth re- covers his recollection, and asks very earnestly if he had betrayed himself. Fredegonde assures him that he is yet unsuspected, and points to the crown as a consolation for his unnecessary anxieties. At this moment enters Sevar, leading Malcolm, and claiming for him the crown. Lady Macbeth, on recovering from the surprize excited by the news, gives secret orders that they may be detained, and then boldly acknow- ledges the youth's title. Sevar retires with him, not suspecting the guilt of Macbeth. In the conversation which ensues between Macbeth and Fredegonde, the latter tells him, that hav- ing dared to seize the crown, at least he should dare to keep it ; and as Duncan's letter, which Sevar has delivered to him, is the sole title, he may destroy it, and no one will dare to question T 4 280 MACBETH. his power. Macbeth retires, and Fredegonde> (who had only hinted this gentle mode of dis- posing of the pretender, because she dared not propose another murder to Macbeth in his pre- sent frame of mind,) determines to assassinate Malcolm herself. In a scene between the young Malcolm and Macbeth, the former declares that he will not be a king, but will go back to his native forests, where he shall be more tranquil. Mac- beth, however, persuades him that it is his duty to accept the throne, and endeavour to make his people happy. Malcolm, alluding to his father, says, " Si le ciel plus propice eut cache son destin II n'eut jamais Senti le fer d'un assassin." Macbeth, *' Plaignez les criminels — le remords les dechire." Malcolm asks with happy simplicity, ** Qu'est ce que le remords." Macbeth starts and replies, " Jepourrais vous le dire. — Ignorez le toujours." There is a great deal of skill in the manage- ment of this scene. In painting the duties of a good sovereign, Macbeth becomes warmed with his own emotions, and exclaims with transport, " I am myself again ;" he bursts into tears, and utters the ejaculation, ** Je te rends grace, 6 ciel! tu m*as rendu les larmes.** 10 MACBETH. €81 Next follows the scene in which our great actress, Mrs. Siddons, is so sublime. Frede- gonde dreams of her intention, rises from bed in her sleep, and comes on the stage with her lamp and poniard ; — she retires to the cham- ber of her infant son, and murders him by mis- take. She rushes into the state-room where Macbeth has summoned the assembly to give the crown to Malcolm with the proper formal- ities, and, after entreating them to kill her, sinks down senseless. Loclin says she shall live, that she may be punished by the constant re- collections of her crime, and that death would be a mercy she is undeserving of. Macbeth feels his conscience relieved by the reparation he is making to the son of Duncan ; and after stating that he has discovered the murderer, de- clares they shall see his blood shed on that spot, — acknowledges himself the author of the hor- rible deed, and immediately destroys himself by plunging his poniard into his breast. It will be seen, even from this very brief and imperfect sketch, that the plot of M. Ducis is more regular and more natural than that of Shakspeare. Macbeth also is rendered more heroic, is a more noble and interesting charac- ter. We are so accustomed to regard Shak- speare as infallible, and his mighty genius casts so vivid a glare on his productions, that we do very often take his defects for beauties ; i8S M. DUCIS. even those passages which he had neglected through idleness, or disdained to retouch as subordinate, become in the hands of his com- mentators equal to his most laboured compo- sitions. The same genius which can invent, can also improve after invention, and we ought not to criticize too severely the performance of a man who wrote to live, and not merely lived to Write, Ducis attempted to introduce the pitches on the French stage, but it failed absolutely and entirely, although managed with a great deal of caution and skill. I transcribe the part which was originally represented, but which has since been cut away in compliance with public opi- nion. It is at the end of the first act, after Sevar has described with enthusiasm, the virtues of the young Prince Malcolm — a long groan is heard in the forest — Glamis exclaims, — " Tout mon cwur se dechire,^^ Duncan. " C'est celui d^un mortel, au moment qiCil expire. ^^ Glamis says, — " Si c^etaient ces trois sceurs," At this point of time, the three witches come forth from be- hind the rocks — the first has a poniard in her hand — the next a sceptre, and the third a serpent. The first exclaims, " Le charme a reussi — le sang coule, on combat — resterons nous id," — The second says, " non,je cours decepas — eblouir ma victime,'* The first who holds the poniard says, " Et mot frapper la mienne.*' M. Ducis. 283 The third who holds the serpent adds, « Et moiy venger ton crime,'' The three then repeat in succession, " Du sang /" " Du sang /" « Du sang r' and immediately disappear from the eyes of the spectators. Glamis exclaims, " Quel 'presage odieuoc /" Duncan replies, *< Separons nous Sevar^ Soumettons nous aua: dieux,** This ends the second act. One would think it impossible for the most fastidious audience to be shocked with a scene so sublime and so admirably managed; such, however, was the fact, and instead of that breathless anxiety, which the tragedian meant to have excited, a loud burst of laughter con- vinced him that (as we phrase it) he had " mis- taken his man,'* and that he must change the ideas of his audience before he ventured to in- troduce a new species of dramatic interest. Thus it is in every thing — in the sciences, in the mechanical arts — in legislation — in poetry, the man who outruns the age he lives in, has the obloquy of failure, and it demands the most stupendous genius to reconcile us to those changes which we afterwards find perfectly con- sonant to common sense. Galileo was con- demned for asserting that the earth moves round the sun, and a man w^ho should have shewn the effects of a Galvanic battery a hun- dred years ago, would probably have been burnt for a conjurer. Even Shakspeare was not ap- 284 MADEMOISELLE GEORGES. predated in his own time, and very many of the defects we find in his writings, were only com- pliances with the errors of his day, to bespeak indulgence for those innovations which ought not to have needed any. To anticipate the ef- fects of time, either in the fine arts or science, de- manded always a great degree of discernment ; and although the wonders which have been rendered famiHar to us in the latter, have in a great degree reconciled us to any novelties, however repugnant to received opinions, I be- lieve, that in the former we still retain preju- dices as monstrous and as absurd as any thing which have been yet eradicated. Even the scene which I have already spoken of, where Fredegonde enters with the lamp and poniard, and is supposed to be asleep ; even this would not have been tolerated but for the extraor- dinary talent of Mademoiselle Georges, although both in the original and in the translation, it is certainly the finest in the play. This lady comes nearer to Mrs. Siddons than any actress I have seen, and in some parts I really thought her superior. In the scene where Macbeth is relating his dream, she listens in simple horror, till he arrives at that part of the description where he mentions the three witches, one w^ith a poniard, another with a sceptre, and the third with a serpent — her countenance be- comes gradually animated j she passes her hand TALMA* ^85 across her brow — thoughts seem to be rushing into her brain faster than she can arrange them, but when he ends with <« Tu seras roi,'^ her tumultuous joy knows no bounds, she lays her hand hastily on his shoulder, and exclaims, " T'ont Us reveille J*^ I never saw so fine an ex- pression as her countenance exhibits at this moment — her exclamation is a kind of shriek, and it completely electrified the audience. In the sleep-walking scene, she is, I think, fully equal to Mrs. Siddons, and the best proof of her success, was the absolute breathless silence of the audience ; this added still more to the effect ; as she was not under the necessity of speaking louder than a whisper, e^very syllable of which was distinctly heard. Her counte- nance very much resembles that of Mrs. Sid- dons, though it is less harsh, and more capable of expressing the gentle passions ; but she is cer- tainly not so graceful in her attitudes. How- ever, had I not seen Mrs. Siddons, I should have considered Mademoiselle Georges as nothing short of perfection. With respect to Mr. Talma, I have much to praise, and much to blame. The mode of re- citation which I have condemned as unnatural and disgusting, he carries to excess; and I can- not forgive a man of such consummate skill, for not possessing fortitude enough to set a better example. He is the only man on the French ^6 TALMA. stage who has influence sufficient to introduce such a change. In spite of this, he does some- times produce an effect greater than any actor I have ever heard ; his exclamations of grief and of despair, are so inexpressibly heart-rend- ing, that I can hardly- tolerate to hear them ; it goes beyond illusion, and produces pain; you forget the actor and his art, and feel an anguish which destroys the pleasure of the scene. Kean is sublime, in spite of a voice like a raven, and Talma is sublime in spite of a countenance like a barber's wig-block. It is impossible to con- ceive a face less adapted to a tragedian ; it is broad, flat, coarse, and vulgar, but he has by long habit acquired such a power over its muscles, that he can make it represent any thing. I saw him in the play of CEdipus, and was really frightened at the intensity of feeling which seemed to have taken possession of him. I do not at all wonder at his popularity at Paris, and only lament that he cannot represent some of our English tragic characters, where there would be no drawback on the effect of his ex- ertions, but where he might give free scope to his conception of nature. ( 287 ) CHAPTER XXX. THE ACADEMY OF MUSIC, OR GRAND OPERA. — DELICACY OF THE FRENCH STAGE. COMPARISON WITH THAT OF ENGLAND. FARCE OF RICCO. I CANNOT express the very high gratification I received from my first visit to the Great Opera, or, as it is called, UAcademte Roy ale de la Musique, I had often heard this theatre spoken of in high terms of praise, and knew that it was considered one of the chief glories of Paris, but had no conception that so magnificent a spec- tacle was in existence, and all my attempts to form an idea of it, from a knowledge of our own, proved very inadequate to the reality. The piece represented, was one of the best compo- sitions of Sacchiniy and the words by the Abbe Felegrin. The orchestra was composed of nearly two hundred performers, and I think there could not be less than three hundred on the stage in the ballet which followed, called L' Enlevement des Sabines. The salon, or interior of the theatre, is an oblong, with all the four corners cut off; the eight angles thus formed, being each ornamented J288 OPERA. with a handsome Corinthian pillar; this con- tracts the stage, or rather proscenium, to a pro- per size, while it forms the handsomest shape for the audience part. The pillars are hollow, and contain boxes, the occupants of which have a view of the stage through the fluted inter- stices. The fronts of the boxes represent satin drawn up in festoons, and the predominant colour of the whole decorations is light blue ; the seats rise very much above one another in the pit ; the two first rows are furnished with backs, and are called the orchestra; they are let at a higher rate than any other parts of the house ; the last six rows are also divided off, and called Premieres places, and are considered the next best situation in the house. The whole has a clean, light, and elegant appearance, and shews off the gay dresses of the ladies to great effect, and the whole spectacle is splendid and imposing in the highest degree. The music, the dancing, the scenery, the richness of the dresses, the perfection of the machinery, the wonderful accuracy of the chorus, which seemed to be animated by one soul, every thing seemed to me absolutely perfect, and formed altogether a more exquisite treat to the eyes and ears than I ever before enjoyed. The nasal sound of the French language is quite lost in the opera, and the harmony is admirable. 1 afterwards went several times, and each OPERA. £89 time with encreased pleasure. In many of the favourite pieces represented at this theatre, there is a great deal of sound sense and mean- ing ; for the first time I ceased to think an opera ridiculous, and could almost fancy a world where the inhabitants conversed in music, and moved to sounds of harmony. Of course so large an establishment cannot be kept up by the prices of admission alone, and accordingly the Government contributes a very large sum in aid of it, whilst all the other the- atres pay a portion of their profits to this ; so that it is strictly a national theatre. Although so expensive, I never heard it complained of as unnecessary ; because it adds to the glory of the nation. It has been remarked, that of all the pleasures of sense, music is the only one which leaves no pain behind it, and produces no ill effect, even when indulged to excess. It cannot, however, be strictly called a pleasure of sense, and it cer- tainly belongs, at least equally, to the intellect. Simple melody produces delight, merely from its effect on the organ of hearing, but harmony, and especially the concord of many sounds, is chiefly relished by those who have learnt the principles of the science. The gratification they receive then, is from the degree of skill in the composition, and from observing how nearly it corresponds with the rules laid down, and S90 OPERA. generally acknowledged. I know some great proficients in this art, who contend, that they can receive nearly the same pleasure from read- ing 2l piece of music in score, as from hearing it performed by an orchestra. This species of pleasure I am incapable of feeling and of ap- preciating, but do not, therefore, deny its ex- istence. To the man, however, who contends for the superior beauty of simple sounds, it is a triumph to observe what passes in the theatre very frequently. While the orchestra is doing full justice to the grandest chorus of Winter, the audience are talking, laughing, and exchang- ing compliments — doors axe shutting and open- ing, and every thing expresses that the great majority are totally uninterested in what is going forward — but when a flute or female voice commences a plaintive air, all is instantaneous silence — those who are restrained by good man- ners, and those w^ho are not, equally join in silent admiration, and the mouth unconsciously half opened, expresses the pleasure which is thus received. I do not merely contrast the effect of an intricate piece of music with the effect of simple sounds, but of duets, and in general of vocal music, which is never very complicated. The pleasure we receive from fijood music is indefinable ; a croud of confused ideas over-run the soul, as Madame de Stael expresses it, - and we seem conscious of an addi- EFFECT OF MUSIC. ^91 tionial existence. " II semble qu'eii ecoutant des sons purs et delicieux on est pret a saisir le secret du Createur, et penetrer la mystere de la Vie." The same admirable writer remarks, that " La justesse admirable de deux voix parfaitement d'accord, produit dans les Duo des grand mai- tres d'ltalie, un attendrissement delicieux, mais qui ne pourrait se prolonger sans une sorte de douleur ; e'est un bien-etre trop grand pour la nature humaine, et I'amevibre alors comme un instrument a I'unisson que briserait une har- monic trop parfaite/* It is impossible to express more justly or more ■elegantly, the sensations excited in the mind of every one possessed of sensibility, by this de- lightful science. Even when the words are in- distinctly heard, or when the sound is produced from a wind instrument bearing resemblance to the voice, we are not the less gratified. " Les paroles que I'on chante ne sent pour rien dans cette emotion ; a peine quelques mots d'amour ou de mort dirigent-ils de temps en temps la reflexion, mais plus souvent le vague de la mu- sique se prete a tons les mouvements de I'ame, et chacun croit retrouver dans la melodie, comme dans Tastre pur et tranquille de la nuit, Pimage de ce qu'il souhaite sur la terre. La musique souleve doucement le poids qu'on a presque toujours sur le coeur, quand on est capable d'af- u 2 ^9^2 FRENCH COMEDY. fections serieuses ou profondes. Le malheur dans le langage de la musique est sans amer- tume, sans dechirement, sans irritation ; il n'y a plus de vide — la vie est remplie." No where, certainly is music apparently re- lished so highly as in France, if we may judge from the enthusiastic commendations of it by all parties ; yet French inusic is, to my ears, very bad, and I should not have supposed it a priori, capable of exciting such emotions as I have de- scribed ; it is very complicated, and generally executed with great precision, but sadly de- fective in pathos ; yet, although this fault runs through almost every piece of French compo- sition, they enjoy the works of the best Italian masters as thoroughly as any nation, and the excellence of the Academie de Musique is a proof of genuine taste and discernment. Ex- cept our Philharmonic and Concert of Ancient Music, I suppose there is nothing in England which deserves to be made an object of com- parison. In comedy, I really think the French unri- valled, and their comic actors are exceedingly good; in the broader farce I have never seen any thing equal in England, except from Lis- ten and Mathews. The comic theatres are so much encouraged, that they can afford to pay well for superior talent, and they have it in perfection. DELICACY OF THE FRENCH STAGE. 293 There is a peculiarity on the French stage which I know not how to account for, viz. ; a strict regard to decency. An indeHcate equi- voque is hissed immediately, and a modern wri- ter would ensure the damnation of his piece by any attempt to introduce those indelicacies which are tolerated and applauded by a London au- dience. I would willingly take refuge from the mortification of making this acknowledgment, by contending for that pretty theory which says, that as nations become more depraved, their public amusements become more delicate ; but I scorn to adopt such a subterfuge, because I disbelieve it altogether. As nations advance in refinement and civilization, their public amuse- ments become more delicate I allow, and if a bad government, or a series of bad governments, have made no effort to check the concomitant evils of such a state, vices will encrease at the same time; but I will not, cannot allow, that the general diffusion of education and good prin- ciples, and a relish for those refinements of lan- guage which keep down all the grosser ideas, (and what else is civilization?) can necessarily be connected with depravity. We may prac- tise the vice and not talk of it, but we are not the less likely to practise the vice from making it the. constant subject of filthy witticisms. As men form a more perfect society, the less are they privately and individually inclined to u 3 J^gi COMl^ARlSON OF NATIONAL DRAMA^r punish such vices as do not seem immediately to injure others, and accordingly the sensual^ propensities are thus allowed to pass unchecked ; but this has nothing to do with the open sanc- tion of immorality ; and I must do the French the justice to say, that their theatre is in this^ respect much more pure than our own. You do not see on their stage such pieces as the Beggar's Opera ; yet without doubt, if wit were allowed to palliate such violations of decency, there is no lack of it in their authors. A filthy alteration of Shakspeare's Tempest, written by the profligate Dryden to gratify the depraved taste of Charles the Second, is allowed, in the present day, to supercede the beautiful original -, and w^e have two additional characters, which totally spoil the structure and interest of the piece, introduced solely to give occasion for foolish and indecent equivoques. Almost all our modern plays have witticisms of the same nature. I am surprised that vanity alone does not prevent an author from such a confession of imbecility, because we all know, that it is exceedingly easy to raise a laugh by such means without any wit at all ; and we have abundant proof that it is very possible to be ex- tremely witty without the aid of indecency. — Garrick's play of the Clandestine Marriage, is one which I should be most happy to give as a specimen of English Comedy : there is neither COMPARISON OF NATIONAL DRAMAS. 0,96 obliquity in the moral, nor indelicacy in the language ; yet there is wit enough to satisfy the most exorbitant critic. — Si sic omnia ! • French Comedy, however, like the English, gives abundant encouragement to many of the faults and follies which, in real life, are visited with heavy punishment. As in our best plays, a young girl taken to the theatre, sees that it is extremely proper, and very " funny," to cheat an indulgent old father, and run away with a swain whose name, station, and character, are unknown to her; — that a father, so deceived and robbed, must be a brute indeed, to feel any resentment on the occasion ; and that he wiU, of course, kiss and forgive her, when she puts on a penitent and pathetic look, and goes grace- fully down on one knee. Oh, how I hate this prostitution of talent — as if the real incidents of life, the real sympathies of virtuous love, and all the rational passions of our nature, were not sufficiently interesting ; as if prudence were in- compatible with warm feelings, and common sense with love. If such plays have any effect on the minds of youth, it must be to teach them, that a man who has the exterior of virtue is a hypocrite ; but that the gay, careless, unfeeling, selfish rake, is open-hearted, generous, and esti- mable, and will amply reward the love of a vir- tuous and modest girl ; though she must pre- viously sacrifice her own self-respect to unite her u 4 ^96 FRENCH FARCES. fate with a man whose mind is polluted, ^nd whose person is impure. It will be seen that I bear in mind, more par- ticularly at this moment, one of our most popu- lar plays — the School for Scandal — a comedy, of which the vnt encreases the mischief. Hap- pily Mr. Sheridan's life formed a running com- ment on his play, and thus diminished its effect. Misdirected genius does more injury to society than admits of calculation or reparation. The lighter French Farces are exceedingly laugh- able ; and I do not think there can possibly be a better remedy for chagrin, than to visit the representation of any of the modern favourites. They are generally things which will not bear deliberate reading, but are adapted to the re- spective peculiarities of the performers. One of these which I recollect, (a piece called Ricco,} produced a greater number of piquant situations, and more laughable stage-effect, than I ever re- member to have seen. Ricco is an innocent, but rather arch country lad; has been lately dismissed from the service of his master, for overturning the carriage in a ditch when acting in his capacity of postilion. — He comes on the stage weary and hungry, exclaiming in a tone of whining despondency, — " How every one brushes by me as if they knew that I have not a penny in my pocket ! — O poor Ricco, thou'st made a pretty piece of FRENCH FARCES. ^^97 business of it. I am ready to sink with fatigue, sleep, and hunger. Let us sit down here a-bit — ten leagues at a-stretch in wooden shoes, one may well be knocked up. What the devil shall I do ? — my costume is not very imposing, and, I must own, I look rather like a postilion turned off in a jiffy. I am very sleepy — I may take a nap here, I suppose — the landlord won't ask for the reckoning when I wake ; but, alas, no body will come and say to me, ' Dinner is ready.' O, what a delightful sound! Well, of all penitences, the hardest is that of having nothing for the tooth. I have been running after fortune for these ten years, and the Httle devil always keeps out of my reach. An old lady, who fancied herself a witch, told me I had a lucky face ; she dealt out the cards, and fore- told, that, before long, the fall of a great man should be my elevation, — Postilion to a noble* man, one half of the prophecy is accomplished, for I have tumbled his Lordship into the ditch ; but when I begin to rejoice at it, my master stops my wages, and has me kicked out of the house for my pains. Well, I'll take a nap.". While he is asleep, the supposed fatal event of a duel makes one of the combatants anxious to escape ; Ricco, having taken off his hat and coat that he may sleep the easier, the gentleman takes them for a disguise, leaving his own uniform coat in the place, with the hat and sword. When he is i298 FRENCH FARCES. gone, Ricco, who has been once more dream- ing of the prophecy, wakes and finds the change in the clothes. After some consideration, he can explain the matter no other way than by supposing that the good fortune which was pre- dicted has arrived during his sleep, and, having put on the uniform of the colonel, he deter- mines to maintain the character with dignity* He calls out lustily, " Hallo ! hallo ! — nobody waiting there : — where are all my rascals ?'* Frontin, the servant of the colonel, who has a pique against Ricco, (though unknown to him,) in consequence of an ancient amour, determines to punish him, and accordingly keeps up the joke to bring him into embarrassment. The guards arrive to arrest him, when he thinks it too serious, and declares he is not the Marquis j but Frontin persists that his misfortunes have turned his brain, and he is carried off to the castle as the duellist. Some exquisite scenes follow, between him and the father of the lady whom the real marquis wished to marry. The old gentleman, who only knew him by name, and hated him from a family quarrel, is quite astonished that his daughter should have fixed her affections on such a man. The distress of all parties is most admirably worked up, and an eclaircissement and reconciliation take place, but not till the error has produced a succession of the most laughable equivoques and mistakes that 1 FRENCH FARCES. ^99 can be conceived. The man who performed Kicco was much Hke Liston in his mode of act- ing, but with a countenance still more comic. I never saw a specimen of acting more perfect in its kind ; and am surprised that, with a set of actors so admirably adapted to the purpose, this piece has not yet been received on the Eng- lish stage. I have no doubt of its acquiring a popularity which would abundantly repay the trouble of getting it up. ( 300 ) CHAPTER XXXI. OCCURRENCE AT THE THEATRE. — POPULARITY OF THE KING. PROBABLE CONDUCT OF THE DISBANDED OF- FICERS. COMPARISON OF THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH, DIFFERENT SENTIMENTS ON THE NATIONAL FLAG. I WAS one night at the Theatre des VarieteSy when the orchestra, instead of commencing with the overture to the piece about to be re- presented, played the beautiful slow air called " Charmante Gabrielley" and then (by a cadence from the leader) made a very elegant transi- tion to " Vive Henri Quatre^^^ the national song of Frenchmen, or at least, of all those at- tached to the Bourbon dynasty. The most bril- liant pleasure seemed to pervade the whole audience; and it was rapturously encored. — After a repetition, the house again rang with cries of Bis^ Bis, and a third time it was per- formed with additional acclamations. A fero- cious looking officer who sat near me had evi- dently been on thorns the whole time. His dark face deeply scarred by small-pox, as well as by the casualties of war, had been convul- sively working into an expression of the most superlative contempt during the second repeti- OCCURRENCE AT THE THEATRE. 301 tion ; it was hardly finished, when he started up and exclaimed, " Enough, enough, gentlemen — now the overture, if you please." A sober ci- tizen placed just behind him, construed this into a want of loyalty, and, after looking him steadily in the face for a moment, cried with vivacity, " Vive le Roi." All the house had heard the impertinent address to the orchestra, and the Vive le Roi operated like an electric spark : in- stantly the cry of loyalty resounded from all parts of the theatre with an enthusiasm which I never before witnessed an example of. Many voices cried out " Buonapartist ;" ** Rascally Buonapartist." " Turn him out ;*' " Turn him out." The officer kept his look of defiance till the tumult subsided, and then turning round to the person who had first raised the cry of " Vive le Roif" he addressed him with — " Pray, Sir, is it 1/ou who doubt my devotion to the King?" The man did not like the manner of the querist, nor what the question seemed to imply, and he quickly made answer, — " Oh/ de tout, de tout, Monsieur^ — (Not at all, not at all, Sir). The officer then turned about to another, and an- other, and another ; but still the same reply of " de tout, de tout. Monsieur.'* No one seemed willing to take up the gauntlet : so, after look- ing once more round at the audience with an air of thorough disdain, he added, " Very well, gentlemen, then I take my seat again : — if any 30^ POPULARITY OF THE KING. one wishes for further explanation, I am ready to give it.'* And quietly seating himself, the business passed off without further disturbance, except that the audience seemed determined to have their revenge, by demanding " Vive Henri Quatre," between every subsequent act through- out the evening. This song is seemingly the touchstone of loyalty, and is used on every oc- casion by a royalist, when in company with an- other whom he suspects of attachment to the discarded sovereign. To hum the tune, at such times, is a safe and easy mode of conveying an insult, as the Buonapartist dares not seem to dislike it. I could adduce an hundred instances of simi- lar expression of popular feeling, and for myself have the most perfect conviction, that the King is loved and respected by the great mass of the population. That there are a very great number of mal-contents, is true of course. That there are tens of thousands who would be glad to over- turn the existing government, for the chance of obtaining something in the scramble cannot be denied, but that there remain any considerable portion of the nation who wish to see Buona- parte back again, is what I utterly deny. I be- lieve that if the battle of Waterloo had never been fought — if Europe had done nothing more than deny the vaHdity of his claim to the throne, he would have had no chance whatever of retaining CHAMP DE MAI. 503 it. In every part of the kingdom, bands were forming and becoming every day more formid- able ; some of which professed to be fighting for the Bourbons, and others for a Republic ; but all agreeing to discard Napoleon. Let it be con- sidered, that Buonaparte's escape from Elba, from their ignorance of the nature and extent of the coercion used to detain him, and their exagge- rated ideas of the power of the British navy, could be considered only as miraculous, or as the effect of treachery in his keepers. That Buonaparte pro- mulgated every where that he had formed a treaty with England, and with Austria, and that he was come to resume his throne. Notorious as was his character, it seemed impossible for impudence to breach so far, and no one thought even Jiini capable of so monstrous a fabrication, and one which, if false, must be so soon detected. In the •confusion which ensued people knew not what to believe, till the declaration of congress opened their eyes — it was too late — they had suffered him to take the weapons before they thought of resisting his power, and they saw their error only when its punishment hung over their heads. I speak now of the honest part of the nation, many of whom were afterwards induced to acknow- ledge the Usurper, because they thought any thing better than conquest by foreigners. As ^ for the farce of the ** Champ deMai*' it imposed on no one, and notwithstanding the fine bom- 80 h DISBANDED OFFICERS. bastic accounts of that ceremony, it was the to- pic of scorn and ridicule to the whole nation. — So little did Buonaparte reckon on the applause of the bye-standers, (without which the spectacle would have lost half its eclat,) that the directors were obliged to hire some thousands of vaga- bonds, at five francs a day, to cry " Vive V Em- jperewr," and to keep Paris in an uproar: — I know two who were so hired, and who told me of many others of their acquaintance — they thought it excellent fun, and wished for another repetition of it ; — but even these men spoke of the scene as a vast pantomime of vagabonds. About fifty thousand officers are now turned loose on the nation, by far the greater number of whom may be considered as totally destitute of support. They have no half-pay in consequence of their revolt, and colonels are glad to obtain the post of clerk in a coach-office. Is it to be supposed that such men will remain quiet ? — they can lose nothing but their lives, and that is no greater risk than they have encountered from the time they came into the army ; any change must benefit their condition, and if accident should favour their attempts, a considerable rebellion might be apprehended. The body of the nation is so exhausted, that they would probably submit to the assumption of power by any party, rather than encounter the fatigue of resistance. The Allies therefore have acted DISBAl^DED FRENCH ARMY. 305 wisely in retaining possession of the fortresses, which will enable them to interfere, should their assistance be necessary. Of this I have not the least expectation however, because their vicinity must make any attempt appear hopeless to those who are likely to undertake it, and the better- disposed population will exert themselves to the utmost to repress them, from the consideration that if the Allies should take it on themselves, the whole nation must suffer the punishment. That France will ever become again an absolute monarchy, is almost impossible. The heavy taxes which will be so long required to discharge the contributions, will necessarily keep up a state of irritation, which will gladly vent itself when the foreign troops are removed. Almost all con- cessions from sovereigns have been extorted in times of severe public calamity ; and the year 1821, when the restrictions cease, will probably give the King of France quite as unmanageable a house of deputies, as any which ever sat in St. Stephen's chapel. I declare, that (looking to history) were I a Frenchman, I should think my country in a fairer train for a free constitution, and the exercise of rational liberty at the present moment than at any former period of its history, not excepting the era of the Revolution. The discussion which took place during Buonaparte's pretended election — the debates in the cham- ber of Peers and of Deputies — the freedom of 306 COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH. the press, (for there is no previous restraint on any thing but newspapers and pamphlets under thirty pages,) and the general circulation of Eng- lish books, altogether have given an impetus to the public mind, which no efforts of arbitrary power can ever again effectually impede. — One inju- dicious friend does more harm than a host of open enemies ; but these, and the seeming zeal of the pretended friends of liberty, will not present any great obstacle to its cultivation, though far more injurious to the cause, than the rnalice of its ene- mies. — Lahitur et labetur. The nation has now a stepping-stone, and if they do not eventually settle into a rational and free system of govern- ment, it must be for the §ole reason that they do not deserve its enjoyment. Comparing the middle classes of the two coun- tries, the most obstinate hater of England must acknowledge the great, the very great inferiority of the French generally, in manners, morals, and education. Comparing the lower classes, the difference is strangely on the other side — How is this to be accounted for ? I confess that I cannot assign any cause or causes sufficient for the purpose ; but the fact is palpable as the sun, and I have never yet met with an Englishman so prejudiced, as not to allow it without hesitation. It is my firm, deliberate conviction, that the pea- jiantry of France are superior to the peasantry of «?f England in every respect.— They are more COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH. 307 industrious, more sober, more religious, more ho* nest, more moderate in their desires, more ex- act in their social duties, more faithful to their contracted obligations, more civil, and more confiding in their intercourse with each other, and with strangers. Nay, they are equal, if not superior in those qualities of the body in which Englishmen think them so very defective ;^ — they are, I think, in general taller and more robust, and look more healthy. This difference between the French and British soldiers struck me as very remarkable, and gave me a still higher opinion of British courage, which could overcome the fearful odds of number and physical strength. I believe the dress of the French soldiers still adds to their apparent stature, as it is not cut into so many varieties as the most common Bri- tish uniform. The general Frenoh uniform is nearly the same as that of our artillery,. which certainly displays the figure to the greatest ad- vantage. I remarked that even the picked regi- ments of guards (of which the privates are al- most all above the ordinary stature I believe,) did not appear so tall as one of the common French regiments, though in reality they were considerably taller, merely because the former are divided into so many pieces, by the contrasts of their different articles of dress. With respect to the officers, it was the remark of every Frenchman who conversed with me, X 2 308 COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH. that they had never seen so elegant and fine a set of forms, and that French officers were not worthy of being compared with them, except ^* pour la tete et pour le cceurJ' I felt some de- gree of national vanity, when I saw a number of our officers at the theatre; they appeared so healthy, so rosy, and good-humoured — had such an air of openness in the countenance, and look- ed so much like gentkmeny that they formed quite a strong contrast to the meagre, ferocious, squalid faces of the French officers who sur- rounded them, almost all of whom look vulgar, vicious, and depraved. If I am to believe their own account, of the state of manners and mo- rals, from the marshal to the lieutenant, they equalled the Romans in profligacy as in cou- j-age. I have often heard it remarked by French- men, as a strange circumstance, that there should be so great a difference between the dif- ferent classes of society in England ; the officers being so very much above the standard with respect to personal beauty and perfection, and the men so much below it. It is a fact, how- ever, beyond dispute. I know not how to ac- count for it, unless by attributing it to the bet- ter food, more regular habits, and superior mo- ral education of the former. With many ex- ceptions since the great increase of the British army, the officers are in general taken from the COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH. 309 finest class in the kingdom ; where the body is sufficiently exempted from labour, but neither pampered by a luxurious and unnatural mode of living, nor subjected to those privations which impede its developement, and where the mind is cultivated in habits of order and mora- lity, which tend to stamp an agreeable expres- sion on the countenance, I do not mean to hold up our own officers as patterns of virtue and self-denial ; but, I believe, that, contrary to French practice, they were much more regu- lar and correct in their conduct during the cam- paigns, than when in English barracks^ and the strict discipline maintained throughout the army, made any great excesses impracticable. Nei- ther do I think that they are quite so incredu- lous as their opponents with respect to a future state, or that they are absolutely careless of going out of the world, " With all their crimes full-blown." As far as I could judge from the conversation of a great number of them, there reigned pret- ty generally a sober tone of feeling, from a con- sideration of the uncertainty of the events of war. This did not, however, render them less courageous in battle ; and the subsequent events have shewn how very superior is moral bravery, to that which arises from vanity, desire of glory, or from revenge, which is merely physical and X 3 810 COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH-, corporeal. One of the reasons which may be assigned for the courage of British officers last- ing longer than that of their opponents in the late warfare, is, that they were not at all afraid of treachery, and they had the most perfect confidence in the courage of each other. We may say of the officers as of the whole army, that the feeling which inspires them is very different from that which acts upon the indi- vidual, and that the bravery of the soldier is not the bravery of the man. In an army, each man fights on in confidence of support from the rest, and this is the reason why new-raised levies seldom acquit themselves well, even when instigated by the strongest of passions, because they have little dependence on each other. Take away this mutual confidence, and you convert an army into a mob. It is probably the persevering conviction, that their officers will never forsake them, never give way, and never cease to urge again and again the timid, confirm the bold, encourage the wavering, and shame the weak. It is this feeling, I say, which makes English soldiers fight longer than those of any other nation whatever. But to return to my remarks on the character of the French peasantry. I could bring numberless instances of their honesty. A gentleman who came away with me by the Diligence from Paris, had left a 8 COMPARISON OF TRENCH AND ENGLISH. 311 spoon behind him at his humble quarters at Montmartre. The poor man who had been his host, took the trouble of running after the vehicle a great distance, to return it ; though as his rooms were immediately occupied by sol- diers, he might easily have denied all knowledge of it. Another gentleman of my acquaintance hired a perfect stranger to carry a small port- manteau to St. Cloud, and soon after the man was gone, recollected that he had given him a wrong direction, and as neither party knew where to find the other again, the gentleman naturally supposed his trunk was irrecoverably lost. Two months afterwards the gentleman was trotting very briskly on the road to Ver- sailles, when a man overtook him completely exhausted with running. It proved to be the porter whom he had sent with the portmanteau, and who had seen him pass along the road as he was at work in the vineyards ; he came to say that the trunk was safe, and to ask whither he should " have the honour to carry it." Walter Scott mentions a similar thing which occurred to himself on leaving his desk at an inn. A man overtook him with it on a hired horse ; though the house, being full of foreign soldiers, it would have cost them nothing but a lie to obtain the desk for themselves. The Bri- tish officers bear testimony to the great fidelity of their French servants, and I have heard and X 4 31£ COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH* known so many instances of honesty and sim- plicity, that I no longer hesitate to put it down in my brain as a general fact. The humanity of the French peasantry is also acknowledged by the whole army ; the sick and wounded were left in cottages, or in little villages without ap- prehension of ill treatment ; and although the state of war had roused all the bad passions into action, there was scarcely an instance of a straggler being murdered or abused. When 1 was going one day to Ruelle, the coachman ob- served an English soldier very lame, travelling the same road, and immediately called out to him, ** la pauvre homme, est-ce que vous etes estropie, moiitez, montez,^' ** Poor fellow, what are you lame, come, get up, get up, and ride on the box," and immediately gave him a place by his side. A variety of little circum- stances of this nature, give me much faith in that appearance of honesty and mildness, which is generally to be seen in their countenances. Inebriety also is considered by the common people of France as so very disgraceful, that a man runs the risk of losing " his cast " who is guilty of it. During my whole stay, I saw only one example of this disgusting habit in a French- man, and he was only just drunk enough to make a serpentine walk home, and display rather more loyalty than was called for by the occasion. Those who do drink to excess are at least ob- COMPARISON OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH. 313 liged to conceal themselves from public obser- vation. This comparative sobriety of French artel English, is attributed by many to the cir- cumstance of wine being so common amongst the former as to be no longer a temptation ; but wine (at least such as will produce intoxi- cation) is not so cheap in France as beer in England ; yet it is with the latter beverage, generally, that our countrymen get so glori-. ously drunk. National habits are unaccount- able things, and confound every attempt at an explanation of their causes. If with this kind of population the destruc- tion of regular government gave rise to such horrible excesses, what would it have been, had a similar revolution taken place in England? There is no parallel in history to the convul- sions of France, and we can only reason by analogy. An Englishman, who wished to ex- plain every thing to the advantage of his own country, might say that the EngHsh mob, being nearer to a state of nature, the abstraction of all restraint would not be so great a shock to them as it was to the more civilized French ; that a dog who has been chained is mad when he gets loose ; while another who has been only restricted to a court-yard may have the liberty of the forest without danger to the other animals who range it with him. I cannot make up my mind on this subject. 314 SENTIMENTS ON THE NATIONAL FLAIIIT* dictature imposee par la force, et que le droit du conquerant n*est pas celui du legislateur ; Item. Parceqiie la liberie de Buonaparte est une plaisanterie de mauvais gout ; Item. Parceque I'egalite de Buonaparte est celle des Ilotes et des for9ats ; Item. Parceque la pairie de Buonaparte est une saturnale qui souleve le cceur ; Item. Parceque Pheredite des pairs de Buo- naparte est une grossierete gratuite aux gene- rations futures ; Item. Parceque I'exercice du droit de penser, de parler, et d'ecrire sous Buonaparte, ne peut etre qu'un guet-a-pens ; Item. Parceque la. vote du peuple sera illu- soire ; Item. Parceque le vote des fonctionnaires publics sera derisoire. Item. Parceque la vote de Parmee sera con- tradictoire avec toutes les idees morales, et at- tentatoire a tous les principes coiistitutifs des nations. Item. Parceque la restriction impertinente de I'article 67, est la precaution grossierement mal adroite d'une tyrannic ombrageuse, et ne peut recevoir d'adhesion que de la part de ses com- plices. Reconnaissant toutefois que les inclinations martiales de la nation, et le role alternativement heroi'que et bouffon qu'elle joue depuis vingt JEUX d'eSPRTT. 347 cinq ans sur le theatre de 1' Europe, exige qu'elle ait un Roi qui monte bien a cheval, je propose FRANCONI. Ever since the battle of Leipsic, when Buona- parte's fall seemed inevitable, and people began to recollect that there was another man in ex- istence who possessed some little claim to the throne, and who would perhaps make a better sovereign, the walls of the Tuilleries were daily placarded with jeujc d* esprit — acrostics — puns and sarcasms of every description. In vain did the sentries watch with the most persevering attention and remove them instantly they were seen ; every morning the walls exhibited the same appearance. The side of the palace being a much frequented path, it was quite impossible to prevent it. Buonaparte was aware of the effect of such a practice on the irritable mind of the Parisians, ordered the number of sentinels to be encreased, and offered a very consider- able reward for every placard which should be brought to him, on discovering the author. His precautions were nugatory — it seemed to be a trial of skill between the public and the guards, but the former being absolutely exclu- ded from any other channel whereby to giwQ vent to their feelings, redoubled their diligence, and at last the thing was suffered to take its course. Buonaparte with that vulgar irritabi- 2 548 jEux d'esprit. lity which characterizes him, would often rise at an early hour to read them, before they were taken down, and if any thing peculiarly poignant appeared, woe to those who approached him that day with a petition. One of the pla- cards compared his Empress to an old bill of exchange, (this of course was anterior to the period I speak of, and alluded to Josephine,) — it was very witty, but much too filthy to be repeated. An old officer of Gendarmerie told me that they were offered twenty thousand francs, if they could apprehend the author. He was never discovered, or he would certainly have shared the fate of Palm the bookseller. I have been informed by several (who practised the same stratagem) that the mode was, to carry your paper ready pasted in your hand, turn your back to the wall for a moment in speak- ing to some one, stick up your placard and pass on. This was done so rapidly, that a sentinel ten paces off could not observe it. Amongst many others, 1 selected the follow- ing as specimens of the style of these bits of verbal revenge. Pourquoi Napoleon n'a-til pas gele en Russie? Parcequ'ii a toujours garde le peau de tigre. II a renvoye son jardinier, parcequ'il avait laisse geler ses grenadiers et fletrir ses lauriers. JEUX d'esprit. S49 Quand le Corse voulut que Tart multipliat Dans des Noeuds etoiles ses N. suspendues Le Drole avait-il peur que la France oubliat Qu'il est tombe des Nues. — Si le Corse faisait un GeofFroi dirait — " qu'il sent la rose ;•' Et le senat par un decret Soudain confirmerait la chose. II a perdu son Argenterie a Moscou II a trouve ses plats dans le senat. — Le trone de Tempereur est bien beau — c'est dom- mage qu'il est sans glands (viz. sanglant). Theatre de V Ambition, Aujourdhui la cinquieme representation du " Deser- teur" precedee de la premiere des, " Folies de PEs-. pagne," et suivie de " L'entree des Cosaques," — ballet. Chateau a vendre Couronne a rendre Empereur a pendre. On a besoin d'un rempla9ant. The most perfect pun I ever remember on this subject was one written at Rome, when 850 JEUX D^ESPRIT. Buonaparte took possession of that city with hij^ army of sans-culottes. It was inscribed on all the public monuments. " I Francesi sono tutti Ladri ;" " Non tutti — ma buoiia parte, ^^ When Buonaparte's three unkinged brothers, Joseph, Jerome, and Louis, resided at Malmai- son, some one wrote on the gate, Magazin de Cire fondue — (Sires fondus). The Bourbons were not spared any more than Napoleon. The stupid adulation of the Senate on some occasions in their ad- dresses to Louis XVIIL called forth many severe sarcasms. I was much struck with the ingenious irony of some of them in the news- papers, where it would not have been permitted openly to calumniate so loyal a body. The only jeu d'esprit of this kind that I can recollect, where the censure was undisguised, was the following: — Les lys vont renaitre en France ; Le Senat est le jardinier, S'ils ne sont pas en abondance, Ce n*est pas faute de fiixnier. A POPULAR SONG. 351 The following piece of sarcastic wit is often alluded to in conversation ; it was written seve- ral years ago, and supposed to be spoken by a peasant on viewing the great picture of Buona»- parte at the Louvre. Que de toile perdue en faisant ce tableau, Pour peindre en grand ce petit demoiseau ; Moi, je dis que c'est sottise, Si Monsieur son cher pere avait-eu ce lambeau, A Messieurs ces enfans il eut fait des chemises. The following song was extremely popular while I was in Paris. It was heard every evening in the streets, and may serve to shew the idea entertained of London and its inhabitants by Frenchmen. Londres qu*on m*a tant vante J*ai vu ta longue cite, J'ai vu ta large Tamise, De St. Paul ta haute eglise, Tes ponts d'ou Ton ne voit rien, Rien. Et tes trottoirs qui sont bien. Pour la vue et pour Felegance Vive la Fr^ce — Vive la France, En Hiver comme en Ete De I'eau chaude avec du the, Toujours du beurre en tartine. Le Rosbif est la cuisine, 35S A POPULAR SONGr Et quelquefois un ragout Sans gout. Dieux ! quel ennui quel degout. Pour la chere et pour 1' elegance Vive la France — Vive la France- Voyez un Anglais monte Sur son cheval ecourte ; C'est a I'humide nature, Qu'on doit la saine pature Qui fait aller leurs chevaux Presto. Tant mieux on en sort plutot, Pour la grace et pour I'elegance Vive la France — Vive la France. Pour la joie et la gaiete Le dimanche est excepte, Ce jour si joyeux en France Est un jour de penitence. Et quand un Anglais se pend Se pend, C*est un dimanche qu'il prend. Pour la joie et pour I'elegance Vive la France — Vive la France. ( 353 ) CHAPTER XXXVI. THE CATACOMBS. THEIR APPEARANCE, ORIGIN, AND MODE OF FORMATION. — INSCRIPTIONS ON THE WALLS, &C. ALBUM. T HAD long wished for an opportunity of visit- ^ ing these extraordinary receptacles of the dead. They are in general spoken of with a sort of romantic enthusiasm which excites curiosity, and I was anxious to ascertain if they would produce the same vivid impressions on the mind of a sober Englishman, as on the sensitive feel- ings of the vivacious French. I went with the expectation of being awe-struck, but returned with the sober conviction, that in impressive grandeur, they by no means equal the natural caverns of Great Britain. They are not, how- ever, contemptible ; and I proceed to give the best description of them in my power. Per- haps the slight effect which this grand object of curiosity produced on my mind, may be in some degree attributed to the circumstances under which my visit was made. We had sent to the office of the Inspector a week before-hand, and were furnished with a printed ticket, stating the A A 354f CATACOMBS. exact hour when our visit would be allowed ; it snowed and rained miserably, and when I ar- rived at the Barriere d'Enfer, near which the entrance of the Catacombs is situated, I was disagreeably struck with the dreary prospect; the country around, like all the environs of Paris, (and indeed the greatest part of France which I have seen,) is quite naked, has no fences, shrubs, or trees, and being now covered with snow, shewed no signs of that very high state of cultivation, which at other times takes away the appearance of sterility. The prospect was far from inviting, and I felt more inclined to return to the fire-side, than descend into a wet and gloomy cavern. We passed along a muddy lane, which would not admit the carriage, and after sliding about for some time on the wet clay-path, arrived at a little shed resembling a turnpike-house, but much smaller; it was in- deed only large enough to serve as a covering to a well-stair case, and would hot admit of the door being shut till some of us had descended a few steps. Our guide, who it appeared was acting manager of the excavations, and looked much like a farming bailiff, furnished each of us with a wax-taper, and we then descended one by one, while he reiterated his injunctions to follow him very closely, and not to indulge in any rambles of our own choosing, the caverns being so extensive, so intricate, and so dark. CATACOMBS. 355 that if we lost our way, there was scarcely a chance of recovering it. This piece of advice was not calculated to diminish the effect of the " Exhibition ;" but whether from the undignified day, or the contagious merriment of my companions, I certainly never felt less inclined to view things seriously; and the whole struck me as much below my expectations. When we had descended about sixty or seventy feet, the winding staircase terminated in a com- mon stone quarry, of which the excavation was about six feet in depth, varying occasionally to eight or nine feet ; and, in other places so low, as to make it necessary to stoop in order to avoid the dropping cieling. At short distances, rude masses of rock are left as pillars to support the roof; sometimes in imperfect double rows, form- ing a sort of road to the distant parts of the ca- vern, which extends several miles in every di- rection. The cieling is blackened in several lines ; the largest of which leads to that part of the quarry which contains the dead, and other smaller ones to different exits of the cavera. With- out this kind of clue, I can easily suppose it impossible to trace back one's steps into day- light. After a very long ramble, we arrived at the part strictly called the catacombs; the pillars stand a little further apart,, forming a sort of vestibule; the door is kept locked. On each A A g 356 CATACOMBS. side is a Tuscan pilaster supporting an entabla- ture, on which we read, " Arretez mortels ! C'est Pempire de la mort." and the following Latin inscription : " Has ultra metas requiescunt, beatam spem ex- pectantes." The coup d'oeil, when the door is opened, is ex- tremely curious and interesting. Upwards of two millions eight hundred and fifty thousand skulls, with a proportionate number of the other bones, are ranged on each side the various ave- nues, which are formed by the pillars in some places, and by long masses of rock in others : they are packed very closely, and form solid walls, of which the principal outer surface is composed of the ends of thigh bones ; the skulls being so intermixed as to form crosses, squares, rhomboids, waving lines, &c. The constant moisture gives them a dark-brown colour as if they had been oiled. The roof of the cavern is, in many parts of it, always dripping, and the floor being chalk, is covered with a thin layer of plashy puddle. I observed stalactites begin- ning to form on the cieHiig, but it must be many ages ere they will acquire the magnitude and CATACOMBS. 857 brilliancy which make some natural caverns so beautiful. A very pleasing effect is produced by placing your lights on one side of a pillar, and then go- ing behind it so as to prevent the direct rays from falling on the eye ; looking forwards on each side, the different gradations of illumin- ation from the full glare on objects near you, (as the light is reflected and re-reflected from the various masses of stone or bones,) to an obscu- rity that makes the eye ache to look on, form a fine study for a painter. One cannot ascertain where the spectacle terminates. Here and there a point of rock — the angle of another turning — the wet surface of a stone or a piece of spar, distinguishable from the gloomy brown of sur- rounding objects; while in the distance, the shining end of a bone or polished skull sends back a pencil of rays, comes forth from the darkness, and resembles another luminous body at an in- definite distance. In pursuing our rambles, sometimes the atten- tion is arrested by a stone sarcophagus ; an altar composed of thigh bones interlaced ; a commu- nion-table of the same curious materials ; a little chapel with an enormous crucifix of skulls, and a thousand other eccentric modes of arranging these wrecks of former generations. On the walls are great numbers of little tablets with in- scriptions, some of which are very elegant and A A 3 358 CATACOMBS. appropriate; but there is a preposterous inter- mixture of others, which ought not to find a place where the intention is to excite feeHngs of rehgious awe. They are indeed of all descrip- tions ; philosophical, deistical, religious, athe- istical, and papistical ; selections from Voltaire and Addison, Virgil, Fenelon, and Anacreon, Massillon, De Lille, Gilbert, &c. This incon- gruous mixture of opposite sentiments is perhaps to be accounted for by the circumstances at- tending the formation of the catacombs, which were originally only the common stone quarries from whence the materials of Paris had been extracted ; they were consecrated with great so- lemnity in April 1786, by order of Louis XVL, and devoted to their present use. Each suc- ceeding government has made some alteration in the plan ; and it is only since the whole was placed under the superintendance of the present governor, M. Hericart de Thury, that any thing like system was adopted. Till within four or five years, the bones were merely heaped to- gether, dirty as they came from the burying- grounds; and it is he who suggested and di- rected their present elegant arrangement. The utility of such an establishment is obvi- ous, as it has enabled the government to re- move the contents of all the churchyards within the city. No one is now allowed to be buried but in the cimetieres at some distance from the town. CATACOftlBS. 359 each of which is divided into compartments, filled with the dead in succession ; and after al- lowing a reasonable number of years for the de- composition, the first portion of bones is re- moved to this grand depository, there to remain to the day of judgment. You are not shocked in Paris as in London, with the disgusting spec- tacle of putrid wrecks of bodies turned out of the ground by the sexton's spade to make room for fresh inhabitants. I have repeatedly wit- nessed in the little churchyards in the centre of London a skull thrown up with the hair not yet destroyed, and remnants of bodies which infected the atmosphere for some hundreds of yards round, to the disgust and great annoyance of all who happened to be resident in the neigh- bourhood. But, to return to the catacombs. — Two of the inscriptions, near together, present a whim- sical contrast of sentiment : — the first is. Qui dormiunt in terrae pulvere evigilabunt, alii in vi- tam eternam, alii in opprobrium. the next. Quaeris quo jaceas post obitum loco. Quo non nati jacent ! ! A A ^ 360 CATACOMBS. The next is a translation of a passage in the Spectator : Si Tame finit avec le corps d*ou lui vient le pressenti- ment de rimmortalite. Amongst many other inscriptions I selected 3 following, which seemed gant and most appropriate : — the following, which seemed to me most ele Insenses ! nous parlons en maitres ; Nous, qui dans I'ocean des etres Nageons tristement confondus ; Nous dont I'existence legere Pareille a Pombre passagere, Commence — parait — et n'est plus. Pursuing our rambles, we arrived at a little chapel containing a very neat tomb to the me- mory of Gilbert, and inscribed with the epitaph which he wrote for himself. As connected with his unfortunate life and miserable death, there is something in it more than commonly pa- thetic: — Au banquet de la vie infortune convive J*apparus un jour et je meurs — Je meurs et sur ma tombe ou lentement j*arrive Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs. The character of Gilbert is one which I ad* CATACOMBS. 36l mire exceedingly : he selected for the display of his poetical talents, not perhaps the most ami- able, but certainly the most arduous depart- ment, Satire ; and he executed it with an in- dignant spirit of virtue, which made the wicked shrink and tremble. There is a singleness, a sort of straight'On mode* of thinking in all which he says, which is highly gratifying. His writ- ings are uniformly on the side of good morals and good manners ; and he appears to me to combine the moral feeling of our English Cow- per with the nei-vous energy of Dryden. The circumstances of his death are not ge- nerally known. His misfortunes and disappoint- ments deprived him of his reason ; and, for some time before his death, he was confined in the hospital of Bicetre. Here he one day swallowed the key of his writing-desk, and, im- mediately aware of his error, ran about the hos- pital entreating every one to take it out; he was only answered with laughter, as no one be- lieved his assertion. After having in vain im- plored assistance for a quarter of an hour, he ex- pired in the greatest agony. It was ascertained after his death, that the key might have been removed without the least difficulty ; and as he was very much respected and beloved, and had shewn symptoms of convalescence, the accident remains to this day a source of the most bitter regret to all who witnessed his sufferings. S62 CATACOMBS. In one part of tlie catacombs, the bone^ of the poor wretches who were massacred in the different prisons of Paris on the second and third of September 179'2, have a kind of chapel de- voted to them ; — they are shut up in a recess enclosed with a wall painted black, and the simple inscription D. O. M. — the meaning of which I could not understand, nor could I procure an explanation. I cannot express the feeling which came over me while contemplat- ing this enormous mass of bones. Every other massacre on record has had some motive, which, though it could not justify, at least explained it. The massacre of the Chris- tians by the Turks in Croatia — that of the Carthaginians' in Sicily — the dreadful day of St. Bartholomew — the Sicilian Vespers, all these had political or religious animosity for their cause ; but the murder of so many thousand prisoners as this monument commemorates, can- not be explained in any way ; it was bloodshed for the sake of bloodshed, and will remain for ever a stain on the French character. Over one of the doors is the following inscrip- tion, from the Georgics of Virgil : Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas Atque metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari. CATACOMBS. S63 On one side of a small tomb, which is orna- mented with a vase, is written ; Vaines grandeurs ! Silence ! Eternite ! and on the other, Neant ! Silence I Etres mortels. One of the inscriptions, which I do not re- member, was to the following effect : Stranger, thou art reckoning on many years of life — here are thousands who thought the same, and were called away in an hour. — Reflect while there be yet time, and be wise. At the entrance of what are called, the " Jiautes Cataco7nbeSy" is a sentence so terrific, that one might suppose oneself about to enter the den of a giant. Lasciate speranza voi ch'intrate. lu one of the little caverns, crypts, or chapels, into which this part of the kingdom of death is divided, the following sentences are inscribed : Venez, gens du monde, venez dans ces demeures si- kncieuses, et votre ame alors tranquille sera frappee de la voix qui s'eleve de leur interieur, <« Cest ici que le S6^ CATACOMBS. plus grand des maitres, Le Tombeau, tient son ecole de Verite." The next is extracted from the works of Le- gouve, author of several very fine poems, in the style of Young's Night Thoughts, and of some tragedies, which are in every one's library as standard works ; his *' Melancolie," his " Sou- venirs," and his ** Sepultures," are the works I most admire. The stanza 1 am going to copy, contains a very fine poetical idea, expressed in very elegant verse : Tel est done de la Mort Tinevitable empire, Vertueux ou mechant il faut que homme expire ; La foule des humains n*est qu* un faible troupeau Qu* efFroyable pasteur Le Temps mene au tombeau. Wherever there was space for a tablet the wall is loaded with inscriptions ; their number certainly destroys the effect ; a few of the best would have been more impressive, indeed, a very great proportion of them, I did not think to be wortli the trouble of copying. In a chapel, dedicated to Anacreon, is written : T/ iJi^oi TTovoov, ri [x,oi yooov, Qoivuv [xs dli yav /xij deXco, CATACOMBS. 865 I give the following translation of the above, by a living author. Pourquoi tous ces regrets, cette peine infinie ? Pourquoi sur notre sort et pleurer et gemir ? Puisqu' il faut tot ou tard malgre nos soins mourir, Amis ne troublons point le reve de la vie. On a small tablet is inscribed, " Consummatum esty^ which loses something of its dignity by translation into French, viz. ; " Tout est con- sommey^ because consomme means gravy soup. The " Temple of Death," has this extract, from a poem of the same name, by Habert. Un Monstre sans raison, aussi bien que sans yeux Est la divinite qu'on adore en ces lieux : On V appelle la Mort, et son cruel empire, S*etend egalement sur tout ce qui respire. And the following sentences from some other author or authors. Crois-tu que la Mort soit loin de toi? peutetre en ce moment vole-t-elle sur ta tete, et te menace-t-elle du coup fatal. Qu*est ce que la Mort ? est-ce dissipation, resolution en atomes, aneantissement ? ou, comme la naissance, est- elle un mystere de la Nature, une nouvelle combinaison des memes elemens. 366 CATACOMBS. Qu'est ce que chaque race? une ombre apres une ombre. Nous vivons un moment sur des siecles sans nombre. Nos tristes souvenirs vont s'eteindre avec nous : Une autre vie, 6 Temps ! se derobe a tes coups. Non metuit mortem, qui scit contemnere vitam. Ou est-elle la Mort? toujours future ou passee: a peine est-elle presente que deja elle n'est plus. The " Crypte des Vanites," has Solomon's wise saying, in the following five languages. Vanite des Vanites, tout n' est que Vanite. Vanita della Vanita e tutte le cose sono Vanita. Vanity of Vanities ; ever thing Vanity in the world ! ! ! Vanitas Vanitatum, omnia vanitas. Near a sepulchral lamp, are the following lines, which would be more appropriate, by the bye, if the lamp were lighted; but it is not even fashioned for the pui'pose : Quelle est ta destince, homme presomptueux Ici bas ta duree ephemere et debile Est plus fragile, helas ! que la lampe d'argile Qui, dans ce goufire obscur, t'eclaire de ses feux. CATACOMBS. 367 The next is from Lafontaine. Le Trepas vient tout guerir Mais ne bougeons d'ou nous somnies, Plutot soufFrir que mourir, C'est la devise des hommes. There is a chapel, dedicated to Hervey, author of the " Meditations ;" and some sentences in his work, are thus translated, or rather para- phrased. C'est ici qu* 11 convient a I'homme d'etre serieux, et de tenir son ame ouverte aux inspirations de la Religion. — Puisse-je n'entrer jamais dans cette demeure sacree qu' avec terreur et respect. O Mort '.-que ton approche est terrible pour rhomme qui tourmenta sa vie de vaines inquietudes de ce monde, et qui ne leva jamais les yeux vers le Ciel. Mortel ! rachete le terns ; mets a profit I'instant ou tu respires — tu touches aux bords de I'eternite, tu vas bientot devenir ce que sont ceux que tu contemples ici. Le Cercueil est la borne ou s'arretent tous les des- «eins des hommes. — Ambition tu peux aller jusque la, mais tu ne passeras point au dela. Among the many witty scraps of antithetical wisdom, on that unknown thing to-morrow^ I do not recollect a better than this : Quelle presomption a I'homme de compter sur le lendemain. — Ou est-il ? ce lendemain. — Combiea 368 CATACOMBS. d'hommes iront le cherchet' hors de ce monde, Ici bas il n'est sur pour personne. I am not certain if T have copied the next inscription correctly ; it is extracted from a poem to the memory of Pope Clement the XlVth (the famous Ganganelli,) entitled Notti Cle- mentine : poca oscura ceiiere, ti veggo E mal cio che m'inspiri, esprimer tanto lo leggo in te dure vicende, io leggo 1 perigli d'un tardo peiitimento E mentre in te riguardo a te repenso M*appare il mundo un punto neir immenso. The above inscription ornaments one side of a square pillar, apparently meant solely for that purpose, but which is really a main support of the roof. On another side of the pillar is Parlate, orridi avanzi ; or che rimane Dei vantati d*onor gradi, e contrast! ? Non son foUie disuguaglianze umane ? Ova son tanti nomi e tanti fasti ? E poi che andar del mortal fango scarchi Che distingue i pastor dai gran Monarchi ? The Emperor of Austria is said to have been much pleased with the above when he visited the Catacombs in 1814, and frequently quoted them in company. CATACOMBS. 369 On the third side of the pillar is, Esislenza dell' uom' solo un istante Infra il nulla e la tomba altro non sei. Alio spettacoP fiero errane avante Miserabil comparsa, arma, e trofei, Fugge la tela, e appar cambiato il soglio In erto si ma ruinoso scoglio. and on the fourth side is Esistenza delP uom' te breve avversa Troppo ai desir la cieca gente accusa, E a mille obietti frivoli conversa L'ommagio d'un pensier poi ti ricusa; Ma vegetando coll errore a lato Muore aldi mille volte anzi suo fato. They are all extracts from the same work. In another apartment called the Crypte de MalherbeSy is the following extract from his stanzas to Duperier, who had just lost his daugh- ter. The personification of Death in the first verse is more vivid than I recollect in any other author whatever. It should be recollected that they were written at the latter end of the six- teenth century. La Mort a ses rigeurs a nulle autre pareilles, On a beau la prier ; La cruelle qu' elle est, se bouche les oreilles, £t nous laisse crier. B B ^70 CATACOMBS. Le pauvre en sa cabane ou le chaume le couvre Est sujet a ses lois ; Et la garde qui veille aux barrieres du Louvre N'en defend pas aux Rois. De murmurer contra elle et perdre patience D est mal-a-propos ; Vouloir ce que Dieu veut, est la seule science Qui nous met en repos. One of the last objects pointed out to us was a well of very clear water, occupied by a number of gold and silver fishes, which have lived in this extraordinary retreat for a great number of years, and of which many successive generations have never seen any other light than that of the tapers carried by the visitors. The surface of the water was covered with drops of wax from the lights, and our guide affirmed, that the fishes eat it with avidity. — I do not vouch for his accuracy. In several places these excavations have given way, and some of the workmen have been often killed by such accidents : — our guide kept im- pressing these things upon our attention, I sup- pose, to encrease the pleasure of the exhibition. At the exit of the cavern, is written this very apt quotation, from the Sixth Book of the iEneid. facilis descensus Averni Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis ; CATACOMBS. 371 Sed revocare gradam, superasque evadere ad auras, Hoc opus, hie labor est. which may be thus translated, " Think yourself very lucky that you are got safe out again." In one part of these excavations, (not com- prized in that which is devoted to the reception of the bones,) there is a very curious model of Port Mahon, in Minorca. A common soldier (who had been engaged in tlie siege of that place, and afterwards disbanded, J was employed as a labourer in these stone quarries ; he amused his hours of leisure for several successive years in forming this ^^ plan in relief y*' of a place which had been the scene of his highest excitements. It is chiefly remarkable as a proof of memory and perseverance ; and shews how much it is possible for unassisted industry to perform, when the exertion of it is a source of pleasure. Every part is most minutely imitated, though with no extraordinary skill. Many inhabitants of the island, and others to whom it is familiar, bear testimony to the wonderful correctness of the copy in all its details. The poor man was at last killed by the falling in of the earthy while he was at work. — This is not an uncommon occur- rence; and our guide, as I have mentioned, took care to repeat the remark. On arriving at a place where the pillars were a little further apart BB 2 372 CATACOMBS. than ordinary, he said, with all the coolness and deliberation possible, *' Just over your head. Sir, is a great crack in the stone, you see — we have propped it up, but it is not by any means safe yet." I did not give my sedate friend time to complete his sentence, before I jumped in be- tween two masses of rock, which seemed to af- ford comparative security. This very tranquil mode of telling a man that he is in imminent danger, reminds me of the Quaker, who, observ- ing a stranger standing with his back too near to the iire, first asked him his name j and being answered reluctantly, said at last, " Then John Browne thy coat is in flames.'* 1 was rather surprised to hear our conductor, who appeared a totally uneducated man, pro- pose two or three more Latin quotations very correctly, and with more judgment than I could have supposed him gifted with. M. De G. cleared up the mystery, by telling me that the man had made the same remark to every visitor for many years past, and that without doubt he had got them by heart on purpose. Some tolerable engravings of the Catacombs are sold In Paris, drawn by Cloquet, but they do not give a correct impression of the place ; in- deed the roof being so low it is a very difficult thing so to manage the perspective, as to repre- sent the great extent of the excavations, which, on the whole, are more interesting from associ- CATACOMBS. SJS ation of ideas, than from any actual sublimity in their appearance. If they do possess beauty, it is certainly not of the picturesque description, but the more humble one of neatness. A sort of register or album, is kept at the Catacombs, in which every visitor is solicited to insert something, — a remark, a quotation, or merely his name. This practice was however just now discontinued ; the presence of so many troops causing a tittle confusion, and derang- ing many regular habits of more consequence than the album of the Catacombs. Some of the memorandums thus made seemed worth copying. — One is Du haut en bas Tous les habitans de la terre, Sautant Te pas, Arrivent en foule ici bas : L'homme de cour, I'homme de guerre, Et la p rincesse, et la bergere, Sont ici bas. Puisqu' ici bas Amis Ton descend a tout age. Ah! jusquela Riens sans penser a cela: Nous aurons le temps d'etre sage, Quand nous aurons fait le voyage, Du haut en bas. BBS 574 CATACOMBS. The next Qu* importe, qiiand on dort dane la nuit du tombeaii D'avoir porte le sceptre ou traine le rateau ? The two following are Calembourgs, or as we call them Puns, Qu'on se moque de moi, que partout on en glose Je me rends, etjecroisa la metempsycose. Oui, le fait est certain, apres I'instant fatal, Chacun de nous devient arbre, plante, animal. lei j'ai reconnu la soeur de mon grand pere, Mon oncle, mon cousin, ma nourrice, mon frere ; Mais Grand Dieu ! qu'ils etaient changes ! lis etaient tous en os ranges {Or angers,) Ici dans le palais aux os >—' — Palaizeau. Sous d'innombrables os ranges — Grangers. J'ai vu d'abord les metamorphoses d'os vides D'ovide. Plus loin ou entend les cris des os presses Gppresses. Lei soupirs des os piles — — Gpiles. Sur des 05 rayes — — Greillers. Pres de moi s'eleve une voix d^os — Voie d'eau. Qui me fait trembler jusqu* aux os • — Gs. EUe semble dire, oh ! oh ! que d'os, Dieux. d'Gdieux. Most of the others are (as might naturally be expected from the mode of their collection) but sorry compositions, either with respect to the 9 CATACOMBS. 37^ ideas or language ; I will copy one more which I think was the best of them. L'aspect de ce sejour sombre et majestueux Suspend des passions le choc impetueux, Et, portant dans les coeurs une atteinte profonde, Y peint tout le neant des vains plaisirs de ce monde. B B 4 ( S76 ) CHAPTER XXXVII. NATIONAL CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH. THEIR LEVITT CONSIDERED. EDUCATION OF THE WOMEN. EFFECT OF MARRIAGE. QOME writers affect to give a sketch of na- *^ tional character in a few lines. — I have no faith in this species of quakery. " In all pointed sentences some truth must be sacrificed to bre- vity :'' and in all such compendiums of moral geography, as erroneous an impression is produced by the omission of some of the parts, as by the falsification of others. We may do the greatest injustice without a literal violation of truth ; and it is very difficult to keep the mind free from prejudice against customs, habits, and manners, which vary in almost every point from our own. I cannot flatter myself with being entirely ex- empt from this source of error, though I have done my best to avoid it. There is such a strange mixture of good and bad — of heroic and con- temptible — of virtuous and of profligate feel- ing, among our rival neighbours, that it is quite impossible to classify them satisfactorily. I think, however, we should always bear in mind the FRENCH CHARACTER. 877 distinction between Parisians and Frenchmen ; and that the present state of France is as unfair a criterion of the French character as the state of English manners in the reign of Charles the Second would be of our own. Ji\ as I firmly believe, France is now settling quietly into habits of order and security, there must be in a short time, a most decided ameli- oration in the state of moral feeling ; and when that does take place, we shall be under the ne- cessity of redoubling our own vigilance with re- spect to every thing which can influence national character, in order to preserve the pre-eminence we have hitherto maintained. In the arts of war we may, from many causes, set them at de- fiance ; but in the arts of peace, they will be formidable rivals. To me, it appears, that if the governments were equally good, there is such a fund of industry and ingenuity in both nations — the two countries produce so many necessaries, comforts, and luxuries of life which are reciprocally needed, that if they could re- main in a state of cordial amity, there might be sufficient commercial intercourse between them to give full developement to the energies of all, and almost to supercede every other species of commerce. Patriotism is like the law of gravitation. It keeps the respective masses properly coherent, and prevents them from interfering with each 378 FRENCH CHARACTER. other. The French have this quality in as high a degree as Britons ; but, unfortunately, a se- ries of bad governments have contrived, gene- rally, to direct it to wrong objects, and, instead of raising the national character to honour and estimation, they have contrived to render it pro- ductive only of hatred or of contempt. Once let it be properly pointed to its proper destination, and it will produce all that noble and r^^/onaZ devotion which distinguishes the inhabitants of our happy country ; nor need we fear the issue. We are far enough from perfection ; therefore, if we make equal efforts, there is no reason why w^e should not still be equally in advance ; for every per- manent amendment is progressive. At any rate, we shall remain the first nation on the globe while we deserve it, and we have no right to the distinction any longer. In summing up the character of Frenchmen, we are not to estimate too lightly that happy cheerfulness of disposition, which enables them to bear misfortune, by bending, instead of break- ing under it. This quality, when in excess, is called levity; but we cannot justly give such an appellation to the animating principle, which supported, for instance, the nobility and clergy of France in poverty and exile ; perhaps the noblesse of France, as a body, did not suffer so severely as might at first be supposed, because many of them never did possess property, and FRENCH CHARACTER. 379 in throwing themselves on the generosity of the British Government, they sometimes bettered their condition. But there was also a very great number who had relinquished large estates ; who had been accustomed to all the gratifications which opulence could procure, and who were, previous to the revolution, surrounded by happy, contented, and respectful dependants ; they have been accused of deserting their country in its distress, but they fled only from the dagger of the assassin, and had no choice but exile or death. These men, instead of resorting to the dreadful alternative of suicide, set themselves cheerfully to work ; and availed themselves of all the elegant accomplishments which had em- bellished their former state of splendour, to procure the means of subsistence. 1 have often noticed with great pleasure, the patient industry, and modest, yet dignified demeanour, of such characters, of whom I knew several intimately. Will any one be so uncharitable as to assert, that it was want of spirit and of self respect, which enabled them to sustain the weight of their misfortunes? Surely they deserve some credit for submission to their lot with so good a grace. Not being myself an admirer of sui- cide, nor exactly of the opinion, that it is any proof of courage, I am inchned to attribute their conduct to the noblest species of passive for* titude. S80 FRENCH CHARACTER. Nations, as well as individuals, sustain great reverses and calamities, much better than a series of petty misfortunes to the same amount. The former call forth all the energies of the soul, and by conferring a certain sort of dig- nity on distress, take away half its bitterness ; while the latter wears out the mind by perpe- tual vexations, which are not individually great enough to be worth bearing up against. We suffer the worm silently to eat its way through the timber, till it sink into destruction, without being aware that there was any one point of time at which it was more necessary to resist than at the period immediately preceding. From this cause perhaps, the French emi- grants were enabled to overcome the sense of degradation which their change of station im- plied ; but even this presumes a respectable state of feeling, and while I can assign a good motive for conduct which pleases me, and which I must acknowledge to be Christian, and condu- cive to the well-being of society, I will not take the trouble of sifting the matter till I find out a bad one. With the sincerest respect for the nobility of Great Britain, and acknowledging them to be generally possessed of as many good qualities as can reasonably be expected from their station, I must express my conviction, that had a similar revolution taken place in England, and had they been equally subjected to exile. FRENCH CHARACTER. 381 scorn, and poverty, more than one half of them would have gone uncalled into the presence of their Maker. The grand vice of the French character, as I have before mentioned, is Sensuality ; a vice the natural result of the depravation of sen- timent which has been produced by the revolu- tion, and of the extension of military habits throughout society. When the Government, instead of checking the natural propensity to vicious indulgence which rises but too readily, promoted, encouraged, practised, and patro- nized it in every form, what could be expected but general depravity, and a want of that sense of purity which is one of the best safeguards of virtue ? In the reign of Charles the Second, I fear England was not much better than France under Buonaparte ; though the mihtary nature of the latter government gave additional in- fluence to bad example. The liberty allowed to Frenchwomen after marriage, is a strange contrast to the rigid ex- clusion to which they are subjected during ce- libacy. The extreme care taken of girls by their parents and relatives does not seem to me to arise so much from doubt of their good intentions, as from conviction of the profligacy of the other sex. Frenchmen of the present day are such thorough libertines, and so grossly licentious in their conduct, that the rigid se- 882 FRENCH CHARACTER. paration of the sexes is absolutely necessary. There is such an aptitude for love, and such a perfect purity of thought in young females, that although a marriage may not have been ori- ginally the result of attachment, but merely an arrangement between the respective parents, (as is almost invariably the case in France,) yet when they feel that their lot is fixed for ever, nothing but the most disgusting qualities in the husband can prevent an ardent and permanent affection. They are anxious for an object on which to vent the natural tenderness of their disposition without restraint, and when they meet with a man of delicacy and honour, are inspired with a devotion which occupies the whole soul, and leads sometimes to acts of per- fect heroism. If, on the other hand, they are tied to a man, such as I have described the generality of young Frenchmen, they are ne- cessarily disgusted in a short time ; no real lova is ever created ; and they look round for another object which will at least present only the ami- able side of his disposition ; or else they take refuge in immoral and vicious indulgence. ( 383 ) CHAPTER XXXVIir. APPEARANCE OF PARIS IN THE EVENING. A MOON- LIGHT RAMBLE. SENSATIONS PRODUCED BY THIS SCENE. A FEW nights before my departure from Paris, I had an opportunity of seeing that city to the greatest possible advantage. Passing over the Pont Neuf one evening, from the Faux^ bourg St Germain^ to take leave of a friend who lived in Rue UEchiquieVy quite on the opposite side of the town, I cast my eyes along the spacious avenue formed by the buildings on each side of the Seiney of more than a mile in extent, and was struck with the magnificence of the prospect. The houses are so high, and built in such large masses, that they appear like a series of superb castles, rather than the habit- ations of ordinary citizens. Every floor, and almost every room, being occupied by a sepa- rate family, every window exhibited, at this hour, a light, and gave an appearance of ge- neral illumination. The whole of the buildings being white, reflected the light from one side of the river to the other. The quays were SSh A MOON-LIGHT RAMBLE. thronged with passengers. Hundreds of Httle stalls with toys for one set of beings — food for another class — and amusement for all, were sprinkled along both sides of the river, fur- nished with lights of fantastic shapes. Moun- tebanks were attracting the attention of the populace by antic gestures and preposterous habiliments. Numerous organs and Pandsean pipes poured forth their music in whimsical variety, and added to the bustling and confused hilarity of the scene ; while the river at this time much enlarged by the heavy rains of the preceding day, rolled smoothly along its chan- nel, reflecting the whole animated spectacle on its surface, and looking like another world, where the same actions were going on in calm- ness and in silence. As I returned at midnight across the same bridge, how different was the appearance ! The moon shone as bright as I ever witnessed it, and cast an indescribable charm on the tran- quillity which reigned around. Every thing looked as still and as quiet as the city we read of in the Arabian Tales, which had been struck by the wand of the magician. What a contrast to the noisy merriment which the same spot had exhibited five hours before. The only moving objects which could now be discerned, were small bodies of the National Guards, here and there in the distance, in groups of four or five. A MOON-LIGHT RAMBLE. 385 patrolling the streets. No noisy watchman dis- turbed the stillness of the night with his hoarse proclamation of the hour. Either way the eye rested on a range of splendid buildings, to whose white walls and turrets, the vivid moon- light gave a light yellow hue, which encreased their beauty. The inhabitants of Paris were now relieved from the presence of foreign troops, and I could not but enter into the feelings which might be supposed to occupy the minds of those who were awake, and the dreams of those who were enjoying the blessing of repose. The night was not so cold but that I could stand to contemplate the scene without suffer- ing from it, and I loitered on the bridge for some time with no other interruption than an occasional interrogatory from the patrole. They sometimes asked me, " What do you do here, Sir?" I replied, that I was admiring so beauti- ful a scene; when they civilly wished me a good night, and passed on, satisfied with my answer. In such a night, and in such a scene as this, every man fancies himself a philosopher and a poet. The beautiful description by Southey came to my mind : — with very little variation, it painted the scene most accurately. c c 3S6 A MOON-LIGHT RAMBLE. *' How beautiful is night — " No mist obscures — no little cloud " Breaks the whole serene of Heaven. " In fuU-orb'd glory the majestic moon *' Rolls through the dark blue depths. *' Beneath her steady ray *' The mighty city spreads — ** And the high arch of Heaven, " Rests like a dome upon the silent earth *^ How numerous and how various are the feel- ings which rush to the mind on such an occa- sion — there is a swelling oftJw .9om/ which defies expression, and which can no more be commu- nicated by description than we could convey an idea of sight to a blind man by a lecture on optics — a kind of philanthropical overflow of benevolence to one's fellow-creatures, which makes one wish that every human being could be good and happy. As I gazed on this beautiful city, and reflected, that it contained within itself at the moment, examples of every virtue and every vice which can adorn or degrade human nature — every care and every hope which can agitate the breast <5f man — every variety of earthly happiness, and every gradation of human misery, from infancy to youth, from youth to manhood, and from manhood to old age, my mind recurred to the dreadful wish so often expressed in England, (when the just war of order against anarchy had A MOON-LIGHT RAMBLE. 387 produced an unnatural exacerbation of resent- ment,) that it might fall a prey to the flames, and suffer all the horrors which could be in- flicted by an infuriate soldiery — that the inno- cent might perish with the guilty, and one wide waste of ruin envelope the whole. I do not be- lieve that this could ever be the deliberate sen- timent of those who uttered it, but was merely the effect of indignation at the apparent treach- ery of their enemies. Thank God it has been averted ; and I hope and believe that, on a fu- ture occasion, the mercy that has been exercised will be duly appreciated and acknowledged by those who were the objects of it. c c £ ( 888 ) CHAPTER XXXIX. JOURNEY HOME. — APPEARANCE OF THE ROAD. CALAIS. VOYAGE TO DOVER. RETURN TO LONDON. CONCLUDING REMARKS. ^ THE time at last arrived when I was to quit Paris, and return to my native country, with a higher relish and admiration than I had ever yet felt. I had experienced stronger ex- citement at Paris, than had been my lot for many years ; but the effect of novelty began to wear oflf) and I was almost tired of the very active exercise of mind and body which I had been engaged in during my stay there. I could have wished to prolong my residence on pro- fessional motives, but my situation did not render that practicable ; therefore I went one morning to the Hotel of the Messageries Ro- yales, paid my " arrhes" or deposit, and on the following, took leave of this extraordinary town. When I had fairly seated myself, and seen my luggage properly packed, I was at liberty to attend to my fellow-travellers. These were all English. One was a groom of Sir Charles JOURNEY HOMEWARDS. 389 Stuart, who seemed a little embarrassed at being obliged to take his seat amongst us ; another was a major in the artillery ; the third a sur- geon in the Guards; the next a young lieute- nant in the same corps. A young woman who looked like a farmer's daughter educated at a fine boarding-school, made up the party. In the true British style, we commenced our jour- * ney in silence. The young lady kept up a con- versation out of the window for some time with a man who had conducted her to the stage ; in which she endeavoured to assure him in a most execrable attempt to talk French, that she la- mented very much her return to the land of rain, vapours, and ill manners; and that her heart was almost broken at the separation from such charming, polite, and good people as the French. We had scarcely got ^ve miles from the town, before a rope broke with which one of the horses was fastened ; this, by the bye, is a very common occurrence. The young lady was of course very much alarmed ; but recovering her- self, she asked, " what is the matter with the . . . the .... the .... what do you call it, la voi- tureJ^ I took the liberty of asking how long she had resided in France, as she had forgotten her native language so much ; and I believe her reply was ttjco months ! ! but that she was very perfect in French before her arrival, and had c c 3 SOO JOURNEY HOMEWARDS. only come to Paris to acquire tbe last finish to her pronunciation. Bless the good creature! they might as well have attempted to polish a piece of pummice, as to smooth down her hor- rible jargon ; for even the poor Frenchman was compelled to bow to many of her remarks, be- cause he could not understand them. The con- versation naturally turned to the battle of Wa- terloo. All had been present at it except my- self and the lady, so that I had little to do but ask questions, and received abundance of gra- tification, with the additional satisfaction of having each to check the others, in case they had indulged in " spinning," (as embellishment is technically termed.) I had previously heard it described many hundreds of times, but as each can only tell you what passed just around him, no two stories are exactly alike. We were much annoyed during our route by the continued search for Lavalette. 1 know not how it was at all possible to fancy me to be the culprit, but although two men cannot well be more unlike, the description of one of us did in many points answer for the other, and I was accordingly obliged to go to the guard-house at every place we passed through, that they might ascertain the matter by a very deliberate exami- nation. At one place I imagined that they thought they had made a great discovery, and I Cully expected they would send off the Diligence BOULOGNE. 391 Without me, till a man happened to come in who knew Lavalette, when I was immediately dismissed with " Non Monsieur, vous ri'etes pas la per Sonne que nous voudrions tomber la dessus.'^ During these frequent interruptions they would not tell us the name of the man they were seek- ing, and when I asked if they took me for Lavalette, 1 never could obtain an answer. At Amiens we exchanged one of our pas- sengers for an unwieldy fat woman, who very soon made us acquainted with her birth, parent- age, and education. She had two or three bundles of which she was exceedingly careful, and though they were almost larger than she could carry, she would never get out of the coach to a meal without having them placed by the side of her chair. She soon became very intimate with our female fellow-traveller, and there appeared to be some treaty negotiating between them, which became pretty palpable when we got on ship-board ; the nature of it indeed might be guessed from the few words which were audible, such as lace, cambric, and shawls. When we approached Boulogne, the road as- sumed a very interesting appearance ; numerous bodies of infantry and cavalry were pursuing their march for embarkation, and as the coach moved on no faster than the troops, except when going down-hill, we were continually re* c c 4 S92 CALAIS. cognizing old acquaintances. The fleet of transports which was to have conveyed them to England, was kept off the coast by contrary winds, so that the troops were accumulating at Boulogne and Calais, to an amount that became rather alarming, as there was the greatest dif- ficulty in procuring provisions, the supplies hav- ing been only calculated to answer the demands of small numbers in rapid succession. Baggage- waggons laden with women and children were therefore making retrograde movements, w^hich gave rise to many reports that the army had been suddenly ordered back in consequence of serious riots at Paris. The poor peasantry who had patiently borne the burthen of supplying our troops on their route to England, hoping at last for room to breathe, were distracted with fears and anxiety when they saw them return- ing, and their countenances wore an expression of dreadful alarm. The very orderly and peace- able behaviour of our troops, however, did not fail to gain them the good will and respect of the inhabitants, and it lost nothing of its merit from contrast with the brutal ferocity of the Prussians. The whole formed a fine study for a physiognomist. ^ Several vessels were on the point of sailing when we got to Calais, but after two nights and days constant travelling, a little previous rest and ablution were necessary ^ having therefore EMBARKATION. 89S !?ecured a passage in a new French vessel which was to sail at four o'clock, we sat down to a most superb dinner. One of my companions took it on himself to complain of the cliarge; the waiter made no other reply, but by pointing out of the window to the court yard filled with English soldiers. Such an appeal was perfectly unanswerable, and we paid our bill without further remonstrance. One of the young men asked the waiter in going out, if they had many English in the house now ; the man answered very significantly, ** Plus qu'il n'en fauC* " more than enough j" — He was not troubled any more questions. We got to the pier-head before the appointed time ; it was a fine tranquil evening, and before we could clear the harbour the sun was setting in all its glory. I never saw a more beautiful scene ; the harbour filled with transports whose sails were flapping idly against the masts ; thousands of soldiers were on the edge of the water, em- barking as rapidly as their means would allow ; some could not find their wives, some had lost their children in the crowd ; one had forgotten her bag ; another had left her hat behind her ; her^ was a soldier swearing at the wife who was going with him; there another consoling one whom the law compelled him to leave behind. Some had gone on board the wrong vessel ; others had, by pure mistake, taken a neighbour's 394 A STORM. bundle in addition to their own ; officers -were swearing at their servants ; beggars without number petitioning for alms ; porters soliciting jobs, and tavern-waiters trying to get a bill paid twice over. Great numbers of French gentle- men and ladies were taking their evening pro- menade, and surveying with hearty satisfaction the departure of their visitors. The sea was before us, smooth and unbroken, and formed a strong contrast to the scene of bustling activity presented by the harbour. The venerable walls of Calais lay in the red glare of the setting sun, and the whole landscape was interesting, al- though possessing none of the charms of nature ; the coast being bleak and barren, and the ground lightly covered with snow. The cold was not severe however, and we congratulated each other that we should be able to make the voyage without the necessity of going below. As soon as the sun had set the wind began to rise, and the clouds rapidly forming over the w^hole sky, made almost an instantaneous trans- ition from day-light to darkness. I could per- ceive by the direction of the wind, that we must make a long sweep towards Boulogne be- fore we should be able to stand across for Dover. We sailed on for four or five hours,^ the wind constantly encreasing till almost all the party were obliged to go below, for fear of be- ing washed off the deck, for the sea began to A STORM. 395 break over us very often, but I was determined to keep my place to the last ; having therefore placed myself about the middle of the deck, from the idea that that part of the ship had necessarily the least motion ; I fastened a rope firmly round my arm and braved the storm. After some time longer had elapsed, I ventured to ask the Captain if we were not near Dover j he bid me look to the left, and I then saw the lights of Boulogne at the distance of half a league. My sickness began to be very distress- ing, and this news did not cheer my spirits. Several times I was thrown with such violence by the seas which broke over us, that I no longer thought it safe to keep the rope round my arm, lest the sudden jerk should break the bones ; I therefore untied it, and trusting to my own strength to hold fast, submitted very patiently for half an hour longer. The full moon rose at this time, and by shewing the scene around us, left me little inclination to trust my security any longer to my hands, which were becoming numbed with wet and cold. If I had been well enough and in safety, to con- template the scene, I should have thought it sub- lime, but I was very soon convinced that if terror be a source of that feeling, danger excites very opposite emotions. All around were vessels dismasted, or scudding under bare poles, some- times mounting on a ridge of moonlight, and 396 A STORM. ^ the next moment hid from our sight by the im tervening masses of water. With a heavy heart I descended to the dirty scene in the cabin, where basons and towels had ceased to be de- manded, from the sense of danger having over- powered the feeling of delicacy. In spite of my sickness I could not help feeling the ridiculous nature of the scene before me, and the rueful countenances of my fellow-travellers — the fat lady kept crying out every moment, *' Lord have mercy upon us, — we are going down — oh ! we shall never get to England — there, that crash — oh ! we are going — yes its all over with us — pray take hold of this parcel — Lord forgive us our sins ! — oh ! take care of that bundle — there, there's my shawl down in the dirt — Christ have mercy upon us 1 — pray take care of my bundle." At first her companions endeavoured to comfort her, but as their efforts proved quite unavailing, she was at last suffered to please herself in the choice of exclamations, interrupted only by an occasional curse from the male fellow-travellers. A short time however elapsed ere we were all made sensible of danger. Thirteen horses (which were stowed in a space only intended to accom- modate half a dozen) had been so negligently fastened that some of them had got loose, and the violence of the storm, threw them from side to side like inanimate substances ; they began A STORM. 397 to kick and struggle, broke each others legs, and struck the sides of the vessel with a fury that made us fear they would start a plank. The partition between them and us, soon gave way to the violence of their efforts, and two of the mu- tilated animals got into the cabin. No one could stand upon his legs from the intensity of long continued sickness, and the motion of the vessel, and it was with the greatest difficulty the poor animals could be barricaded out again. One of the three sailors was obliged to be de- tained in the cabin, to sit against the broken door, for the passengers were all of them too ill to do more than aid his exertions. The storm yet continued to increase — it was now three o'clock in the morning, the hopes of all parties seemed to melt away, and the prospect of deliverance became more and more faint. I had noticed the very sailor-like manner in which the ship was managed, while I staid on deck, and felt confident that we should not be lost for want of skill ; but the incessant kicking of the horses made it more than probable we should go down at a moment's notice j and the exhaustion of all parties seemed to promise scarcely a less serious fate, if we got safe into port. I began to feel the qualms of danger press very heavily upon me, though from the ideas which were then uppermost in my mind, I am inclined to think there was not much selfishness 308 A STORM. in my despair. Only one person in the ship retained the least self-possession so as to be able to assist others, and that was the groom of Sir Charles Stuart ; and I now reaped the benefit of the kindness I had shewn to the poor fel- low during our journey ; his embarrasment had kept him silent, as no one spoke to him or took the least notice of his presence, and I had taken some pains to relieve his distress, by engaging him in conversation adapted to his habits and si- tuation, and in which he could in turn shew his knowledge. — The man was exceedingly grateful, and now kept close to me. The sea broke over us every minute, and at last demo- lished the deck windows of the cabin. As the ship rolled on one side, the water admitted by the broken windows filled the cabin knee- deep, and as we were all compelled to follow its course to the lee-side, I was often partly under water, and should certainly have been drowned but for his aid, — he held my head up when I fainted, and supplied me from time to time with brandy, from a small flask he car« ried in bis pocket. Our sickness became at last so intolerable, that I believe we should all of us most willingly have consented to go overboard. Sea-sickness produces a greater contempt of death than all the heroism in human nature. With great difficulty I crawled up the steps, till I could just peep over the deck, and though ARRIVAL AT DOVER. S99 saluted with an enormous wave as I mounted, had the satisfaction to see the lights on the North Foreland, at a very short distance. This news cheered us all, and after an hour longer of anxious suspence, we had the happiness to get safe into the harbour of Dover, where the first report we received was, that the vessel which sailed abreast of us, had gone to the bot- tom, and every one on board had perished. My fat fellow-traveller had retired to her chamber immediately on her arrival at Calais. As my room was separated from hers only by a boarded partition, I could hear pretty plainly what took place. There seemed much agitation on the part of the good lady, and a great deal of bustle in the attendants. At last the Cap- tain was sent for, and I concluded that she was too ill to occupy her place in his vessel, which was just on the point of setting off. I met him in the passage, and begged him to present my compliments, and offer my pro- fessional assistance. The man laughed heartily at the proposition, and replied, " Oh Monsieur^ que voiLS avez grand mistake — it is only little bit of shmuggle, — dat is all." When the lady came out equipped for her voyage, I fully com- prehended the exlent of the "little bit of shmug- gle," she looked in the very last stage of preg- nancy, with the comfortable prospect of double twins at least ; her legs and arms were gouty 400 ARRIVAL AT DOVER. to a shocking degree, and her tooth ache was m very severe, that she was under the . necessity of wrapping up her head and face to the size of a bushel. She made me her confidant during the voyage, and entreated me very earnestly to have a sore throat, and tie a few of her shawls round it. I however declined the proposition altogether, being fully aware of the danger, and the good creature herself was only indebted to the storm for her security. The Custom-house officers not supposing it possible for any vessel to make the harbour in such weather, had left the coast perfectly clear. On meeting the lady the following day at Dover, I offered her my sincere congratulations on her happy accouchment. She had indeed got rid of gout, dropsy and tooth-ach, at the same hour; and remarked that though we had had a very " rumbustous" voyage, it had been to her a most happy one — quoting at. the same time the old adge, that " it is an ill wind that blow^s no- body any good." Every hour after our arrival brought us ter- rible accounts of the recent storms and their effects ; — another vessel had had five men swept overboard, and a third had lost her masts, one had been wrecked on the coast of Ireland with a great part of the thirtieth regiment on board ; and another had struck on Margate Pier and gone to pieces. We were all too ill to make our DOVER. 4Q1 appearance the next morning, and the scene when we did assemble would have well employ- ed the pencil of a Wilkie -, — the squalid coun- tenances and tottering limbs of the youngest amongst us were *' piteous to see," as the old ballad phrases it. Each seemed to take a plea- sure in bringing back to the other's recollection the narrow escape, and all its attendant circum- stances, as if there had been a real gratification in the renewal of painful impressions. Common danger creates sympathy, and we all of us tres- passed a little on good manners in our enquiries as to the direction and distance of our respec- tive homes. Many had dismal tales to tell of laces seized, and shoes and shawls, on which were to come exchequer fines. The inmates of the inn joined in execrating the vigilance of Custom- house officers, whose Argus-eyes would never sleep. With that palpable lack of common sense, however, which is so often displayed in a stage- coach, each was explaining before strangers (some of whom might be, for aught he knew, employed by the very men whom they were de- ceiving,) the number of tricks he had played to evade the duty. One had a cravat of lace, an- other had it quilted in his coat collar, a third had filled a soldier's knapsack with contraband goods, and a fourth said that he had boots on which were twice too large, and that they were padded out in the same manner. Even the pre- D D 40^ CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS. sence of the waiters put no restraint on the conversation, and I have no doubt that many of my fellow-travellers would cease boasting long before they got to London -, it being a com- mon thing for the Custom-house gentry to keep up a good intelligence with the servants at the inns on the coast, and then go snacks in the seizure. After another day's rest at Dover, I was well enough to proceed to London, and thus ends my " strange eventful history ! !** CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS. From the consideration that Prefaces are rarely if ever read, I had determined not to write one ; but it seems necessary to supply that omission by a few words in this place, in order to anticipate any objections which may be urged to the desultory nature of the work, and the want of that attention to the style, which was incompatible with my other pursuits, without such a delay as would diminish the interest of the subject. Such as it is, however, I send the book forth in confidence that the Spirit of Truth in which it is written, will fully compensate for its faults; and that as it has beguiled some tedious hours CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS. 403 of the writer, it may be equally efficacious in affording rational amusement to the reader. It was my intention to interweave with these Memorandums, an Analysis of French Liter- ature, which has been some time ready for the press. I have rehnquished this plan, be- cause it would not be in my power to afford space for a sufficient developement of the sub- ject, as my book has already exceeded its pro- posed magnitude : and 1 had also another rea- son, — I did not think it justice to myself to mingle with the hasty sketches of the moment, an essay which has been the result of much thought and much trouble. The present work being in its nature temporary, elegance and precision are not of primary importance ; but the other, being an assumption of critical au- thority, such inaccuracies would be unpardon- able, and I have therefore decided to give it more mature consideration. Many anecdotes, in themselves highly inter- esting, I have been compelled to omit, lest I should implicate any one with the French go- vernment, where the topic was political, or be considered guilty of a breach of confidence, where the subject was domestic. If, from this cause, the book afford less pleasure, it willin- flict less pain. I shall wait with "patience for the verdict of the pubHc, to decide whether 1 am again to II 404 CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS. make my appearance on the stage. If that ver- dict be unfavourable, the world will not be troubled with any more of my ."lucubrations," except such as are strictly professional, in which character I can claim attention with more jus- tice and with morl confidence. THE END, mow Printed by A. Strahan, New- Street-Square, London. GENERAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. APR 181983 iW'dcifC. APRisHsb LD 21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 M21f;959 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY