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Title: A rough sketch of modern Paris : Or, letters on society, manners, public curiosities, and amusements, in that capital
Author: Lemaistre, John Gustavus
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A rough sketch of modern Paris : Or, letters on society, manners, public curiosities, and amusements, in that capital" ***

A ROUGH SKETCH OF MODERN PARIS.

G. WOODFALL, Printer, Paternoster row.

A
ROUGH SKETCH
OF
MODERN PARIS;

LETTERS
ON
SOCIETY, MANNERS, PUBLIC CURIOSITIES, AND AMUSEMENTS,
IN THAT CAPITAL,

WRITTEN DURING THE LAST TWO MONTHS OF 1801 AND THE FIRST
FIVE OF 1802.

_BY J. G. LEMAISTRE, ESQ._

_SECOND EDITION._

J’ai voulu voir Paris; les fastes de l’histoire
Célébrant ses plaisirs, et consacrent sa gloire.

VOLTAIRE.

Nous avons vu Trajan, Titus et Marc Aurele,
Quitter le beau séjour de la gloire immortelle,
Pour venir en secret s’amuser à Paris.
Quelque bien qu’on puisse être, on veut changer de place;
C’est pourquoi les anglois sortent de leur pays.
L’esprit est inquiet, et de tout il se lasse;
Souvent un bien heureux s’ennuie en Paradis.

IDEM.

LONDON.
PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, IN ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD;
1803.

PREFACE.

In june, 1801, while the war between England and France still continued,
I obtained his majesty’s license to visit the latter country, in order
to ascertain my claims to a legacy left me at Paris. A french passport
was likewise necessary; and such were the difficulties which occurred,
that, notwithstanding repeated applications to M. Otto on the subject,
the instrument in question was not yet arrived, when, on the first of
October, an extraordinary gazette announced the joyful intelligence
of the signature of preliminary articles of peace. The jealousy of
the french government ceased with the war; and, three days after its
termination, I received the long expected passport.

Being one of the first englishmen who arrived in France, after a war
big with such unparallelled events, I determined to keep a journal of
my proceedings. The object which, at first, induced me to do so, was
simply to gratify the curiosity of an intimate friend, who had charged
me, on leaving England, to forward to him, by every opportunity, detailed
accounts pf modern France. Of my correspondence, thus begun, I took
regular copies; and, on perusing the materials which I had been able to
collect, it afterwards occurred to me, that some of these letters might
become not totally uninteresting to the public, if formed into a less
objectionable shape, and freed from the many little occurrences, which
they originally contained, and which only related personally either to
my friend or myself. From this collection I have accordingly culled
the following letters. I offer them to my readers, as conveying not a
studied view of society and manners, but a rough landscape, drawn by the
untutored hand of an inexperienced artist. If the sketch should happen to
please, the merit will be less in the execution than in the subject; if
it fail, the fault will be in the pencil, and not in the accuracy of the
drawer.

To divest myself, as much as possible, from every prejudice, has been a
duty which I have strictly endeavoured to fulfil; yet I fear, such is
the effect of early habit, that many marks will still be discovered of
national predilection. I beg leave, as a check against faults of this
kind, which I may have involuntarily committed, to request my reader to
remember, that the observations now laid before him, are those of a man
accustomed to english opinions, english society, and english manners. In
judging of another country, a foreigner cannot help making a comparison
between what he has known at home add what he sees abroad. In doing so,
the partiality, which he naturally entertains for his own customs, may
lead him to condemn, as faults, what may be simply deviations from the
former. That such is the general bias of the human mind, I am fully
aware, and I cannot flatter myself that mine has escaped it. This
consideration must plead my excuse with the french, if I should sometimes
appear severe; and the same ought to prevent my countrymen from placing
too implicit a confidence in my judgments, where it may be my misfortune
to condemn. My hand has faithfully drawn what my eye beheld; but the
sight may be jaundiced, and, in that case the picture will be incorrect.

To conclude—The intention of this work being simply to describe the
internal situation of the french capital, all religious and political
discussions will be avoided. The causes, events, and consequences of
a revolution, which has no parallel in history, I leave to abler and
more experienced writers. To point out to strangers the objects most
interesting at Paris, to convey some previous information to those who
intend going thither, and to lay before such as are prevented, by their
other occupations, from undertaking the journey, an account of the
pleasures, festivals, buildings, and mode of living in that metropolis,
is the task I have undertaken, a task which, however comparatively
humble, is neither useless nor unimportant. Had it fallen into other
hands, the public would feel the truth of this remark. As it is, I fear
they will easily discover, that the subject deserved an abler pen.

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE

_TO THE SECOND EDITION_.

The first edition of this work appeared anonymously. Its rapid sale and
the favourable manner in which “The Rough Sketch,” has been received
induce the Author, as a mark of respect and gratitude to an indulgent
Public, to affix, his name to this second impression. In doing so, he
begs leave to apologize for the typographical errors found in the first
edition, and which he can only correct in that which is now issued, by
means of an errata. These faults may, perhaps, be pardoned, when it is
known that the Author was in the most distant part of Italy at the time
of the first publication, and that most of the sheets which compose the
present impression, were struck off previously to his return.

In reading the following pages the Public will also have the goodness to
remember the period at which they were written. When the Author speaks
of Bonaparte, he speaks of him in other days. In May, 1802, when these
letters were concluded, the First Consul was the elected first magistrate
of France, the professed friend of England, and the acknowledged
pacificator of Europe. He had not at that time overturned the form of
government which he had solemnly sworn to maintain, by assuming for life
the reins of power. He had not then violated the laws of nations and the
rights of a free, virtuous, and independent people by the subjugation of
Switzerland. He had not then insulted his Majesty and the British nation
in the person of our ambassador. He had not yet dared to ask for changes
in the most valuable and purest parts of our excellent constitution, nor
had he sunk the dignity of his character by a conversation which at once
betrayed his vanity, rashness, and unbounded ambition. In one word, the
laurels of Marengo were yet unfaded. He was then a great man. Without
enquiring what he now is, one may be permitted to apply to him what
Virgil said of the Trojan hero after his defeat:

⸺Heu quantum mutatus ab illo
Hectore, qui redit exuvias indutus Achillis!

_Upper Seymour Street, Sept. 21, 1803._

_CONTENTS._

LETTER I.

Reflections on landing at Calais.—Custom house
officers, municipality, commissaires, Dessein’s,
theatre.—Montreuil.—L’hôtel d’Angleterre at
Amiens.—Chantilly.—State of the roads.—Difficulty of getting
lodgings at Paris.—M. Peregaux. p. 1.

LETTER II.

The palace and gardens of the Thuilleries.—The
Louvre.—The _musée central des arts_, or picture
gallery.—_Maria Cosway._—Gallery of antiquities.—Apollo
Belvidere.—Laocoon.—List of pictures. p. 10.

LETTER III.

The _fête_ of the 18th of brumaire in honour of the
preliminaries, and of the anniversary of the consular
government.—Apathy of the people.—Fireworks.—Accident which
happened to an english gentleman.—_Postscript._—The death of
the gentleman last named. p. 40.

LETTER IV.

State of society at Paris.—The three sets, _l’ancienne
noblesse_, the governmental class, and _les parvenus ou
nouveaux riches_.—Description of a house belonging to one of
the latter. p. 53.

LETTER V.

Opening of the legislative body.—Election of the
president.—Lord Cornwallis.—Reflections of the people in the
gallery. p. 63.

LETTER VI.

The abbé Sicard, and the institution in behalf of the deaf and
dumb.—His favourite pupil, Massieu.—Examination of a young
woman, who had become deaf at six years old.—Reflections on
the establishment. p. 69.

LETTER VII.

A _thé_ or evening party.—French remarks on Shakspeare and Mr.
Fox.—Dullness and pedantry of parisian society. p. 74.

LETTER VIII.

Bonaparte.—The monthly review or parade in the court of the
Thuilleries. p. 81.

LETTER IX.

The tribunate.—Speech of _Portalis_ on presenting the _code
civil_ in the corps législatif.—Debate in the tribunate on the
same subject. p. 87.

LETTER X.

_Bal des étrangers_, (a public subscription ball).—Thinness of
the ladies’ dresses. p. 92.

LETTER XI.

New year’s day.—The Palais royal. p. 98.

LETTER XII.

_L’institution des travaux des aveugles_, or establishment
for the support and employment of the blind.—Their different
occupations.—The plate glass manufactory.—Description of
another meeting at the hospital of the deaf and dumb.—Massieu
taught _galvanism_ and stenography. p. 103.

LETTER XIII.

The young savage, or wild boy of Aveyron.—His history.—The
state in which he was found, and the means used to restore him
to the use of his senses.—The success with which these efforts
have been attended. p. 109.

LETTER XIV.

Detailed account of all the theatres or _spectacles_. p. 116.

LETTER XV.

The play of _Henry_ IV, read by le Texier. p. 133.

LETTER XVI.

Party at a _fournisseur’s_.—Ball at a _ci-devant_ noble’s. p. 137.

LETTER XVII.

A play acted for the first time, called “Edouard en Ecosse,”
the hero of which was the english pretender, full of royalist
sentiments, performed twice, and highly applauded; “God save
the King,” played on the French stage; plot of the play, which
was forbidden on the third day. p. 146.

LETTER XVIII.

The _carnival_.—Masks in all the streets.—Account of the
different characters, processions, &c.—Masqued ball at the
opera house. p. 152.

LETTER XIX.

Bonaparte’s audience.—His address to the english gentlemen
presented to him.—First appearance, this season, of
_Vestris_.—Madame de St—l’s concert. p. 158.

LETTER XX.

The antichamber of the _Musée Central_, now filled with
an additional collection of fine pictures.—Account of the
wonderful recovery of some chefs-d’œuvre.—List of pictures
in this room. p. 166.

LETTER XXI.

_Bois de Boulogne._—Account of that promenade.—Order
of the police against english footmen wearing laced
cocked hats.—Cannon fired in honour of the definitive
treaty.—Illuminations in the evening.—Little effect
produced at Paris by the peace. p. 175.

LETTER XXII.

The palais du _Luxembourg_.—_Théâtre d’Odéon._—The pantheon
or St. Généviève.—Tombs of Rousseau and Voltaire. p. 181.

LETTER XXIII.

_Concordat_ with the Pope ratified by the legislative body
after an eloquent speech by _Lucien Bonaparte_.—Madame
Bonaparte’s first drawing room.—Appearance of Dehayes at the
opera, after a long absence. p. 188.

LETTER XXIV.

Versailles.—St. Cloud.—Sèvre.—Petit Trianon.—Specimen
of an extravagant bill.—Curious trial.—St.
Germain.—Malmaison.—Waterworks of Marly. p. 192.

LETTER XXV.

_Long Champ_, account of that annual promenade, date of its
origin, and of the great preparations made this year for
attending it.—The bustle and gayety which it produced at
Paris. p. 205.

LETTER XXVI.

_Te Deum_ sung at _Notre Dame_, in honour of the peace and the
reestablishment of religion.—Military insolence.—Account of the
ceremony.—Illuminations in the evening.—Indifference of the
people. p. 213.

LETTER XXVII.

_Palais de Justice._—Account of the different tribunals or
courts of law. p. 222.

LETTER XXVIII.

The gardens and walks of Paris. p. 227.

LETTER XXIX.

The manufactory of _Gobelins_, the observatory, _les Enfans
trouvés_, _Champ de Mars_, les _Invalides_, and the temple of
Mars, containing the colours taken from different nations,
and the tomb of _Turenne_.—_Le Musée des Monumens françois_,
or collection of monuments.—List of the most esteemed of
these.—Note to this letter contains the account of a dinner at
the first consul’s. p. 235.

LETTER XXX.

General account of literary establishments at Paris.—National
library.—Manuscripts.—Memoirs of his own times, by Lewis
XIV.—_Fac simile_ of a love letter of Henry IV.—Cabinet
of medals.—Cabinet of engravings, &c.—Library of the
Pantheon.—Mazarine library.—Library of the Institute. Libraries
of the senate, the legislative body, and tribunate.—The
_Lycées_, now called _les Athénées_.—Admirable lectures
given at one of them.—Professors _Fourcroy_, _Cuvier_, and
_la Harpe_.—L’Institute national.—_Jardin national des
Plantes._—Collection of birds, plants, fossils, and insects,
in the house attached to the _Jardin des Plantes_.—Cabinet
de l’École des Mines, _à l’Hôtel des Monnoies_.—Great
opportunities afforded at Paris of cultivating science and
literature in all their various branches. p. 249.

LETTER XXXI.

Calculation and estimate of expenses at Paris.—List of hôtels,
traiteurs, &c. p. 266.

LETTER XXXII.

General view of Paris, principally taken as compared with
London. p. 282.

A ROUGH SKETCH OF MODERN PARIS.

LETTER I.

Paris, october the 30th, 1801 (4 brumaire, an 10.)

MY DEAR SIR,

At length, arrived in this celebrated city, I execute my promise in
commencing a correspondence, which, on my part, shall in future be
strictly confined to the curiosities of the place. As I have been only
three hours at Paris, I shall in this first letter speak of nothing but
my journey. On the 26th of october, I left the York house, at Dover, (of
which Payne is still the civil landlord); and embarking at one o’clock on
board a neutral vessel, which I was compelled to hire, no english packet
boat being yet allowed to enter the ports of France, found myself, after
a safe and pleasant passage, at four, on the continent. Though I have
before crossed the Channel, and in as rapid a manner, I was forcibly
struck by the wonderful and almost magical change of situation which this
short voyage had effected. Rising at my usual hour, I had breakfasted,
and walked about the streets of Dover, surrounded by english faces and
english customs. The sun had not yet set, and I was now in a foreign
country, and that country so lately the enemy of mine, and the seat of
such extraordinary and many coloured events. I had changed a monarchical
for a republican government. I saw a different people, different dresses,
and different countenances, and I was subject to different laws, and
different customs.

As soon as the vessel entered the port of Calais, two custom house
officers came on board, in a military uniform (for every _fonctionnaire
public_ has here a regimental dress); and, after taking the names of the
passengers, one of them retired, to make his report at the municipality,
while the other stayed to prevent our landing, till the return of his
companion. In the mean time, the _jetée_, or pier, was crowded with
spectators, the greater part of whom were military men, of different
ranks and different descriptions. They seemed highly amused in staring
at the dresses of the ladies, and in examining the body of my carriage,
which was hung on the deck of the ship; while we were equally entertained
with the great _moustaches_ of the grenadiers, the wooden shoes of the
peasants, and the close caps of the _grisettes_.

At length, _monsieur de la Douaine_ returned. We were permitted to touch
the territory of the republic; and, conducted by a guard of Bourgeois
(who, in their dress, rather resembled the ragged regiment of Terence,
than the renowned warriors of France), we proceeded to the custom house,
from the custom house to the _municipality_, and from the _municipality_
to the _commissaire’s_.

After undergoing examinations at each of these offices, delivering
our passports, and giving up our pocket books and letters (which were
returned the following day), we were at last permitted to retire to our
inn, the tattered guard, which accompanied us from the ship, having been
previously dismissed. At six o’clock, I sat down to an excellent dinner,
at the celebrated hotel, formerly kept by Dessein, who is now succeeded
by his nephew, Quillacq, a very respectable man, who met me at landing,
and, with the utmost civility and attention, took charge of my carriage,
baggage, &c. I wished to have set out the following morning for Paris,
but I was informed that this was impossible, as, though I brought with me
a passport from M. Talleyrand, it was necessary to have this exchanged
for one of the mayor of Calais, which latter could not be delivered till
late the following day. I accordingly passed tuesday in this town,
which gave me an opportunity of visiting the theatre, which is still
at Dessein’s. To the best of my recollection, there is no alteration
in the building since the war; and, from the darkness of the house, I
am inclined to think, that even the painting has not been changed. The
actors are not very good, yet better than the generality of our country
performers in England. The house was full, and the company well dressed.
In short, this amusement may be considered as a very pleasant resource
for travellers detained at Calais, either by contrary winds, or by delays
in the delivery of passports.

On wednesday morning, Mrs. ⸺ and myself proceeded with post horses.
We found the roads very bad, particularly near Boulogne; and, if our
conveyance had not been particularly easy, we should have suffered
very severely from the fatigues of the journey. It is necessary to
add, that numerous workmen were employed in every part of the roads in
repairing and amending them. Probably, therefore, before next summer,
the communication between the two principal cities of Europe will be
restored to its former excellence. At present, the roads have rather
the appearance of leading to some deserted village, than to the capital
of _la grande nation_. The post horses are active and well-fed, their
drivers civil, and the expense moderate[1].

Though we left Calais at break of day, and did not stop either to
breakfast or to dine, we did not reach Montreuil, where we proposed
sleeping the first night, till sunset. Here we found excellent
accommodations, at the inn celebrated by Sterne. The house has, indeed,
nothing to recommend it, in point of outward show; and, in this respect,
differs entirely from the generality of french hotels: but if comfortable
beds, superiorly good cooking, and the smiling attention of two very
pretty girls, who act as waiters, are any attractions, I can safely point
out this inn, as one at which my countrymen will do right to stop.

From Montreuil we proceeded the next day, through a fine country and
bad roads, to Amiens. The cultivation seemed good, and in the villages
through which we passed, the peasants were well clad. In the towns,
the number of beggars was as great as formerly. At every post, we were
surrounded with the old, the blind, and the lame; some of whom, not
satisfied with vociferating their complaints, actually climbed up the
springs of the carriage, and put their faces within the windows, more
effectually to draw our notice.

The waiters, post boys, and landlords, were every where remarkably
civil, and all expressed their joy at seeing once again amongst them
“_les milords Anglais_,” by which title they have not forgotten to call,
and to tax accordingly, all english travellers. The people appear to
me not only civil, but respectful, and infinitely more so, than before
the revolution. The reason is plain, the old _noblesse_ treated their
inferiors with a degree of familiarity, which produced in the latter
a mode of speaking, that, to an english ear, seemed highly offensive,
but which the french permitted, because they could check it at their
pleasure. The loss of their rank has now compelled the higher classes to
command respect by a distance of manner, which has of course produced a
similar conduct in the persons beneath them.

At Amiens, we drove to “l’hôtel d’Angleterre,” where we were
magnificently and miserably lodged. Fine rooms, superbly furnished;
windows and doors, which would neither keep out the rain nor wind; bad
fires, and a worse supper, formed the complete picture of a french inn,
and the colouring of extravagant charges was not omitted.

Starved with cold and hunger we left Amiens by break of day, on friday
morning; and after travelling through a country, the beauty of which
increased every step with the increasing badness of the roads, we at
length reached Chantilly, not a little pleased at having escaped the
dangers of a broken neck. At the post office, which is a new inn, built
since the revolution, directly fronting the park of the _ci-devant
château_, we found good beds, and a comfortable supper, prepared by the
kind attention of some english friends, who had preceded us on the road.

The following morning (the 30th), we visited the ruins of this once
magnificent spot. If we had had often reason, during our journey, to
deplore the destructive effects of that mistaken spirit, of pretended
philosophy, and pretended patriotism, which had levelled with the ground
the churches and country seats, the ruins of which reminded us, in every
village, of the excesses committed during the revolution; we made these
reflections with double force, and double regret, in viewing what was
once the palace of Chantilly. The principal building is entirely pulled
down; but _le petit château_, and the superb edifice of the stable, still
remain. This latter was saved by the orders of the present government,
who forbade its being sold; and the mistress of the inn, with tears in
her eyes, acquainted me, that had Bonaparte been at the head of public
affairs six months sooner, the palace also would have been rescued from
destruction. That extraordinary man visited Chantilly after the sale, but
before the demolition of the building. He heard that the purchaser had
ordered it to be pulled down—he expressed his regret; but, at that time,
he had no means of preventing what he sincerely deplored.

The stables, though unhurt, are neglected and dirty. They contain, at
present, a regiment of cavalry. The woods have also been greatly thinned;
the garden no longer exists; and, altogether, Chantilly presents rather
the picture of decayed magnificence, than that of actual beauty.

On leaving this once celebrated place, we found a fine paved road all
the way to Paris. The regular avenue of hills, the rich country, the
vineyards, the villas, and the carriages of all descriptions which we
met, announced an approach to the capital, at the gates of which we
arrived at two o’clock.

Here, and at Boulogne, we were asked very civilly for our passports,
which were instantly returned us. These were the only interruptions or
examinations which we experienced, during the whole of our journey.
Carriages are not stopped, as formerly, at every town, to be searched
for contraband goods, but, _en revanchè_, turnpikes are numerous and
expensive. The inns are nearly as dear as those of England; and it is now
not less necessary, than under the _ancien régime_, to make a previous
bargain, before the horses are taken from the carriage. If this is not
done, impositions and disputes are sure to occur.

On arriving at Paris, I drove to several hotels, before I could get
accommodated at all. I am now wretchedly lodged, and fear, from what I
have already seen and heard, that I must waste a considerable portion
of valuable time, before I shall obtain such apartments as I wish.
Good rooms are very scarce, many of the _hôtels garnis_ having been
unfurnished during the revolution, and those which remain being nearly
filled with foreigners, who, since the peace, have flocked hither in
great numbers, from every nation of the world.

Persons, intending to visit Paris, ought to write some days before hand
to their correspondents, if they desire to be comfortably lodged on their
arrival.

Adieu, my friend. I have now given you a full account of my journey. I
say nothing of Paris, or its inhabitants, the only person I have yet seen
being M. Peregaux, my banker. His new dignity of _senateur_ has made no
alteration in his conduct. He is as civil, and as obliging as ever.

As soon as I have seen any thing worth communicating, I shall write
again. In the mean time, I take my leave. And

Am, &c.

LETTER II.

Paris, november the 6th, 1801 (15 brumaire, an 10.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my last letter given the details of my journey, I shall
proceed to speak in this of what I have already seen at Paris. The first
objects of curiosity to which my steps were directed, were of course the
Thuilleries and the Louvre. Of the garden of the former it is difficult
to say any thing at this unfavourable season of the year. It appears,
however, to have undergone but little alteration, and to have received
the additional ornament of several statues, which are scattered about
the grounds. The château or palace of the Thuilleries is also unchanged
in that part of it which faces the garden, but the appearance of the
great front, (I mean that towards the Carousel,) is much improved, and
has become strikingly magnificent. It promises to be still more so,
when the whole of the projected amendments are completed. When I last
visited Paris, a number of small houses surrounded the palace, and seemed
to conceal it from the profane eye of the vulgar. The greater part of
these houses are already pulled down, and the gallery of the Louvre, no
longer kept from view, forms a magnificent side to the spacious court by
which the palace is approached, and in which the first consul reviews
his troops, on the 15th of every month. This court is separated from
the street, by a beautiful iron railing, the four gates of which are
ornamented with the celebrated horses taken from Venice, and with the
birds (I believe cocks) which, in imitation of the roman eagles, the
french republic has adopted as her distinguishing symbol. The opening is
already extended as far as _la rue St. Nicaise_. Houses are daily pulled
down, and I understand it is the intention of the present government to
clear away all the remaining obstacles, which separate the palace of
the Louvre from that of the Thuilleries. When this great plan is fully
executed, the residence of the first consul will greatly exceed in
magnificence all the palaces of Europe.

In the Louvre is situated the museum or _musée central des arts_. This
superb collection, without exception the finest in the world, occupies a
room equally unrivalled, covering a space at least equal to a quarter of
an english mile. The antichamber[2] to this vast gallery is at present
filled with a modern exhibition of paintings, which, indifferent in
themselves, become still more contemptible by an involuntary, though
perhaps unfair, comparison, which one is led to make between the artists
of our times, and those of our ancestors. An excellent likeness in full
length of madame Bonaparte, and a beautiful miniature of a _father and a
son_, by _Isabey_, were the only objects which attracted my attention.
My impatience soon carried me forward. At length I found myself in the
magnificent room, which I have before mentioned, the walls of which
are covered as far as the eye can reach with the sublimest efforts
of human art. Where the mind has long been promised a pleasure, when
fancy has dressed it in all her choicest colours, how seldom does the
reality approach the phantom of heated imagination! For once I was not
disappointed. I expected it is true, a high gratification. I had formed
to myself an exalted idea of the objects, which I was about to visit,
yet the satisfaction I felt exceeded, far exceeded, what I supposed it
possible for the power of sight to afford; nor did I believe that the
hand of man was capable of attaining that degree of perfection, which
I now beheld. For some time I was lost in wonder, I knew not where to
fix my enraptured eye. A catalogue which was offered me, by one of the
attendants, and which as I afterwards found, is drawn up with great
clearness and precision, roused me from this pleasing reverie, and gave
some order to the train of my thoughts. The arrangement of the collection
is admirable.

After viewing the masterpieces of la Sueur, le Brun, Nicolas Poussin,
and the three Van Loos, I supposed I had already seen the utmost efforts
of the art, and even, under this supposition, was ready to allow that my
highest ideas of the power of painting fell short of what these specimens
presented. Think of my surprise, when, looking on my catalogue, I found
that I had not yet passed the limits of the french school. Astonished and
delighted I went on. The flemish, dutch, and german masters occupy the
second division. Among them I beheld the exquisite works of Van Dyck, of
Hans Holbein, of Paul Potter, of Rembrandt, of Teniers, and of Rubens.
Sublime as were the first, objects that had claimed my admiration, even
they were exceeded by the latter. Nor had I yet seen the acme of the art.
Charmed with the fancy and execution of all the flemish painters, I was
particularly pleased with the beautiful pasturage, by Paul Potter, every
object of which seems alive on the canvass.

A few steps would bring me in view of the wonders of Italy, to see which
so many of my countrymen had crossed the Alps; yet so enraptured was I
with the objects already before me, that it required all the importunity
of my companions, to persuade me to proceed. I was soon rewarded for
this temporary sacrifice, and in contemplating the almost supernatural
works of Corregio, of Caravaggio, of the Carracci, of Dominichino, of
Guido, of Leonardo da Vinci, of Paul Veronese, of Raphael and of Titian.
I discovered, that what I had seen before were only so many links in the
great chain of perfection, which was now complete. If among those models
of the art, you wish me to name some particular picture, I should give
the preference to the communion of St. Jerome, by Dominichino, which in
expression, colouring, feeling, and variety, seems to me to possess every
beauty united.

Before I quit a subject so interesting in every respect, I ought to
mention, that this assemblage of the _chefs-d’œuvres_ of former times,
begins already to hold out the promise of improving the taste of modern
painters. I saw artists of both sexes, occupied in taking copies of the
most celebrated subjects; and as curiosity led me to observe some of
these unfinished attempts, I discovered, with infinite pleasure, that the
figures, and even the countenances of the most striking objects, were in
several instances successfully imitated. It is indeed, almost impossible,
that the study of such unrivalled works should be pursued, without
considerable benefit to the individual, and improvement to the art. To me
it appears highly probable, that, assisted by the great facilities and
advantages which this gallery affords, painting will, in the course of
twenty years, recover all its former splendour.

An English lady[3], who has long very deservedly enjoyed a considerable
portion of public praise, is now employed in copying the principal
pictures in the museum; and from her designs, prints are to be published,
the proposals for which are already circulated at Paris. If she should
execute her plan as well as one has reason to expect from her known
talents, the collection will become highly valuable and interesting, not
only to those who have seen the originals, but likewise to such as have
not had that advantage.

The _musée_, like every other establishment of the kind in this town, is
conducted on principles of liberality, truly honourable to the government
and the nation. The gallery is open to foreigners and artists, every day
of the year; but to the public, only once or twice in each week. No fee
or recompense is either required, expected, or received by any of the
attendants; and the exquisite pleasure of contemplating these sublime
pictures, for which indeed it would be difficult to fix any adequate
price, is enjoyed gratuitously[4].

The gallery of antiquities, containing statues, busts, and
basso-relievoes, is immediately under the gallery of pictures. It is
divided into _la salle des saisons_, _la salle des hommes illustres_, _la
salle des Romains_, _la salle de Laocoon_, _la salle de l’Apollon_, et
_la salle des Muses_.

Were I to attempt an account of all these statues, my letter would
never end. I shall therefore only mention those by which the rest,
however excellent, are rendered petty, and contemptible, in comparison
with them. I mean the _Apollo Belvidere_, and the _Laocoon_[5]. These
masterpieces of human ingenuity are also so well known, and have been so
well described, that I shall confine my remarks to their present state
and present situation. The _Apollo_ seems to have received no injury from
the journey, and has as just claims as ever to the preeminence which,
for so many centuries, has been allowed it. Did I not fear to appear
presumptuous in hinting at any defect in a statue, esteemed so perfect, I
should say, that the ancles were rather too thick, in proportion to the
rest of the leg, and to the general lightness of the figure. I should
have concealed my criticism, if a friend, on whose judgment and knowledge
I can rely, had not assured me, that the objection was not novel, and
that many connoisseurs have suspected that the legs are modern.

Not having had the happiness of seeing this wonderful statue in Italy, I
cannot draw a comparison between the spot where it formerly stood, and
that which it at present occupies. I certainly think, that it is not now
seen to the greatest advantage. The room is not either high or large
enough for the purpose, and too many statues are crowded together.—The
Apollo Belvidere stands between the _Venus d’Arles_ and another female
figure, within a railed space of no great dimensions. The catalogue gives
the following history:

“No. 145. APOLLON PYTHIEN,
DIT APOLLON DU BELVIDERE.

(After describing the statue and the subject).

“Cette statue la plus sublime de celles que le tems nous ait
conservées, a été trouvée, vers la fin du quinzième siècle,
à _Capo d’Anzo_, à douze lieues de Rome, sur le rivage de la
mer, dans les ruines de l’antique Antium, cité célébré et par
son temple de la Fortune, et par les maisons de plaisance, que
les empereurs y avaient élevées à l’envi, et embellies de plus
rares chefs-d’œuvres de l’art. Julius II, n’étant encore que
cardinal, fit l’acquisition de cette statue, et la fit placer
d’abord dans le palais qu’il habitait près l’église de Santi
Apostoli. Mais bientôt après étant parvenu au pontificat, il
la fit transporter au _Belvidere_ du Vatican, où depuis trois
siècles elle faisait l’admiration de l’univers, lorsqu’un
héros, guidé par la victoire est venu l’en tirer, pour la
conduire et la fixer à jamais sur les rives de la Seine....

“On ignore entierement le nom de l’auteur de cet inimitable
chef-d’œuvre. L’avant-bras droit et la main gauche qui
manquaient out été restaurés par Giovanni Angelo da Montorsoli,
sculpteur élève de Michael Ange.”

_TRANSLATION._

“THE PYTHIAN APOLLO.

CALLED
“THE APOLLO BELVIDERE.

“This statue, the most sublime of those which time has
preserved, was found, towards the conclusion of the fifteenth
century, at _Capo d’Anzo_, twelve leagues from Rome, on the sea
shore, near the ruins of the ancient Antium, a city no less
celebrated for its temple of Fortune, than for the elegant
seats, which the different emperors, emulous of each other,
had built there, and ornamented with all the rarest works of
art. Julius II, while yet but a cardinal, bought this statue,
and placed it first in the palace where he resided, near the
church of the Holy Apostles. When he became sovereign pontiff,
he ordered it to be conveyed to the Belvidere of the Vatican,
where for three centuries it excited the admiration of the
universe. A hero, guided by victory, drew it from the Vatican;
and, transporting it to the banks of the Seine, has fixed it
there for ever....

“The name of the artist, who made this inimitable chef-d’œuvre,
is unknown. The right arm, and the left hand, which were
wanting, were restored by the sculptor, _Giovanni Angelo da
Montorsoli_, pupil of Michael Angelo.”

I hope, my friend, you admire the modesty with which it is declared,
that the Apollo is for ever fixed on the banks of the Seine!—After the
singular fate which this statue has experienced, it required all that
happy confidence, with which the french determine the most difficult
questions in their own favour, to make so bold an assertion. The Apollo
lay two thousand years under the ruins of Antium, and yet preserved its
beauty. It was drawn thence, placed in the Vatican, and after receiving
there, for three centuries, the applauses of mankind, is carried over
the Alps, and seen at Paris in all its original symmetry. If it be the
destiny of this matchless figure to follow the tide of fortune, and to
change its residence with the changes of empire, and the casualties of
human affairs, who shall decide where it may next be found? If Julius
II, when he placed the Apollo in the Vatican, had been told, that, three
hundred years afterward, a french warrior would attach it to his car of
victory, in entering the city of Paris, would even the pope himself have
had faith enough to believe such a prophecy? After this, no conjecture
becomes improbable. Who knows, that this celebrated statue may not, some
centuries hence, be discovered on the frozen plains of Siberia, or in
the burning sands of Egypt?

The subject of the Laocoon is so pathetic, and the execution so
admirable, that the group which it presents, is, as the catalogue well
observes, a specimen, at once, of composition, art, and feeling. The
following is the historical account of this statue:

“Il a été trouvé en 1506, sous le pontificat de Julius II, à
Rome sur le mont Esquilin, dans les ruines du palais de Titus,
contigu à ses thermes. Pline qui en a parlé avec admiration,
l’avait vu dans ce même endroit. C’est à cet écrivain que nous
devons la connoissance des trois habiles sculpteurs Rhodiens
qui l’ont exécuté, ils s’appellaient Agésandre, Polydore, et
Athenodore. Agésandre étoit probablement le père des deux
autres, ils florissaient au premier siècle de l’ere vulgaire.
La groupe est composé de cinq blocs si artistement réunis, que
Pline l’a cru d’un seul. Le bras droit du père et deux bras des
enfans manquent. Sans doute un jour on les exécutera en marbre.
Mais provisionnellement on les a suppliés par des bras moulés
sur la groupe en plâtre, restauré par _Gerardon_, qui se voit
dans la salle de l’école de peinture.”

_TRANSLATION._

“It was found in 1506, under the pontificate of Julius II, at
Rome, on the Esquiline mount, in the ruins of the palace of
Titus, near his _thermæ_, or hot baths. Pliny, who speaks of
this statue with admiration, had seen it in the same place.
It is to this writer we are indebted for the knowledge of the
three able sculptors of Rhodes, who executed this masterpiece.
Their names were, Agesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus. It is
probable, that the first of these was the father of the other
two. They flourished during the first century of the common
era. The group consists of five pieces of marble, joined in
so workmanlike a manner, that Pliny thought the whole was
of one. The right arm of the father, and two of the arms of
the children, are wanting. They will, no doubt, be executed
hereafter in marble; in the mean time, the deficiency is
supplied by arms moulded on the group in plaister of Paris, the
work of Gerardon, which is to be seen in the hall of the school
of painting.”

In taking leave of the gallery of statues, I ought, perhaps, in answer to
several inquiries, which have been made me in letters from England, to
mention, that the _Hercules Farnese_, and the _Venus de Medici_, are not
in the collection. A british officer, lately returned from Egypt by way
of Italy, tells me, that both these statues are at present in the island
of Sicily. They are in the possession of the king of Naples, who keeps
them locked up in cases, and refuses permission, even to his greatest
favourites, to see them.

Adieu.

_POSTSCRIPT._

I add, for the sake of gratifying the curiosity of such of your friends
as are connoisseurs, and wish to know where their favourite pictures may
be found, a list of those of the most celebrated masters, now in the
Louvre.

FRENCH SCHOOL.

CHARLES LE BRUN.

No. 9. The Courage of Mutius Scævola.
10. The Death of Cato.
11. Portrait of Charles le Brun, taken in his youth, by himself.
12. St. Stephen stoned.
13. The Magdalen at the Pharisee’s.
14. Jesus asleep, or Silence.
15. The Benedicite.
16. The Cross surrounded with Angels.
17. The Defeat of Porus.
18. The Tent of Darius.
19. The Entry of Alexander into Babylon.
20. The Death of Meleager, king of Calydon.
21. The Conquest of Franche-Compté.—(The sketch from which le
Brun drew the celebrated picture, in the great gallery
at Versailles.)
22. The Nativity.

NICHOLAS POUSSIN.

No. 67. The Martyrdom of St. Erasmus, the Bishop.
68. The Philistines attacked with the Plague.
69. The Rape of the Sabines.
70. The Fall of Manna in the Desert.
71. Time makes Truth triumph.
72. The Last Supper.
73. St. Francis Xavier in India.
74. St. John Baptising in the river Jordan.
75. Rebecca and Eliezer.
76. Diogenes throwing away his Cup.
77. The Judgment of Solomon.
78. The Blind Men of Jericho.
79. Portrait of Poussin, taken by himself.
80. The Adultress.
81. The Death of Sapphira.
82. Winter, or the Deluge.
83. The Death of Eurydice.
84. The Holy Family.
85. The Assumption of the Virgin.

RESTOUT.

No. 88. Alpheus and Arethusa.

LE SUEUR (EUSTACHE.)

No. 98. The Preaching of St. Paul at Ephesus.
99. The Descent from the Cross.
100. The Celebration of Mass by St. Martir.
101. St. Gervais and St. Protais.
102. Clio, the Muse of History.
Euterpe, the Muse of Music.
Thalia, the Muse of Comedy.
103. Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry.
104. Urania, the Muse of Astronomy.
105. Terpsichore, the Muse of Dancing.
106. Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy.
Erato, the Muse of Lyric Poetry.
Polyhymnia, the Muse of Eloquence.

VAN LOO (CARLO.)

No. 115. Æneas and Anchises.
116. The Marriage of the Virgin.

VAN LOO (JOHN BAPTISTE.)

No. 117. Diana and Endymion.

VAN LOO (LOUIS MICHAEL.)

No. 118. The Picture of Carlo van Loo, the historical painter.

DUTCH, FLEMISH, AND GERMAN SCHOOL.

CHAMPAGNE (PHILIP OF.)

No. 212. The Archbishop of Milan, St. Ambrose.
213. The carrying the Bodies of St. Gervais and St. Protais, from
the spot where they were found, to the cathedral of Milan,
by order of the Archbishop.
214. A dead Christ extended on the Bier.
215. The Supper.
216. The Nuns.
217. Philip of Champagne, painted by himself, in 1668, at the age
of 66 years.

CLAISSENS (ANTONY.)

No. 218. The Judgment of Cambyses.
219. Cambyses orders an unjust Judge to be flayed alive, directing
his skin to be turned into a cover for the bench of his
successor.

DURER (ALBERT)

No. 249. The Portrait of a Geometrician.
250. The Portrait of a Musician.
251. A Crucifix.

DYCK (ANTONY VAN.)

No. 252. Christ lying dead in the Arms of the Virgin: near him are
St. Magdalen and St. John.
253. St. Augustin in a Swoon.
254. Charles the First, king of England.—(A delightful picture.)
255. The Mother of Pity.
256. Francis of Moncade, Marquis d’Aylonne, governor of the
Netherlands for Philip the Fourth.—This man was both a
warrior and an historian.
257. St. Martin cutting his Cloak, in order to give half of it to
a poor Man.—(This is one of the most interesting pictures
in the whole collection.)
258. Antony van Dyck.
259. _Comte de Luck_, holding an orange in his hand.
260. Half-length Picture of a Man, with his hand on his breast.
261. The Picture of a Man in Black.
262. The _Ex-voto_ and the Virgin.
263. Jesus carrying his Cross.
264. The Portraits of Charles the First, Elector Palatine, and
Prince Robert his Brother, both in military dresses.
265. The Portrait of a Man on Foot, holding his daughter, who is
on horseback, by the hand.
266. The Portrait of a Lady and her Son.
267. The half-length Portrait of a Man of 37, having a glove on
his left hand.
268. Half-length Portrait of a young Woman, with a fan of feathers
in her hand.
269. John Richardot (president of the privy council of the
Netherlands), one of the negotiators sent by the king
of Spain to Vervins—died in 1609.
270. Portrait, in the shape of a bust, of a Man in a black Cloak.
271. Venus soliciting from Vulcan Arms for Æneas.
272. The taking down from the Cross, a sketch.

DYCK (PHILIP VAN) CALLED THE LITTLE VAN DYCK, PUPIL OF ARNOLD BOONEN.

No. 270. B. Sarah presenting Agar to Abraham.
271. B. Agar repudiated by Abraham, at the instigation of Sarah.
272. B. Judith giving to her Maid the Head of Holophernes.
273. A Woman at her Toilet.
274. A young Woman playing on the Guitar.

GYZEN (PETER.)

No. 295. A Village Holiday.—(A very laughable picture.)

HOLBEIN (HANS OR JOHN) PUPIL OF JOHN HOLBEIN, HIS FATHER.

No. 313. The Portrait of a Man, with a black Cat.
314. Thomas Moore (lord chancellor of England) beheaded by order
of Henry VIII.
315. The Portrait of a young Man carrying a Hawk.
316. The Sacrifice of Abraham.
317. A young Woman in a Necklace of Pearls, and a red Jacket.
318. Erasmus.
319. A young Woman with a yellow Veil.
320. Robert Cheeseman, at the age of 48, with a Hawk.
321. Master Nicholas Kratzer, astronomer of Henry VIII of England.
322. The Archbishop of Canterbury, painted in 1528, at the age of
70.
323. Ann of Cleves, wife of Henry VIII of England.—(Henry the
eighth married her on seeing this picture, but repudiated
her six months after, finding that her beauty by no means
equalled that which had been given her by the painter.)
324. The Portrait, in miniature, of Erasmus.

PAUL POTTER.

No. 446. Landscape, with Cattle.—(This is the picture in which I
particularly admired the exact and wonderful imitation
of Nature.)
447. A Meadow.
448. A Meadow watered by a River, in which animals are drinking
and men bathing.—(This is a charming picture.)
449. Oxen and Pigs in a Pasture, near a cottage.
450. Two Horses at a Trough, near the door of a public house. A
man brings them water.
451. A Field.—In the front, three cows are standing under an oak;
and, on the left, an ox with white and black spots.

REMBRANDT (VAN RYN PAUL.)

No. 455. The Head of a Man, with a hat ornamented with black feathers.
456. Portrait of Rembrandt in his youth, taken by himself.
457. The Head of a Woman, dressed in long ear-rings, and a fur
cloak.
458. The good Samaritan.
459. The Head of an old Man with a long beard, who is also bald.
460. A Jewish Bride.
461. The Head of a young Man with a black cap, and a golden chain
round his neck.
462. The meditating Philosopher.
463. The contemplating Philosopher.
464. Small Head of a Man, dressed in a straw bonnet.
465. The Family of a Joiner.
466. Tobias and Family prostrate before the angel Raphael, who
disappears from their sight, after making himself known.
467. Susannah at the Bath.
468. The Pilgrims of Emans, and the breaking of Bread.
469. The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple.
470. St. Matthew, the Evangelist.
471. The Portrait of Rembrandt, in a more advanced period of life
than that of 456.
472. Venus and Cupid.
473. An old Man at his Meditations.

RUBENS (PETER PAUL.)

No. 479. The Education of Mary of Medici.
480. The Lying in of Mary of Medici.
His celebrated picture of the Assumption has lately been put
up in the _Musée_.
481. The Happiness of Peace.
508. Adriana de Perès, wife of Nicholas Rockox, married in 1589,
died in 1619.
509. The Crucifixion of St. Peter.
510. Christ on the Cross, between the two Thieves, at the moment
when the centurion wounds him in the side.
511. The Last Supper.
512. The Adoration of the Kings, larger than life.
513. St. Roch interceding for the Persons afflicted with the
Plague.
514. St. Roch fed by his Dog.
N. B. I particularly recommend these last six pictures to
your attention. They are more than commonly beautiful.
515. St. Roch cured of the Plague by an Angel.
516. Christ dead in the Arms of his Father.
517. The Adoration of the Wise Men.—(An admirable picture.)
518. The Beheading of St. John the Baptist.
519. St. John the Evangelist thrown into a Copper of boiling Oil.
520. The Portrait of a Woman, dressed in a hat, and, holding a
bunch of roses in her hand.
521. Another Portrait of a Woman in black, her head uncovered,
and her hands crossed.
522. The Nativity of our Saviour, a sketch.
523. The Resurrection of Christ, a sketch.
524. Lot and his Family leaving Sodom, led by an Angel.
525. The Virgin and the Infant Jesus, surrounded with Innocents.
This is called the Virgin and the Angels.
526. The Kernesse, or Village Holiday.—(A very curious picture.)
527. The Descent from the Cross.
528. The Miraculous Draught of Fishes.
529. The Apostles finding in the Mouth of a Fish, the Piece of
Money necessary for the Payment of the Tribute.
530. The Angel, making the Young Tobias angle for the Fish, the
gall of which was to restore his Father’s sight.
531. The Portrait of a Princess, who appears to be Elizabeth of
Bourbon, Daughter of Henry the IVth, and Wife of Philip,
King of Spain.
532. The Triumph of Pomona.
533. Venus and Adonis.
534. A View of Malines.
535. A View of Cadiz.

TENIERS (THE YOUNGER DAVID.)

No. 575. The Smoker.
576. The Grinder.
577. Country people dancing to the sound of the Bagpipe.
578. The Works of Charity.
579. The Village Wedding.
580. The Preparations for a Repast.
581. Peter’s Denial of our Saviour.
582. A Landscape.
583. The inside of an Ale-house, with Persons playing at Cards.
584. The Prodigal Son at Table, with his Mistresses.—(In this
picture Teniers is supposed to have drawn himself and
his Family.)
585. Hern shooting.
586. The Alchymist in his Laboratory.
587. An old Man’s Head in a Fur Dress and Bonnet.
588. The inside of an Ale-house.

TENIERS (THE ELDER DAVID.)

No. 589. A Man playing on a Bagpipe.

ITALIAN SCHOOL.

GIO BENEDETTO CASTIGLIONE (CALLED AT GENOA, IL GRECHETTO, AND IN
FRANCE, THE BENDETTE.)

No. 689. The Nativity.
690. The Money-sellers driven from the Temple.
691. Melchisedec, King of Salem, offering Bread and Wine to
Abraham.
692. A Woman carrying a Vase on her head, an old Man, and an
African with a Turban on his head holding a copper plate.
693. In the middle of a Court a Woman carrying a Copper Vessel,
and an Ass loaded with Kitchen Furniture.
694. Jacob leaves Mesopotamia, in order to see his Father in
Canaan.
695. Bacchanalians and Satyrs resting, and playing on different
Instruments.

ALBANI (FRANCESCO.)

No. 660. The Birth of the Virgin.
661. Mystic Vision of the Cross.
662. Diana and Acteon.
663. The Holy Family.
664. The Rest in Egypt.
665. The Rest in Egypt.
666. St. Francis praying before a Crucifix.
667. God the Father in his Glory.
668. Adam and Eve.
669. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
670. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
671. Our Saviour appearing to Mary Magdalen.
672. The Baptism of Jesus in the Waters of Jordan.
673. The preaching of St. John in the Desert.
674. Apollo at the House of Admetus, King of Thessaly.
675. The Triumph of Cybele.
676. Fire.
677. Air.
678. Water.
679. Earth.
680. } The Loves and Graces at the Toilet of Venus.
681. }
682. }
683. }
684. Apollo and Daphne.
685. Salmacis and Hermaphroditus.

THE CARRACCI.

The four Elements by the three Carracci, that is to say,

No. 703. Earth, by Lodovico Carracci.
704. Water, by Lodovico Carracci.
705. Fire, by Agostino Carracci,
706. Air, by Annibale Carracci.

CARRACCI (AGOSTINO.)

No. 707. The Assumption of the Virgin.
708. St. Cæcilia and St. Marguerite.
709. The Communion of St. Jerom.
710. Hercules in his Cradle, strangling the Serpents.

CARRACCI (LODOVICO.)

No. 711. The Virgin, St. Francis, and St. Joseph.
712. St. Hyacinth, to whom the Virgin appears.
713. The vocation of St. Matthew.
714. St. John baptizing Christ.
715. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
716. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
717. The Virgin and the Infant Jesus.

CARRACCI (ANTONIO, NATURAL SON OF AGOSTINO CARRACCI.)

No. 718. The Deluge.

CARRACCI (ANNIBALE.)

No. 719. The Mother of Pity.
720. St. Luke, St. Catherine, and the Virgin.
721. Christ lying dead on the Knees of the Virgin.
722. The Birth of the Virgin.
723. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ.
724. The Resurrection of Jesus Christ,
725. Jesus asleep. This picture is commonly called, the Silence
of Carracci.
726. Fishing.
727. Hunting.
728. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
729. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.
730. Christ laid in his Tomb.
731. The Portrait of a learned Man.
732. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
733. Diana and Calisto.
734. The Martyrdom of St. Stephen.
735. The Martyrdom of St. Stephen.
736. A Concert on the Water.
737. The Preaching of St. John in the Desert.
738. The Annunciation of the Virgin.
739. The Assumption of the Virgin.
740. A Hermit meditating.
741. The Sacrifice of Abraham. A Landscape.
742. The Death of Absalom. A Landscape.

CARAVAGGIO (MICHAEL ANGELO AMERIGI, CALLED THE CARAVAGGE.)

No. 743. The Death of the Virgin.
744. Christ carried to the Grave.
745. Adolphus and Vignacourt.
746. A young Gipsy telling a young Man’s Fortune.
747. St. John the Baptist.
748. Wandering Musicians singing at the close of Evening, and at
the Corner of the Street, an Anthem to the Virgin.
N.B. It is doubtful whether this was the work of Caravaggio,
or of one of his pupils.

CAVEDONE (JAMES.)

No. 749. St. Eloi and St. Petronius.
750. St. Cæcilia singing the praises of the Lord.

CORREGIO (ANTONY ALLEGRI, CALLED THE CORREGE.)

No. 753. The Virgin, the Infant Jesus, the Magdalen, and St. Jerom.
754. The Rest in Egypt.
755. Antiope asleep.
756. The Marriage of St. Catherine.
757. The taking down from the Cross.
758. The Martyrdom of St. Placidus and St. Flavia.
759. The Infant St. John.
760. A Head of Christ crowned with Thorns.

DOMENICHINO (DOMENICO ZAMPIEN, CALLED IN FRANCE THE DOMENIQUEZ.)

No. 763. The Communion of St. Jerom.—(N.B. This admirable picture
appears to me the best in the collection.)
764. The Rosary protected by the Virgin.
765. The Martyrdom of St. Agnes.
766. David playing on the Harp.
767. Rinaldo and Armida.
768. Æneas saving his Father Anchises from the Ruins of Troy.
769. St. Cæcilia.
770. The Concert.
771. The Virgin and St. Antony of Padua.
772. The Virgin taking Water from a River with a Shell.
773. Timoclea before Alexander.
774. A Landscape.
775. A Landscape.
776. A Landscape.
777. God cursing Adam and Eve.
778. The Ecstacy of St. Paul.
779. The Triumph of Love.

FERRARI (GANDERTIO.)

No. 784. St. Paul the Apostle.
785. The Nativity of Jesus Christ.

GUIDO (RENI, CALLED IN FRANCE THE GUIDE.)

No. 797. The Crucifixion of St. Peter.
798. Christ giving the Keys to St. Peter.
799. St. Jerom, St. Thomas, and the Virgin.
800. Fortune.
801. David holding the Head of the Giant Goliah.
802. The Virgin, the Infant Jesus, and St. John kissing his Feet.
803. The Virgin holding the Infant Jesus asleep on her Knees.
804. The Union of Design and Colouring.
805. St. John the Baptist in the Desert.
806. The Magdalen.
807. The Magdalen.
808. St. Sebastian.
809. The Samaritan Woman.
810. Christ in the Garden of Olives.
811. Christ on the Cross, and the Magdalen.
812. A Head of Christ crowned with Thorns.
813. Hercules killing the Hydra.
814. The Battle of Hercules and Achelöus.
815. The taking away of Dejanira by Nessus.
816. Hercules on the Funeral Pile.
817. The Mother of Pity, with the Saints who protected the City
of Bologna.
818. St. Roch in his Prison.
819. The Massacre of the Innocents.
820. The Angelic Salutation.
821. The Purification of the Virgin.
822. The Sleep of the Infant Jesus.
823. The eternal Father.
824. St. John in the Wilderness.
825. The Rest in Egypt.
826. St. John.
827. The carrying away of Helen.

GUERCINO (GIO FRANCESCO BARBIERI, CALLED THE GUERCHIN.)

No. 829. The Picture of Guerchini, painted by himself.
830. The Magician Circe.
831. Jesus Christ giving the Keys to St. Peter.
832. The Martyrdom of St. Peter the Apostle.
833. The Resurrection of Lazarus.
834. The Infant Jesus, holding the Hand of his Mother, gives his
benediction.
835. The Incredulity of St. Thomas.
836. The Vision of St. Jerom.
837. Amnon and Thamar.
838. St. Theresa and Jesus Christ.
839. The Circumcision of Christ.
840. The beheading of St. John and St. Paul, under the Reign of
the Emperor Julian, called the Apostate.
841. The Vision of St. Bruno.
842. The Saints Protectors of the Town of Modena.
843. The Virgin appearing to St. Jerom.
844. St. Peter at his Prayers.
845. St. Paul holding the Sword with which he is about to be put
to Death.
846. St. Francis and St. Benoit.
847. St. William and St. Felix.
848. The Marriage of St. Catherine.
849. Herod’s Daughter receiving the Head of St. John the Baptist.
850. Christ appearing to the Virgin.
851. Conclusion of the Battle between the Romans and Sabines.

LANFRANCO (GIOVANNI LANFRANCO, CALLED THE LANFRANC.)

No. 854. Agar in the Desert.
855. The parting of St. Peter and St. Paul.
856. St. Bartholomew the Apostle.
857. St. Peter imploring the Pardon of his Master.
857. B. St. Peter deploring his Faults.
858. The crowning of the Virgin.

THE FOLLOWING ARE FROM THE ROMAN, FLORENTINE, AND VENETIAN SCHOOLS.

ALEXANDER VERONESE.

No. 910. The Adultress.

LEONARDO DA VINCI.

No. 921. The holy family accompanied by St. Michael, St. Elizabeth,
and St. John holding a Sheep.
922. The Virgin holding the Infant Jesus.
923. The Picture of Madame Lise.
924. The Picture of a Woman in black.

PAUL VERONESE.

No. 927. The Marriage of St. Catherine.

RAPHAEL.

No. 931. The Infant Jesus caressing St. John.
932. St. Michael subduing the Devil.
933. St. Michael combating Monsters. An allegorical painting.
934. St. George.
935. The Virgin, St. John, and the Infant Jesus asleep. (Commonly
called the Silence of the Virgin.)
936. The Vision of Ezekiel.
937. A young Man reflecting.
938. A young Man about fifteen or sixteen Years old.
To which pictures of Raphael has lately been added his
celebrated one of the Holy Family.

TITIAN (TIZIANO VECELLI.)

No. 940. The crowning with Thorns.
941. Christ carried to the Tomb.
942. Portrait of a Man in black.
943. Portrait of a Man in black.

LETTER III.

Paris, november the 10th, 1801 (19 brumaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my last letter attempted to describe the objects which
particularly attracted my notice on my first arrival, I shall in this
endeavour to satisfy the curiosity which you will naturally feel,
relative to the splendid _fête_ celebrated yesterday in honour of the
peace with England, and of the anniversary of the consular government.

The rejoicings may be said to have begun on the preceding evening; as
the cannon were fired, and the theatres thrown open to the public, with
the single exception of the italian opera, where was also represented
a musical piece, the words of which were in honour of the occasion. I
wished very much to have been present at one of the performances given
gratis to the people; but I was dissuaded from going there, by the
advice of some french friends, who assured me, that the attempt would be
attended with considerable danger. I therefore contented myself with
visiting the only _spectacle_[6] where money was received.

The company of italian actors usually occupies the _Théâtre Favart_, but
at present performs in a very beautiful little play-house belonging to
“la Société olympique,” situate in the street which was formerly known as
“la rue de Chante Reine;” but which, in honour of Bonaparte, (who resided
there while a private man) is now called “la rue de la Victoire.”

The entrance to this theatre is strikingly elegant and novel, consisting
of a circular piazza, in the middle of which is a grass plot. The
building is well proportioned; and the chandelier, by which it is
brilliantly lighted, extremely beautiful. The music seemed good; but the
female performers relied entirely on the charms of their voice; for I
never remember to have seen, on any other stage, such an assemblage of
ugly women as this presented. The audience consisted of the best company
at Paris; and I had the pleasure of seeing there madame Bonaparte, who
sat in the stage box, accompanied by mademoiselle Beauharnois, her
daughter, and by madame le Clerc, the consul’s sister. Bonaparte was also
said to be present, but being in a _loge grillé_, could not be perceived.

_Madame_, as far as I can judge from the distance at which I saw her, has
a mild, amiable countenance, which is universally allowed to be the just
picture of her disposition. Her person is elegant, and her appearance
altogether much like that of an english woman of fashion.

Mademoiselle Beauharnois[7] is a fair girl of sixteen or seventeen, and,
without being remarkably beautiful, is extremely interesting. Her manners
are modest; and her dress simple, and in good taste. Madame le Clerc[8]
is a very pretty little woman, and much admired at Paris.

Excuse this digression, into which I was led by naming the preparatory
rejoicings of the preceding evening. I proceed to the _fête_ itself.
The 18th of brumaire, that long expected day, began in clouds of rain.
The Parisians were _au désespoir_. Every body predicted, that the vast
preparations, which had been made for this jubilee, would be thrown away;
that the illumination would fail; in short, that the whole would be an
“_affaire manquée_[9].”

Those who ventured into the streets, notwithstanding the torrents of
rain, heard, on every side, “_quel mauvais temps! quel malheur! vraiment
c’est terrible—c’est affreux. La fête auroit été si belle, si ce diable
de pluie n’avait pas tombé_[10].”

The morning passed away without the faintest hopes of better weather,
and in mutual condolences on the loss of the _beau spectacle_, which had
been promised for this day. The rejoicings were to begin at four o’clock.
About three the weather suddenly changed, the clouds dispersed, the sky
became serene. It happened that this took place precisely at the moment,
when the first consul appeared at the window of the palace, and every
body agreed, that the favourable change was solely produced _par la bonne
fortune de Bonaparte_[11].

Indeed, it is not without some reason that this prejudice is entertained
by the public, and that Bonaparte has, on more occasions than one,
appealed to his good fortune. Great and transcendant as are the talents
of that extraordinary man, they are not more remarkable than the singular
concatenation of fortunate circumstances, which have uniformly attended
his progress through life. Possessed of the former, unaccompanied by the
latter, he would have probably become a distinguished character, but he
never could have reached that summit of grandeur, where he is at present
so securely seated.

I return to my subject. The signal for the commencement of the _fête_
was the departure of a balloon, in which monsieur and madame Garnerin
ascended, at half past four o’clock, through a clear sky, which no longer
bore any marks of the tempestuous weather of the morning. After the
balloon had attained a certain height, a parachute was sent down, and
the live animal which it contained reached the ground in safety. I was
fortunate enough to dine this day with a family[12] who reside in what
was first called “la Garde-meuble,” then “la place de Louis XV,” for some
time the seat of so many legal murders, under the appellation of “de la
Revolution,” and now styled, in honour of the present government, “_de
la Concorde_.” As the principal rejoicings were to take place in this
spot, I could not have been better situate. We dined in a back room;
and during the short time which we passed at table (for a french dinner
seldom exceeds an hour), the lamps had been lighted. Never shall I forget
the splendid sight, which appeared to have been almost produced by magic,
and which burst on us in returning to the salon (or _drawing room_),
the windows of which command an extensive view of the _place de la
Concorde_, of the bridge of Louis XVI, of the palace or hospital of _les
Invalides_, of the Thuilleries, of the palace of the _Corps Législatif_,
formerly called “_de Bourbon_,” of the river, and of several buildings
in the _Fauxbourg St. Germain_. All these striking objects were now one
blaze of light. My eyes were so dazzled with the scene which presented
itself, that it was some time before I could take a distinct view of each
particular beauty. The public edifices I have named, all of which are of
the finest architecture, covered with innumerable lamps, arranged with
the greatest taste, and which being of different heights, seemed to rise
the one above the other; and the majestic domes splendidly illuminated,
and extending the blaze of light as far as the eye could reach, formed
altogether a _coup d’œil_, which may be conceived, but which cannot be
described. I had scarcely recovered from the surprise and admiration,
which this sight produced, when the pantomime, intended to represent the
horrors of war, and the happiness of peace, began under the colonnade
where it was my good fortune to be seated.

I must confess, that this farce appeared to me ridiculous, and equally
unworthy the great nation which gave the _fête_, and the important
event which it was intended to celebrate. Sham combats, falling towers,
wounded heroes, devils with torches, allegorical emblems of Discord, &c.,
followed by cornucopias, dancing peasants, cars of triumph, and lastly,
by an illuminated temple of peace, which rose on the ruins of that of
war, formed the principal entertainment. I think you will agree with me,
that such a _spectacle_ was better calculated for the stage of Sadler’s
Wells in London, or the _Ambigu-comique_ at Paris, than for the principal
object of a great and national festival. Simple and plain as is this
reflection, it did not seem to strike any of the french spectators, and
the wisest of them looked on without disgust, and almost with admiration,
on that which, instead of commemorating the most important event which
Europe has seen for many years, appeared to the eye of reason only suited
to entertain the dotage of age, or the simplicity of infancy.

If the pantomime were not very deserving of praise, it forms a single
exception; and I can assure you, with great truth, that every other
part of the _fête_ was truly magnificent. As no carriage was allowed to
roll that evening (a laudable precaution, taken on all such occasions
at Paris), and as the fireworks were to take place on the river, at
some distance from the house where I dined, it was necessary to pass on
foot, through the vast crowd which filled _la place de la Concorde_,
the walks of the Thuilleries, the bridges, the streets, &c. Yet such
was the order that was preserved, and such the tranquillity of the
people, that, accompanied by my wife and one gentleman, I made my way, I
suppose, through nearly a million of people, without the least accident,
and with certainly not more crowding than is daily experienced at a
private fashionable ball in London. What astonished me most, indeed, the
whole day, was the dead calm which prevailed among the spectators. They
looked on, walked about, and seemed entertained with the shows which
were exhibited; yet no cries of triumph, no shouts of joy, expressed the
public satisfaction. The apathy which prevails in this country on all
public events, and which has succeeded to the fever of popular violence,
is strikingly apparent on all occasions, but on none more than this.

During my walk, I passed through the garden of the Thuilleries. The
alleys were brilliantly decorated with rows of lamps, suspended on frames
constructed for the purpose; and the palace was itself, if possible,
still more resplendent. The whole had the appearance of an enchanted
castle. From a house on the _quai Voltaire_, I saw the fireworks to
great advantage; and they appeared to me, accustomed only to such as are
exhibited in England, extremely beautiful. What pleased me most in the
display, was a contrivance, by which the fire seemed to rise from the
water; an ingenious and elegant idea, by which the inventor probably
meant to represent allegorically, by the union of opposing elements,
the reconciliation of two nations, always the rivals, and so long the
enemies, of each other. There was a temple of commerce on the river, and
little boats, with pendants of different nations. All this I consider
as forming a second act to the pantomime exhibited on the _place de la
Concorde_, and which I have already ventured to condemn. Both appeared,
to an english eye, insignificant, if not ridiculous.

The fireworks appeared to me as perfect as possible; but there was some
discontent expressed by the persons near me, that what is called a
_bouquet_, with which they were to have concluded, was not displayed.
This disappointment was attributed by some to a want of skill in the
manager, and by others to an order of government, arising from a fear of
danger to the adjoining buildings.

I cannot pretend to determine this _important_ question; but I must be
permitted to say, that if the parisians were not satisfied with this
day’s amusement, they must be very unreasonable indeed in their pursuit
of _spectacles_.

I returned home about eleven at night, much delighted with what I had
seen; and though Mrs. ⸺ and myself were again obliged to pass through
this mighty crowd, we neither of us experienced the slightest hurt, or
the least incivility.

I was in hopes to have been able to add, that the day passed over without
the most trifling accident; but I have, unfortunately, just received
the melancholy news, that Mr. ⸺, an english gentleman, fell from a
scaffolding, where he had placed himself to see the fireworks, and is
so dreadfully wounded, as to render the hopes of his recovery highly
improbable.

I understand, that the accident took place very near the Thuilleries,
and that the first consul, with laudable humanity, sent every proper
assistance to our unfortunate countryman, who is now attended by the
physician and surgeon particularly attached to the family of Bonaparte.
Most ardently do I hope, that their skill and care may be attended with
success; but I am told, this is more than they expect themselves.

Adieu, my dear friend. I am sorry to send you so imperfect an account of
one of the finest sights, perhaps, ever exhibited in Europe; but I do
not excel in description at any time, and what I have attempted on this
occasion, would baffle the ablest pen.

I am, &c.

_POSTSCRIPT._

The unfortunate Mr. ⸺, mentioned in this letter, languished three weeks
in agony, and at last expired, in the arms of a young and beautiful wife,
who had accompanied him in this ill fated journey, (the sole object
of which was the sight of a festival, which had to him so tragical a
conclusion), who attended him, with exemplary patience and unceasing
care, during his illness, and who, after receiving his last breath,
herself conveyed his remains to his native country. To add to the
calamity of this unfortunate and amiable woman, she had not a friend, or
even an acquaintance, of either sex, at Paris; and in the discharge of
the painful and pious offices I have mentioned, her only assistant was
Mr. Peregaux, her banker, who, I am told, afforded her every consolation
in his power.—Though I did not know this lady, her story made a deep
impression on my mind, and for some days I could not divest myself of the
melancholy it created.

LETTER IV.

State of society at Paris.—The three sets, _l’ancienne
noblesse_, the governmental class, and _les parvenus ou
nouveaux riches_.—Description of a house belonging to one of
the latter.

Paris, november the 19th, 1801 (28th brumaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

My two last letters were filled with details of pictures, statues,
pantomimes, and _fêtes_. In this, I shall only speak to you of men and
manners.

Visiting Paris after a revolution which has produced such extraordinary
alterations in the laws, customs, and opinions of the people, I expected
to find an equal change in the state of society. A great change has
certainly taken place, but the change is of a different nature from
what I foresaw. An english lady, of much wit, said to me the other day,
“When I arrived at Paris, I expected to meet with philosophers in every
society, and to hear nothing discussed but subjects of the highest
import. Alas! how have I been disappointed!” As to me, I entertained no
such idea; but I certainly supposed that the political events in which
every person had been forced, in one way or other, to act a part, would
have accustomed the minds of men to such a variance of opinion, that all
subjects would be canvassed with liberality, and that, whatever might be
the sentiments of an individual, he would be heard with tolerance.

The lady I have mentioned was not more mistaken than I have been.
There is no country under the sun, where less freedom is allowed in
conversation. I do not mean to say, that the government checks or
interferes with what passes in private society; on the contrary, I have
more than once heard in company remarks made at the expense of persons
in power, which even in England would be thought inflammatory: but what
I complain of is, that in every circle there is a certain creed, or
string of opinions, from which, if one of the company were to venture to
dissent, he would be considered as “_de mauvaise compagnie_[13].” These
opinions are not confined to the affairs of France, but extend themselves
to those of England; and in the societies where I have been thrown, I
have been more than once suspected of jacobinism, for not joining in a
philippic against Mr. Fox, or in an eulogy on lord Grenville.

As to society, it appears to me, that there are three great divisions,
or principal classes, at Paris. The first, in point of antiquity, and
perhaps still of public opinion (for, notwithstanding all the laws to the
contrary, family prejudices are as strong as ever in France), is that of
_l’ancienne noblesse_[14], who separate themselves almost entirely from
the other classes, and live together at the houses of such of their body,
as are still rich enough to give assemblies. The second, which I shall
call the governmental set, consists of the ministers, of the counsellors
of state, of the ambassadors, of the senators, legislators, tribunes, &c.
in short, of all the constituted authorities. The third class is what
the pride of the first denominates “les parvenus ou nouveaux riches;”
consisting of the wealthiest individuals now in France; of persons,
who, taking advantage of the circumstances which have occurred, have
enriched themselves during the general wreck of private fortunes and
public credit. Army contracts, national estates, and speculations in
the funds, have afforded the means, by which many of these individuals
have accumulated overgrown fortunes; but several respectable merchants,
bankers, and other commercial men, are unjustly confounded with these,
and, under the general name of “fournisseurs[15],” held up to public
contempt.

The first class are still affluent, when spoken of as a body, though
few of them have individually large incomes. A distinguished person,
connected with the government, and to whom the most important acts of
state have been specially entrusted, assures me, that the old proprietors
still hold two thirds of the landed estates of France; though, in
consequence of the heavy taxes[16] laid on them during the Revolution, by
the loss of their woods, of their feudal rights, and of public offices
which had become almost hereditary in their families, (not to mention
the present law of descent, by which all children inherit equally),
their incomes, though in different degrees, are, in every case, greatly
diminished.

Some of the old _noblesse_, notwithstanding their misfortunes, still
live with considerable splendour, and have houses “_bien montées_” in
which they give balls and parties. The most distinguished of these are
madame la ⸺ de ⸺, and madame ⸺, who have each an assembly once in every
week. A _ci-devant comtesse_, belonging to the society, requested the
permission of introducing to these houses an english lady, of whom it
will be sufficient to say, that though not of exalted rank, she was
unexceptionable in every respect, in birth, in character, in fortune, in
person, and in situation of life. I think you will be as much surprised,
and as much irritated, as I was, when I add, that this _mighty_ favour
was, in both instances, refused. The reason assigned for this strange
want of hospitality, has induced me to mention the fact. The lady in
question, having been accustomed to the highest circles in her own
country, and discovering, for the first time, in this land of “liberty
and equality,” the humble distance at which the wife of a commoner ought
to regard the chaste and learned festivals of aristocracy, could not help
expressing her surprise, if not her anger, to the french friend, who
had made the application. “Je suis bien fachée[17],” replied madame la
comtesse! “_mais pour vous dire la vérité_, the _emigrés_ were treated
with so little kindness in London, I mean, by the gentlemen and ladies
there (for there is no complaint against your government), that it is
impossible to persuade their relations to receive the english _chez
eux_[18]—_vraiment je suis au désespoir_.”

I am unwilling to think, that such is the general language of the body
of emigrants. I know, that there are amongst them men of nice honour,
of noble sentiments, and of dignified demeanour; and I have heard some
speak, as they ought, of the hospitality they experienced in England:
but if there be any who attempt to separate the british government from
the inhabitants of the country, I must beg leave to remind them, that
it was the english people, from whose pockets that money was drawn, by
which in their misfortunes, they were supported; and that, happily for
us, our government is so constructed, that unless the popular voice
had sanctioned the laudable humanity of government, not even Mr. Pitt
could have afforded them that assistance, which, in every instance, they
received from England. As to their reception by individuals in Great
Britain, I must be permitted to observe, that such of the emigrants
as dignified the poverty (into which they were cruelly thrown) by
the propriety of their conduct, found generally, if not universally,
that respect, to which their dreadful reverse of fortune, and their
honourable industry, equally entitled them. Those who sought in beggary,
in gambling, or in importunate solicitation, a dishonest and precarious
existence, ought not to complain of an exclusion from society, which
was alone produced by the impropriety of their own conduct. I hope the
complaints against english hospitality come from the latter class; if
so, the sensible and liberal french will know how to appreciate their
evidence. If from the former⸺but I will not put an hypothesis, which
would appear to doubt the gratitude of men, whose former lives entitle
them to esteem.

Begging your pardon for this digression, into which I was involuntarily
led, I return to the societies of Paris.

The second class, which I call the governmental, is the most polite to
strangers. The second consul has a splendid party every week; and each of
the ministers has a day, to which all foreigners may be taken by their
respective ministers, after they have been presented at the Thuilleries.

_Le Brun_, the third consul, frequently gives dinners; and english
parties, who have been invited, assure me, that they are particularly
pleasant. He is a man of great literary acquirements, and the
conversation, at his table generally takes a superiour turn.

The ministerial assemblies are crowded; but the houses are large, the
attendance good, and the uniforms of the constituted authorities, and the
full dress of the ambassadors, give, altogether, a splendour to these
meetings, which no others at Paris possess.

The third class—I mean, that of “_the parvenus_[19]”—if not the most
elegant, or the most esteemed, is, at least, the most luxurious. Nothing
can exceed the splendour of the persons of this description. The
furniture of their houses, the dress of their wives, their table, their
plate, their villas, in short, all the “_agrémens_” of life, are in the
highest style of oriental magnificence.

To give you some idea of their manner of living, I will describe to you
the house of madame ⸺, which I yesterday obtained the permission of
seeing, in her absence.

The house is situate in a street leading from the Boulevard, and is
approached by a fine court, of considerable length. The back of the house
looks on a very pretty garden, arranged _à l’angloise_. It was formerly
the residence of a minister of state.

The drawing room, and _salle à manger_[20], were not yet finished. The
furniture prepared for them was rich. I did not think it particularly
beautiful; but the bed room, and bathing cabinet, exceeded in luxury
every thing which I ever beheld, or even ventured to imagine. The canopy
of the bed was of the finest muslin, the covering of pink satin, the
frame of beautiful mahogany, supported by figures in gold of antique
shapes. The steps, which led to this delicious couch, were covered with
red velvet, ornamented on each side with artificial flowers, highly
scented. On one side stood, on a pedestal, a marble statue of Silence,
with this inscription:

“TUTATUR SOMNOS ET AMORES CONSCIA LECTI[21].”

On the other, a very lofty gold stand, for a taper or lamp. A fine mirror
filled up one side of the bed, and was reflected by one at the top,
and another at the opposite side of the room. The walls were covered
with mahogany, relieved with gold borders, and now and then with glass.
The whole in excellent taste. The bathing cabinet, which adjoined, was
equally luxurious. The bath, when not in use, forms a sofa, covered with
kerseymere edged with gold: and the whole of this cabinet is as pretty as
the bed room. Beyond this room is the bed chamber of _monsieur_, plain,
neat, and unaffected; and on the other side a little closet, covered
with green silk, and opening on the garden, in which _madame_ sits, when
she amuses herself with drawing. To conclude, I find the “loves,” which
“Silence guards,” and of which this paphian seat is the witness, are
those of January and May; for the wife is twenty (the greatest beauty of
Paris), and the husband something less than sixty.

I have made my letter of a most unpardonable length, and yet my subject
is not complete. I will, however, stop for the present, only requesting
your permission, when I have the opportunity, of adding such details,
as I may be able to collect, relative to the different societies I have
mentioned. Before I conclude, I ought, perhaps, to mention, that the
generals are seen both in the second and third classes, but rarely in the
first. Subalterns do not mix in society, at least, I have not yet met one
in company.

Adieu.

LETTER V.

Opening of the legislative body.—Election of the
president.—Lord Cornwallis.—Reflections of the people in the
gallery.

Paris, november the 23d, 1801 (2 frimaire).

MY DEAR SIR,

Yesterday being the first of “frimaire,” the day on which, by the present
constitution, the legislature and tribunate begin their session, I
determined to attend the opening of the former.

As I was not acquainted with any of the members, I was obliged, by
means of a _silver ticket_, to seek admittance in one of the galleries
devoted to the public. The legislative body holds its sittings in the
beautiful palace, now called by its name, but better known by its
former one, of _Palais Bourbon_. It is situate in the _Fauxbourg St.
Germain_, immediately fronting _le pont Louis XVI_, and opposite the
_Champs Elisées_. The hall, in which the members assemble, is a very fine
room, in which the council of five hundred sat during the directorial
government. It is large, of an octagon shape, and would be admirably
suited to the purpose, for which it is used, did not its extreme height
and arched roof prevent even the strongest voice from being distinctly
heard. To remedy this defect, green baize is suspended on several parts
of the wall; but the evil is but little removed by this precaution.
The first thing which attracted my attention, was the military parade,
in which the members entered the room, and the regimental _costume_,
in which they were dressed. Drums and fifes announced their approach;
and a guard of honour (for both the corps législatif and the tribunate
have each a regiment) preceded them. The members wear a uniform of blue
cloth, embroidered with gold, a tricoloured sash, hussar boots, and
a cocked hat, both laced with gold. To an english eye, they had more
the appearance of naval officers than of legislators. The meeting was
opened by the minister of the _interieur_, who ascending the tribune
(or rostrum,) congratulated in a short speech, the corps législatif on
commencing its session, at a moment when the restoration of peace with
all the world confirmed the victories, and completed the happiness of
the republic. The eldest member then took the chair, and declared the
meeting legally constituted. They next proceeded to choose a president.
Scrutineers were appointed to examine the votes, which were given in the
following manner: The names of the members were alphabetically called
over, and each in his turn placed a written paper, containing the name
of the person whom he chose into one of four vases, which were placed on
the table for that purpose. When all the members had voted, the four
vases were placed on as many different tables, and each examined by an
equal number of scrutineers. These counted the votes, and conveyed the
result to the temporary president, who, after comparing them together,
declared that _Dupuis_, having an absolute majority of 133 voices, was
duly elected. The former then left the _fauteuil_[22], to which the
latter was instantly conducted. On taking the chair, Dupuis ordered
messages to be sent to the consuls and tribunate, acquainting them, that
the _corps législatif_ was definitively constituted, and was ready to
receive the messengers of the government. He then drew from his pocket a
written paper, and read a speech, in which he congratulated the meeting
on the happy auspices under which it began its session. He had scarcely
finished, when the sound of drum and fife announced the arrival of three
counsellors of state, with a message from the government. They were
preceded by _huissiers_, or ushers, in Spanish hats, with three plumes of
different colours, and were dressed themselves in their _grand costume_
of scarlet cloth, embroidered with silk of the same colour. One of them
then ascended the rostrum, and read a short speech, declaring what the
consuls had done, and what still further they proposed. He congratulated
the legislature on the peace, and reminded the members, that the war
being now over, they could devote their whole time to the happiness and
tranquillity of the people. He concluded with complimenting the assembly
on the conduct which they had pursued in their last session, and which,
he said, they would doubtless continue in that which was now begun. The
president assured him, in reply, that the legislative body would, on all
occasions, be ready to assist the views of government in promoting the
glory, the peace, and the happiness of the nation.

The counsellors of state then retired, and the president read the
_procès-verbal_ of the proceedings and appointments of the _sénat
conservateur_, as likewise several letters; some from members, with
excuses for nonattendance; others with resignations; and some from
authors, presenting books, almanacks, &c. to the legislature. The title
of one dedication entertained me not a little. It was addressed, “_Au
Corps Législatif, au premier Consul_, et à madame Bonaparte[23].” We
may conclude, that the writer was at once a republican and a courtier.
Inconsistencies are often reconciled in France.

After these letters had been read, the meeting was closed. The austrian,
english, swedish, and other ambassadors, were present, in a box
appropriated to their use. The venerable appearance and military dress of
my lord Cornwallis delighted the parisians; and my national vanity was
not a little gratified, by the favourable comparison which the people
around me drew between his lordship and the other foreign ministers.
“_Oui, oui, ce grand est milord Cornvalis. Il a bonne mine. Il a l’air
militaire. Il a servi, n’est il pas vrai, monsieur? C’est un galant
homme, regardez ce petit à côtè, quelle différence! quelle mauvaise
tournure, &c[24]._”

I believe, indeed, that, on every account, we have reason to be satisfied
with the choice which our government has made of the noble marquis. While
in exteriors he satisfies the curiosity of the french, and the pride
of the english, he gives, by the respectability of his character, the
dignity of his deportment, and the known moderation of his principles,
the surest pledge of the pacific intentions of the sovereign, whom he so
worthily represents.

Before I conclude this long account, I must mention, with regret, that
the persons in the gallery where I sat, spoke with the most sovereign
contempt of the legislative body. “Ils font bien[25],” said one man,
alluding to the boots, which constitute part of their dress; “de porter
des bottes. C’est un habit de voyage—ils ne resteront pas ici long
temps.”—“_Nous les payons 10,000 francs_[26],” said another, “_pour ne
faire rien, je suis étonné que Bonaparte ne se débarasse pas de ces gens
là._”—“_Je crois bien_,” cried a third, addressing himself to me, “_que
monsieur votre ambassadeur a un revenu à lui plus grand, que celui de
tous ces gaillards ensemble. Sans leur traitement de législateur ils
mouraient de faim[27]._”

It is contrary to my plan to enter on any political subjects, or
the strange levity of these remarks would lead to some very serious
reflections. I only give you this _chit chat_ of the _peuple
souverain_[28], as characteristic of the french, and of the present order
of public affairs.

I am, &c.

LETTER VI.

Paris, december the 1st, 1801 (10 frimaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I had this morning so high a mental treat, that I cannot help
communicating to you the particulars without delay, in the hope of being
able, while my mind is strongly impressed with the subject, to convey to
you some faint idea of the pleasure which I received.

I shall not now speak to you of splendid buildings, of glorious monuments
of human ingenuity, of renowned heroes, or of brilliant festivals. What
I saw to day interested me, and I am sure would have interested you,
much more than all such objects united; I mean, the _institution des
sourd-muets_ (that humane establishment for the instruction of the deaf
and dumb), first founded under the care of the abbé l’Epée, and now
conducted by his worthy successor, the abbé Sicard.

Having tickets offered me for an extraordinary meeting, which took place
this morning, I willingly availed myself of the opportunity, and at ten
o’clock repaired to _la rue St. Jacques_, where, in a former convent,
this beneficent establishment is carried on. Here I found a large
assemblage of respectable persons, who all listened, with pleasure and
attention, to the simple, plain, and unaffected manner, in which the abbé
Sicard explained his method of giving to the deaf and dumb the means of
expressing their thoughts. “As foreigners,” said he, “unacquainted with
the language of the country which they visit, are supposed stupid and
ignorant by the uninformed, so the deaf and dumb are often considered as
idiots, because they are deprived of one sense. No,” continued he, “they
are not idiots; they have ideas as well as you, and only want an organ to
express them.” He then went on to state, that in most educations children
are taught first to speak, and then, _sometimes_, to think; whereas,
in his plan, he began first by teaching his pupils to think, and then
proceeded to instruct them how to express what they had so thought[29].

To exemplify both his plan and his success, he examined Massieu, his
favourite and ablest pupil, a young man, about twenty or twenty five
years old. As soon as the abbé expressed, by his gestures, any particular
passion, Massieu instantly wrote the word appropriate to the peculiar
feeling, and then explained the meaning of the word he had written, with
a vivacity of action, and a variety of countenance, which I never before
witnessed in any human being. He next wrote on the wall, with great
rapidity, the chain of ideas, by which the abbé Sicard regularly advances
his scholars, from the expression of a simple thought, to one of greater
import. Thus, beginning with the word “voir,” to see, he ended, going on
by regular steps, with the word “examiner,” to examine; beginning with
“idéer,” (a word created by Massieu, but answering to “_avoir idée_,”
or to have an idea), he ended with “approfondir,” to search into; and
beginning with “vouloir,” to will, he ended with “brûler,” to burn with
passion. Massieu expressed, with wonderful fire, the meaning of each
progressive passion, in the changes of his countenance, which, when
animated, is uncommonly fine.

In the course of this meeting, the _abbé Sicard_ likewise examined, for
the first time, a young woman, now eighteen, who, at six years old,
had become entirely deaf, and who could now only speak such words as
she had learnt at that tender age, many of which she still pronounced
imperfectly, and as children are apt to do. He began with showing us a
memorandum, or washing bill, in which this girl had drawn her gowns,
petticoats, &c. according to the different forms of these articles.
Massieu then, by direction of the _abbé_, drew on the wall different
things of common use; to some of these she applied their proper names,
some she did not know, and others she mispronounced. The latter defect
M. Sicard immediately removed, by pronouncing the word himself, teaching
her by signs to move her lips, as he did, by blowing on the hand, and
by touching some particular fibres of the arm. I cannot satisfactorily
explain this operation; but it will, perhaps, be sufficient to observe,
that the _abbé_, more than once, said, “by such and such motions, I will
produce such and such sounds;” and that, as soon as the girl had imitated
the motions he made, she articulated the words, as he had previously
promised.

The more I saw of this institution, the more was I delighted. There were
forty or fifty children present, who, born deaf and dumb, were, by the
wonderful skill and unceasing care of the respectable _abbé_, restored
to society, to happiness, and themselves. They were seated in different
parts of the room, and conversed with each other, though at the greatest
distance, by the means of their fingers, which were in constant motion.
They had every appearance of enjoying good health, spirits, and vivacity.

There are all kinds of workshops, manufactures, and schools, in the house
of the _sourd-muets_, and the establishment is entirely maintained at the
expense of the government. Massieu, I hear, has displayed strong symptoms
of genius, and has even written some very beautiful verses.

How admirable is this institution! How honourable to the ingenuity and
the heart of man! to restore to all the enjoyments of life, and to the
dignity of rational beings, hapless creatures, doomed by the caprice of
Nature to inexpressible feeling and irremediable ignorance, is perhaps
the highest and proudest effort of human contrivance.

Of all which I have yet beheld at Paris, this is to me the most
interesting sight. Other objects strike the imagination, but this moves
the heart. Farewell, my dear sir, the night is far advanced; but I could
not place my head on the pillow, till I had attempted to communicate to
you, how much I had been pleased with this admirable and philanthropic
institution.

I am, &c.

LETTER VII.

A _thé_ or evening party.—French remarks on Shakspeare, and Mr.
Fox.—Dullness and pedantry of parisian society.

Paris, december 3d, 1801 (3 frimaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I have just received your last letter, and as you complain, that I am
not sufficiently minute in my descriptions of private society, I will
endeavour to satisfy your curiosity, by giving a faithful account of an
assembly, or _thé_, as it is called here, to which I was invited a few
evenings since.

The lady, at whose house this entertainment was given, belonged to
the old court; but having remained in France during the whole of the
revolution, has preserved her property. I drove to her hotel, about eight
in the evening, and after passing through a dark and dirty antichamber,
in which her servants and those of her guests sat very quietly, while
I passed, without moving from their seats, I found my way, not without
difficulty, into the “_salon_,” or drawing room: In this apartment, the
walls of which bore the faint semblance of having been painted white,
some thirty years before, and on which shattered remnants of tarnished
gold might still be discovered, I perceived near the fire, the lady
of the mansion. She half rose from her seat, as I approached, and
after a short “bon jour monsieur,” continued in a whisper, an earnest
conversation, in which she was engaged with an old gentleman, who,
as I have since learnt, was a _ci-devant duke_, lately returned from
emigration. As I was left entirely to myself, (for I was introduced to no
one) I had ample time to examine every thing around me. The room, sombre
in itself, was rendered still more so, by a patent lamp suspended in the
middle, which was the only light I perceived, and which simply answered
the purpose of making “darkness visible.”

There were about twenty or thirty persons assembled, of different ages,
and of different sexes. Having heard so much of french gayety, I was
astonished at the melancholy countenances I saw around me, and at the
general stupidity of this party. In one corner was placed a whist table,
at which, two _ci-devant_ countesses, a member of _l’ancienne académie
française_, and a former _financier_ were disputing for _sous_. There
were round the fire, two rows of _fauteuils_, or arm chairs, in which
the ladies not occupied with cards, were seated in awful state. Two or
three young men dressed _à l’anglaise_, with the preposterous addition of
immense neckcloths, ear rings, and half a dozen under waistcoats, lounged
about the middle of the room, and now and then caught a glimpse at their
favourite persons, in an adjoining glass. The fire was monopolized by a
party of zealous disputants, who, turning their backs to the company,
and talking all together, formed a separate group, or rather a debating
society, round the chimney. From the loudness of their voices, and the
violence of their gestures, I supposed they were discussing some great
national question, and expecting to gain much useful intelligence,
listened with all the painful attention of extreme curiosity. I soon
discovered, to my no small astonishment, that it was not the fate of the
nation, but the accuracy of an expression, which excited their zeal. The
abbé Delille had, it seems, in a poem lately published, used this phrase,

“Je n’entends que silence, je ne vois que la nuit[30].”

Whether it was possible “to hear silence,” and “see night,” was the great
subject of dispute: and the metaphysical distinctions, nice definitions,
and pedantic remarks, which this question excited, formed a curious
specimen of the french character. Some of the ladies joined in the
debate; and I know not to what height it might have been carried, had
not the arrival of the _thé_ interrupted the orators, and stopped the
conversation, with a subject more agreeable to the general taste.

At twelve o’clock, the beverage I have mentioned, which the french think
unwholesome at all times, and which even the english fear to take at so
late an hour, was placed near the fire, on a large table, surrounded with
cakes, creams, custards, a large tureen of soup, and a bowl of punch, the
party crowded round the table, and helped themselves to the refreshments
it contained. When the ceremony was over, those who did not return to the
card tables, entered into conversation; and as literary subjects were
still the favourite theme, a young man, with a pompous manner, and a
solemn tone of voice, said, addressing himself to me, “Is it true, sir,
that there are englishmen, so blinded by national prejudice, as to prefer
_votre bizarre_ Shakspeare[31], to our divine Racine?” Endeavouring to
avoid a discussion, which I knew the answer I was inclined to give would
create, I contented myself with observing, that Shakspeare and Racine
were such different authors, that it was absurd to compare them. “As
well,” said I, “might you draw a resemblance between the beauties of
Switzerland, and those of Versailles.” “The proper simile,” retorted the
first speaker, “would be between Versailles and a barren heath, on which
some few beautiful plants may have been accidentally scattered, by the
capricious hand of nature.” The whole circle joined in the triumph,
which my antagonist supposed he had gained, and I in vain attempted
to recapitulate, and to translate some of the striking passages of
Shakespear. Though all condemned our “heaven-inspired poet,” I soon
perceived, that few had ever read, and none understood the sublime work
which they presumed to criticise.

“Speaking of english authors,” cried the member of the ci-devant académie
française, “makes one think of english orators. I see, by Chateau-Brian’s
account of England, that the cause of Mr. Fox’s retirement from
parliament, has been at last discovered; and that it arose from his
mental powers having been weakened by the effect of excessive drinking.
To this I suppose one must attribute his late unwarrantable attack on the
house of Bourbon.”

Astonished at this extraordinary assertion, I took the liberty of
assuring the gentleman, that Mr. Fox’s talents were as perfect as
ever, and that his last speech was one of the finest efforts of human
reasoning. “_Pardonnez_,” cried the academician. “Mr. Fox could never
reason. He was indeed once a fine declaimer, but as to the powers
of argument, he never possessed them.” I was ridiculous enough to
combat this absurd opinion, and to assure him, that there was not an
englishman, (whatever his political sentiments might be) who would not
willingly bear testimony to the wonderful argumentative talents of the
extraordinary man in question.

I talked in vain, the whole company joined with the academician, who
_pour toute réponse_[32], said, “_C’est Mr. Pitt, qui sait raisonner,
mais pour Mr. Fox il déclame joliment, voilà tout son talent. Vous me
permetterez_ de savoir!” assuming a look of great dignity, “_parceque_
c’est moi _qui ai traduit ses discours._” So saying, he turned away, and
soon after the company dispersed.

Can I give you a stronger instance of the _taste_ and _justice_, with
which the french pronounce on the merits of our authors, and public
characters?

If Shakspeare is not a poet, nor Mr. Fox an orator, where are we to look
for examples of perfection?

Thus it is on every subject in this country. The french suppose, that
they understand english books, and english politics, much better than we
do; and this is not the first lesson which I have received. I have often
been contradicted on constitutional, as well as literary questions; and
I have always found, that the company supported not the opinion of the
native, whose local knowledge deserved some little credit, but the bold
assertion of their countryman, who was generally believed and applauded,
in proportion to the extravagance and singularity of the doctrine which
he laid down.

I forgot to mention, that great offence being taken at Mr. Fox’s remarks
on the old government, a gentleman took great pains to persuade me, that
_l’ancien régime_ was the freest constitution under the sun. You will not
be surprised to hear, that he did not make me a convert to his opinion,
and that I assured him, if such was a free government, I hoped it would
be long, very long, before England should possess it.

This evening’s entertainment gave me altogether but a very unfavourable
opinion, both of french society, french taste, and french gallantry.
There was no mirth, no general conversation, and scarcely any
intercourse between the men and women. As to Mrs. ⸺, she was left to
the uninterrupted enjoyment of her own thoughts, for no person took the
trouble of addressing her. Her english dress, however, did not escape the
criticism of the ladies; and my pronunciation was equally a source of
amusement to the gentlemen. I shall only add, that if this be a specimen
of french society, I may obtain much information at Paris; yet I shall
certainly receive but little pleasure from my journey.

I am, &c.

LETTER VIII.

Bonaparte.—The monthly review or parade in the court of the
Thuilleries.

Paris, december the 6th, 1801, (15 frimaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

My curiosity is at last gratified. I have seen Bonaparte. You will
readily conceive how much pleasure I felt to day, in beholding, for the
first time, this extraordinary man, on whose single exertions the fate of
France, and in many respects that of Europe, has for some time depended.

I was fortunate enough to obtain places in one of the apartments of
_Duroc_, the governor of the palace, from the windows of which I saw
the review to the greatest advantage. It is impossible to describe the
impatience with which we awaited the appearance of Bonaparte. Mrs. ⸺ well
observed, that her eyes ached with looking.

As soon as the court of the Thuilleries, (that is to say the ground,
which is enclosed with iron railings, near the Carousel,) was filled
with the different regiments, who arranged themselves with wonderful
skill, and without the least confusion, notwithstanding the limited space
allotted them, the generals descended from their horses, went up stairs
into the palace, and, after some little delay, conducted Bonaparte to the
door. He instantly sprang on his white charger, (which waited for him at
the gate) and commenced the review. As he passed several times before
the window where I sat, I had ample time to examine his countenance,
his figure, his dress, and his manner. His complexion is uncommonly
sallow, his countenance expressive but stern, his figure little but well
made, and his whole person, like the mind which it contains, singular
and remarkable. If I were compelled to compare him to any one, I should
name Kemble, the actor. Though Bonaparte is much less in size, and less
handsome than that respectable performer, yet in the construction of the
features, and in the general expression, there is a strong resemblance.
There is, however, such originality about the appearance of the first
consul, that, without having seen him, it is difficult to form an idea of
his person. The picture of Bonaparte at the review, exhibited some time
back in Piccadilly, and the bust in _Sèvre china_, which is very common
at Paris, and which has probably become equally so in London, are the
best likenesses I have seen. As to his dress, he wore the grand _costume_
of his office, that is to say a scarlet velvet coat, richly embroidered
with gold, to this he had added leather breeches, jockey boots, and a
little plain cocked hat, the only ornament of which was a national
cockade. His hair unpowdered was cut close in his neck.

After riding through the ranks, and receiving the salutes of the
officers, he passed by every regiment, the colours of which were lowered
as he went on. He then placed himself in the middle of the parade, and
his generals and aides-de-camp having formed a group around him, he
distributed swords and firelocks of honour to such officers and soldiers,
as in different campaigns had deserved them. Berthier, the companion
of his victories, and now minister of war, presented one by one these
articles to Bonaparte, who having read the inscription which was engraved
on each, recording the action by which it was deserved, delivered with
his own hands the respective badges of honour. After this ceremony was
over, the different regiments passed by the first consul, and the captain
of each company or troop saluted him in passing. The cavalry went in full
gallop, and as they approached him stopped with wonderful neatness. Thus
concluded the review. He then rode with his officers to the palace gate,
dismounted, and retired to his apartments, followed by the generals and a
strong detachment of men.

The _spectacle_ was altogether extremely brilliant. The windows of the
palace, of the gallery of the Louvre, and of all the adjoining houses
were filled with ladies elegantly dressed, and the iron gates which
separate the court from the palace, were surrounded by the people. I
shall say nothing of the discipline of the troops, not being a military
man, and consequently little conversant with such matters. I shall only
speak of what struck the eye. The consular guards are the handsomest
men I ever saw, scarcely any are less than six feet high, and if we
may believe the report of persons connected with the government, every
individual in the corps owes his situation to long service, or some
distinguished act of valour. Their uniform is a long coat of fine blue
cloth, faced with white, and edged with red, with a yellow button, on
which is written “_garde des consuls_.” They wear white waistcoats and
breeches, and a fur cap, with a gilt plate, on which appears the same
inscription as that on the buttons. “_La garde consulaire à cheval_,” or
consular horse guard, wears the same uniform as the foot of that service.
The dragoons are dressed in green, with a casque, from which is suspended
a large braid of hair.

Several regiments of the line, which formed part of the review, have
been highly distinguished during the war, particularly the celebrated
_demi-brigade_, which at Marengo is said to have saved the life of
Bonaparte, when in the ardour of battle he had exposed himself to
almost certain destruction. These regiments were ill dressed, the men
were little, and their whole appearance was, when compared with the
consular guard, far from favourable. The _guides_ commanded by the young
Beauharnois, (madame Bonaparte’s son) were very elegantly dressed in
scarlet hussar uniforms, and mounted on light bay horses, splendidly
caparisoned. Generally speaking, the horses of the cavalry were very
indifferent, excepting one fine regiment of blacks, which was commanded
by Louis Bonaparte, the third brother of the consul.

As soon as Bonaparte left the ground the regiments began to file off by
different gates, in the same good order in which they had arrived, and
though nearly ten thousand men had been on the parade, in less than a
quarter of an hour not an individual remained.

The generals wear blue uniforms, richly embroidered, with tricoloured
sashes. The aides-de-camp are very handsome young men, dressed in blue
jackets, long pantaloons, and hussar cloaks, the whole almost covered
with gold. I remarked amongst them Lauriston, who took the preliminary
ratification to London, and young le Brun, son of the third consul, who
at the battle of Marengo, behaved with uncommon valour, and received
in his arms the unfortunate and gallant Dessaix[33]. I make no apology
for the length of this letter, for knowing that you wished to have a
particular account of the consular reviews, I have been purposely as
minute as possible. These reviews regularly take place on the 15th of
every month, according to the republican calendar.

Adieu!

LETTER IX.

The tribunate.—Speech of _Portalis_ on presenting the _code
civil_ in the corps législatif.—Debate in the tribunate on the
same subject.

Paris, december the 20th, 1801, (29th frimaire).

MY DEAR SIR,

I went this morning to the _tribunate_, which holds its sitting in the
_ci-devant_ Palais royal, in order to hear discussed the proposed project
of civil laws. This reminds me, that by a strange and unaccountable
omission, I have not in any of my letters mentioned the speech, which the
celebrated Portalis delivered on the 24th of last month, in presenting
the measure to the _corps législatif_, and which speech I was so
fortunate as to hear. To remedy my neglect, I shall begin my letter with
mentioning what passed on that occasion; and shall conclude it with the
debate, which took place to day, on the same subject, in the tribunate.

Portalis is a man of grave, respectable appearance, about fifty years
old, and so shortsighted, as to be nearly blind. As soon as he ascended
the rostrum, the utmost silence prevailed, and the legislators seemed
to listen with that profound attention, which is only given to those
from whom we expect either amusement or instruction. As for me, I
received both from his discourse; and I do not remember to have been yet
so well contented with a public speaker in France. He spoke for rather
more than an hour and a half, without notes and without hesitation. He
explained with precision, the principles and the heads of the code,
which he was ordered to lay before the legislature; and while he was
clear and intelligible in every part of his speech, he was frequently
extremely eloquent. His principal aim seemed to be, as he expressed it,
“de profiter des lumières de notre temps, mais pas de les avancer[34].”
He particularly recommended a system of laws, corresponding with those
of other nations, and which should strengthen the ties of matrimony, and
the security of domestic happiness. Among the many strong expressions,
with which his speech abounded, I remarked the following. “_Pour aimer
le monde entier, on peut dire, il faut aimer premièrement sa patrie,
mais celui qui commencerait à aimer le monde entier, finira à n’aimer
aucun pays[35]. La philosophie a fait son devoir, c’est à vous, citoyens
législateurs, d’achever le votre. La philosophie commence à faire le
bonheur des hommes, mais c’est la législation qui l’acheve, &c._” The
legislature ordered his speech to be printed, and adjourned.

To day this important question was debated in the tribunate; and I must
confess, that the expectations, which I had formed, were not a little
disappointed. I did not, it is true, flatter myself with the idea of
hearing either a Fox, a Pitt, a Sheridan, or a Mirabeau; but I imagined,
that among the members of the only deliberative assembly, now in France,
some few men would be found capable of discussing with sense, argument,
and extended views, a measure so important, not only to the present
happiness of the country, but to that also of the latest posterity. It
would be too presumptuous to say, that there are no such men in the
tribunate. On the contrary, I know, that there are some members of very
superiour knowledge, great genius, and liberal principles. I shall be
forgiven, however, for remarking, that the talent displayed on this
occasion was by no means equal to the dignity of the subject in question,
or worthy the assembly in which it was discussed. Five or six members
had put their names down, as intending to speak, and each was heard in
his turn. Nothing could be duller than these speeches; every one of which
was read from a written paper. A very ridiculous circumstance arose from
this manner of speaking. As each of the discourses had been previously
prepared, there was no reference to the arguments used in the debate;
and the advocates and opposers of the measure, equally disregarded, and
left unanswered, the remarks of those who happened to precede them in
the debate. I was not a little entertained with the conceit of one of
these lamp-oil orators, who discovered, that unless they restored _la
loi d’aubaine_[36], englishmen might buy up all the woods of France, and
thus, at one blow, deprive the government of its ships, and the people of
their fuel.

The only decent speech delivered on the occasion was by the celebrated
Boissy d’Anglass[37], who adduced some very strong reasons against the
proposed project. Speaking of England, he called the climate, “_ce climat
ténébreux et humide_[38].”

The expression may apply; but from the damp and foggy weather, which,
during some time has prevailed at Paris, I am apt to think, that it is
not exclusively descriptive of Great Britain.

After this tame and languid debate, more resembling the dull repetition
of school boy’s exercises, than the speeches of a great popular assembly,
the measure was rejected by a large majority.

I shall make no remarks on this decision, as doing so would necessarily
lead into a political discussion, which it is my great object to avoid.

The tribunes, being but one hundred in number, sit in a small hall
appropriate to their use. There is a gallery, which from the specimen of
eloquence displayed this day, I was not surprised to find nearly empty.
The tribunes wear a uniform of blue cloth, embroidered with silver,
hussar boots also edged with silver, white waistcoats, blue pantaloons,
and a tricoloured sash. They also begin and end their meetings with
military honours.

I am, &c.

LETTER X.

_Bal des étrangers_, (a public subscription ball).—Thinness of
the ladies’ dresses.

Paris, december 27th, 1801 (6th nivôse).

MY DEAR SIR,

I was last night at a public ball, given by a club or society, called,
“le salon des étrangers.” This is an establishment, formed on the plan of
our subscription houses in England, and lately opened in a handsome hotel
in _la rue Grange Batelière_, the windows of which look on the Boulevard.
It consists of frenchmen, who are admitted by ballot, and of foreigners
of all nations. The latter are received, (being introduced by a member)
on paying the annual subscription of five louis. The house is handsomely
furnished, and consists of several large rooms, which are open every
morning and evening, for the use of the subscribers. Besides the ordinary
games played in such sort of houses, there is a very excellent billiard
table, and a room fitted up for reading, in which are found periodical
publications, and all the newspapers, french, german, and english. It
was this latter circumstance which induced me to subscribe; and it is
here where I usually end my walk, and amuse myself for half an hour, in
running over the publications of the day.

The club or society, by way I suppose of gaining to its aid the
protection and interest of the fair, without which nothing is to be done
in France, or, to speak the truth, any where else, gives a ball, about
once in ten days, and it was at one of these assemblies, that I was
present last night.

At twelve o clock, Mrs. ⸺ and I drove to “le salon des étrangers,” (for
no ball begins at an earlier hour) and the string of carriages was so
very long, that we were nearly an hour in getting up to the door. I
cannot help taking this opportunity, of commending the admirable order
preserved by the police, on all such occasions at Paris. Though, from
several streets meeting on the Boulevard, the crowd was great, yet
there was not the least accident, nor even the smallest confusion. The
staircase, by which we ascended, was elegantly ornamented with orange,
and other artificial flower trees. When we entered the outward room,
there were already so many persons assembled, that it was not without
considerable difficulty, that we made our way into the _salon_, or
drawing room. Never shall I forget my surprise, when, looking round
me, I perceived the dress, or rather the nakedness of the ladies. I
had heard much of the indecency, of which some females were guilty, in
respect to _costume_ at Paris, and I had already seen specimens of the
thinness of their apparel; but till this evening, I thought it only the
failing of a few. I now saw at least two hundred women, of different
ages, and different situations in life, all displaying, without reserve
or disguise, the beauties, which they had either received from nature,
imitated by art, or believed themselves by the aid of flattering fancy to
possess. The young and the old, the handsome and the ugly, the fair and
the brown, all prodigally dragged into common view, those charms, which
a virtuous woman conceals from motives of modesty, and a sensualist from
those of discretion. The buxom girl of sixteen, the newly married woman,
and the superannuated mother of a numerous family, were all equally
exposed. Naked necks, naked backs, and their form, scarcely concealed by
a transparent petticoat, left nothing to the powers of fancy.

You will think, perhaps, that I am drawing an exaggerated picture; but
I can assure you, on the honour of a man of truth, that such was the
_costume_ of at least two thirds of the ladies present at this ball.
The head-dresses, classically imitated from the ancient statues, were
elegant; and the number of diamonds, pearls, and other precious stones,
strikingly brilliant. There were many handsome women; but their beauty
was uniformly of one kind. The _embonpoint_, and the _nez retroussé_,
characterised them all. I looked in vain for those graceful figures,
and those grecian countenances, which form so often the ornament of
an english assembly. Among the most celebrated belles, madame R⸺, the
young wife of an affluent banker, was pointed out to me; madame V⸺, an
Italian lady, much the fashion at Paris, and the renowned madame Tallien.
I think the first rather remarkable, for the singularity of her dress,
(her head being ornamented “_à la cochoise_,” that is to say, as the
peasants of a particular province dress their hair) her extreme fairness,
and downcast look, than for any real extraordinary beauty. Madame V⸺ is
a fine dark woman, “_d’une certaine age_,” with beautiful eyes, and a
commanding person. Madame Tallien, notwithstanding her great fame, has,
according to me, rather an agreeable countenance, and an enchanting
smile, than features excessively striking. She is fair, as the fairest
of our countrywomen; her neck is beautiful; and her countenance, mild
and good humoured, is said to be a true picture of her mind. Yet, in
spite of these advantages, I never should have discovered in her, the
reigning _belle_ of Paris. She, too, is not in the first bloom of youth.
The dances were, the cotillon, (which they call _la contredanse_) and
the walse. In the former, the ladies displayed that decided superiority,
which the french possess in the art of dancing. As to the walse, I
was astonished at the decency, with which that very indecent dance
was danced, by the young parisians; who, placing their arms round the
uncovered persons of the handsomest women in the room, yet had sufficient
command of themselves, not to shock either their partners, or the
company, by being guilty of the slightest impropriety. I expressed my
surprise to an elderly lady, at this extraordinary forbearance. “_Croyez
moi, monsieur_[39],” she replied, “_que nos jeunes gens voient tout cela
avec l’indifférence la plus parfaite._”

What a lesson does this remark hold out to the fair sex, of every
description! That female is not less deficient in coquetry, and in the
art of commanding the affections of men, than in every principle of
decency, who wantonly exposes to the common gaze of passing curiosity
those attractions, which are only valuable, as long as the sight of them
is the exclusive privilege of a favoured lover.

The libertine, if he at first looks on with admiration, soon ceases to
care for that which every eye may behold; and apathy, united to contempt,
is the sentiment which succeeds to passion.

I return to the ball. The crowd became greater and greater, and the heat
was excessive; but the scene altogether was lively and amusing.

A frenchman _de l’ancien régime_, hearing me express my surprise at the
_costume_ of the ladies, assured me, that excepting the foreigners, there
was not one woman _de bonne compagnie_ in the room. This term of “_bonne
compagnie_,” is so often used, and so seldom explained, that I really
do not know, whether he meant that there was not a woman of the old
court, or that there was not a virtuous female present. If he intended
the former, it only proved, that these balls were not frequented by the
_noblesse_; if the latter, he was much severer in his remark than I had
been. I only complained of the ladies being indecent; he asserted that
they were profligate. At any rate, the one fault leads so rapidly to the
other, that it was difficult to make a mistake.

The room was well lighted; the music excellent, and the ball, being
formed of all the different classes of society, highly entertaining
to a foreigner. There were a great many english present; most of the
ambassadors, and many other distinguished characters.

I returned home about three in the morning.

Adieu.

LETTER XI.

New year’s day.—The Palais royal.

Paris, January the 1st, 1802 (11 nivôse.)

MY DEAR SIR,

The people of all nations cling, with such fond partiality, to their
old customs, that it is next to impossible to eradicate even the most
trifling of these by the power of law. I remarked a strong proof of this
to day. It was an immemorial custom in France to celebrate new years day,
by making presents of confectionary, trinkets, and such other articles,
to near relations and particular friends.

Notwithstanding the republican almanack, and the use of it in all public
acts, newspapers, &c. which makes the year begin with vendémiaire,
answering to our 23d of september, the first of January is still
considered as solely entitled to these honours. The Palais royal, as
it is universally called (notwithstanding its first revolutionary and
already superannuated name of “_Jardin d’Egalité_,” and its present
constitutional one of “Palais du Tribunat,”) was thronged this morning
with persons of all classes, who soon dispersed themselves among the
various shops, in order to purchase these little annual presents, or
“étrennes,” as they are called in the language of the country. The
jewellers vied with each other in displaying, in their windows, all the
taste, fashion, and magnificence, of their choicest merchandise; and
diamond rings, pearl lockets, and amber necklaces, offered to gallantry
elegant but expensive means of testifying its ardour. The milliners
brought forth their finest lace, their most tawdry colours, and their
most extravagant patterns; and the confectioners, with streamers at their
door, ornamented cakes within, perfumed _bonbons_, and amorous mottoes,
soon found the means of filling their respective shops.

What an extraordinary place is the Palais royal! There is nothing like
it in any town in Europe. I remember hearing an english epicure once
observe, “that as soon as the peace took place, he would give himself
the happiness of passing six weeks in the Palais royal, without once
going out of its gates.” Certainly, if a man be contented with sensual
pleasures, there is not one which he may not gratify within the walls of
this building. Restaurateurs, or taverns, where dinners are served from
ten sols to two louis a head. Coffee houses, where, for three-pence, the
lounger may pass the whole of his day in playing chess, talking politics,
or reading the papers. Gambling houses, where the man of pleasure,
at the risk of all that is dearest to him in life, purchases the
anxious feelings which fear and hope excite, and where the _chevalier
d’industrie_ finds the disgraceful means of a dishonourable existence.
Tailors, haberdashers, silversmiths, and watchmakers, offer every variety
of clothing, of ornament, and of machinery. Booksellers’ shops are
seen in every corner, where the _homme de lettres_ finds his favourite
authors, the romantic young lady her novels, and the politician his
pamphlets. Opticians, where the frequenter of _spectacles_ purchases his
opera glass, and the philosopher his telescope. Crowds of unfortunate,
and sometimes lovely females, challenge, with every variety of dress,
the attention of passengers, and, while they offer a too easy banquet to
libertines and dotards, fill every reflecting mind with pity and with
sorrow. Such are the objects which the _Palais royal_ presents. I ought
to add, that while the cellars are filled with inferiour _restaurateurs_,
or eating houses, where bands of music are constantly playing, frequently
dressed in theatrical _costumes_; the upper rooms are occupied with
gambling parties, _cabinets_ of intrigue, and coffeehouses[40]. The
latter have every variety of decoration; some are painted to represent
the Alps, and others are covered with glass, reflecting in every
direction a different room. The gambling tables are numerous; and I am
assured, that on the stairs, descending from one of these, there is a
pawnbroker’s shop, where it sometimes happens, that a ruined gamester,
after losing the contents of his purse, deposits, for the sake of making
a last and desperate effort, his watch, his buckles, and sometimes his
coat. With the trifle advanced him he returns, and, if successful,
redeems, on going away, the objects he has pledged. If he fail, a pistol,
or the river, ends his miserable days. Such is the consequence of play,
and such are the scenes which this profligate place presents.

The buildings, which formerly filled the centre, are now pulled down, and
that part is really a garden, which many persons frequent for exercise.
There are ice houses at each end, and chairs scattered about, on which
the parisians sit in rows, and take lemonade and other refreshments. The
space under the arcades, not occupied by the shops, is, as formerly,
filled every hour of the day, and the greatest part of the night, with
figures of all descriptions, with persons of every class, and, I might
add, of every nation in the world.

“Le théâtre de Montansier” is still in the Palais royal, besides many
smaller play houses. Puppet shows, dwarfs, giants, quack doctors,
vociferating newsmen, and quiet venders of libels, who in a whisper
offer you indecent and forbidden publications, complete the catalogue of
many-coloured curiosities which this place presents.

Adieu. I dare not add the reflections which so singular a spot would
naturally create. Were I to do so, scarcely a volume would contain them.

Adieu.

LETTER XII.

Paris, January the 16th, 1802 (26 nivôse.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went to day to see the establishment formed for the protection and
instruction of the blind. It is called “l’institution des travaux des
aveugles[41],” and is situate in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, not far from
the _ci-devant Bastille_. It is here, where persons afflicted with that
greatest of all human calamities, the loss of sight, are taught the
means of gaining a comfortable existence, of occupying hours which would
otherwise be painfully tiresome, and of rendering themselves useful to
the community.

At the “séance,” or public meeting, which I attended this morning, I saw
several persons, men, women, and children, either born blind, or rendered
so by illness, now able to read, to write, to count, to print, and to
perform on different pieces of instrumental music. The mode by which
they read is by feeling the letters, which are purposely raised on card;
and they did so with such rapidity, that it was difficult in hearing
them to discover their misfortune. What particularly struck me, was the
ingenuity of a blind woman, who had taught her child to read, an infant
about five years old, not afflicted with this calamity.

There is a manufactory of steel carried on in the building, in which the
blind turn the wheel; and they also make whips, writing cases, purses
and paper toys of all sorts, which are sold for their private emolument.
There is likewise a press, or printing machine, in which the whole
process is performed by the blind; and I am told, books published by
them are more than commonly correct. The women knit, sew, and perform
other kinds of needlework; and all of them either sing, or perform on
some instrument. They gave us a kind of concert, which, if not very
good, proved at least that they understood the principles or music. I
am almost ashamed to mention, that my pleasure in witnessing this truly
philanthropic establishment, was not a little diminished by the dreadful
countenances of the blind, as the eyes of many, not being closed,
exhibited a very disgusting appearance. I knew, indeed, that they were
not sensible of this defect, and that I ought to be satisfied with an
institution, which, in rendering them both happy and useful, had fully
discharged its object. To the truth of this reflection my reason fully
assented; yet, _malgré moi_[42], my senses revolted at the sight of
human beings, left so imperfect by the hand of Nature, or so deformed by
illness.

In leaving “les aveugles,” we drove to the great plate glass manufactory,
which is carried on in the neighbourhood. This celebrated establishment
suffered severely during the revolution, but is now daily recovering its
former prosperity. Six hundred persons are at present employed, and I
saw mirrors preparing of various and extensive dimensions. The operation
of pouring quicksilver on glass, by which it obtains its reflecting
qualities, was performed before us; and we were much delighted with the
rapidity and neatness shown in the process.

As I began this letter with the institution in favour of the blind, I
think I cannot do better than to conclude it, by speaking to you again of
that of the deaf and dumb. I have, since my first letter on that subject,
attended two extraordinary meetings of the “_sourd muets_,” the result of
which I will now give you.

_Massieu_, the deaf and dumb young man, of whose superiour talents and
acquirements I gave you so favourable an account, appeared to great
advantage at one of these, in which he received, for the first time, a
lesson on “_galvanism_.” As soon as the abbé Sicard wrote on a slate,
“galvanism is a name given to a mode of electricity, in consequence of
its having been discovered by _Galvani_, an Italian physician.” Massieu
eagerly snatched the pencil, and wrote, in reply, “I saw the word
galvanism in one of the newspapers, and not knowing what it meant, looked
for an explanation in the dictionary of the academy. Not finding it
there, I concluded that it was taken from a proper name. It then occurred
to me, that it was a new medicine, discovered by the individual, whose
name it bore; and that, perhaps, by means of this specific, the inventor
might cure the deaf and dumb, _comme notre seigneur Jesus Christ_[43].”

Never shall I forget the animation which brightened the countenance of
_Massieu_, while he rapidly wrote these words, or the curious and anxious
attention with which he followed the explanation afterwards given him of
galvanism. In the course of the lecture, he showed, by his questions and
answers, that he was perfectly conversant with the general principles of
electricity; and the ease with which he caught the doctrine of galvanism
was truly astonishing. I am sure you will be struck, as I was, at the
singularity of his conceiving, that galvanism might lead to the cure
of the deaf and dumb. How kindly has Nature implanted in our minds a
disposition to cherish hope, even on the slightest foundation! It is this
which gives a zest to all our pursuits, which supports us in illness, in
affliction, and in sorrow; and no man really ceases to be happy, till he
ceases to hope.

I did not know, at the time, what I have since learnt, and which, if
true, renders the circumstance still more singular—I mean, that some deaf
and dumb persons have been actually restored to the senses of hearing and
speaking, by the power of galvanism. This is said to have taken place in
some part of Germany, I believe at Vienna; but I only give it as a report.

At the second meeting, I saw _Massieu_ taught, also for the first time,
_stenography_, or the art of short-hand writing. After the common
principles had been laid down by the written instructions of the master
appointed to give him this lesson, the abbé Sicard desired Massieu to
define the art which had just been explained to him. He immediately wrote
for answer, expressing the greatest joy in his countenance, “C’est l’art
d’écrire aussi vite que la parole. La sténographie va comme le cerf ou
le cheval, mais l’écriture ordinaire comme le bœuf[44].” Through the
whole of the lesson, he displayed the utmost clearness of idea, and the
greatest facility of receiving instruction.

Before I left the house of the sourd muets, I visited the boy called the
savage of Aveyron. But the subject is sufficiently interesting to deserve
a separate letter; I shall, therefore, for the present, take my leave,
and will devote my next to the description of this child.

I am, &c.

LETTER XIII.

Paris, January the 17th, 1801 (27 nivôse.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I resume in this letter the subject promised in my last.

The child, so well known in Europe by the name of “le jeune sauvage
d’Aveyron,” or “the young savage of Aveyron,” was found in the wood of
that name, at the age of eleven or twelve years, by three huntsmen, who
some time before had seen the same boy at a distance. He was looking
for acorns and roots, which constituted his principal food, when they
perceived him: and, at the moment of being seized, he attempted to get
away, by climbing up an adjoining tree. He was taken into a cottage; but,
at the end of a week, he made his escape from the woman, to whose care
he was intrusted, and fled to the mountains. Here he wandered about,
exposed to the severest cold of winter, with no covering but a ragged
shirt, hiding himself at night in the most solitary places, and in the
day approaching the neighbouring villages. After leading, for some time,
this vagabond life, he came of his own accord, into an inhabited house,
situate in the _canton_ of _St. Sernain_. Here he was seized, watched
and taken care of for three days, and was then removed, first to the
hospital of _St. Afrique_, and afterwards to that of _Rhodes_, where he
was kept several months. At each of these places, where, of course, he
was the subject of much interesting observation, he was found wild and
impatient of control. He was in constant motion, and at every instant
seemed to seek an opportunity of escaping. By order of the minister
of the interiour, he was brought to Paris, at the end of the 8th year
of the republic (about two years ago), under the care of a poor, but
respectable, old man, who became so attached to him on the journey, that
he shed tears at parting with him, and in going away declared, that if he
ever should be deserted, he would adopt him as his child.

The physician Pinel, to whose inspection the boy was first submitted,
reported, that the organs of sense in this unfortunate child were
reduced, from the want of use, to such a state of debility, that, in
this respect, he was inferiour to several domestic animals. His eyes,
without fixing themselves, and without expression, wandered wildly from
one object to another, incapable of distinguishing the nearest from the
most distant objects. His organ of hearing was alike insensible of the
loudest noise, or the softest harmony. The power of the voice was lowered
to such a degree, that he could not make an uniform and guttural sound.
The sense of smelling was so little exercised, that he received, with the
same indifference, the odour of the choicest perfumes, or the nauseous
stench of the filthy couch on which he lay. To conclude, the sense of
touching was confined to the mere mechanical functions of taking hold of
bodies.

In respect to his intellectual powers, the same physician stated him to
be incapable of attention (excepting as to the objects of his immediate
wants), and consequently incapable also of all those operations which
are created by attention. Destitute of memory, of judgment, and of the
power of imagination, and so limited, even in the ideas relative to
his wants, that he had not yet learnt to open a door, or to get upon a
chair, in order to reach those objects of food which were held above his
grasp. In fact, destitute of every means of communication, having neither
expression nor intention in the motions of his body, passing suddenly,
and without any presumable cause, from the gloom of apathy, to the most
immoderate fits of laughter. Insensible of every kind of moral affection,
his discernment was but a calculation of gluttony; his pleasure an
agreeable sensation of the organs of taste; his sense, an aptitude to
produce some incoherent ideas relative to his wants—in one word, all his
existence seemed purely animal.

M. Pinel afterwards compared “le sauvage d’Aveyron” with children born,
or become, irrevocably idiots; and he was inclined to conclude, that this
unhappy child, doomed to an incurable evil, was not susceptible either of
sociality or instruction; but he expressed this opinion with considerable
doubt.

Dr. Itard, physician to the national institution _des sourd muets_, from
whose interesting little pamphlet I have taken this account, though
struck with the fidelity of the picture drawn by Dr. Pinel, and the
justice of his remarks, was unwilling to accede to the unfavourable
conclusion with which he had closed his report. Founding his hopes
first on the doubtful cause of his supposed idiotism, and next on the
possibility of the cure, he humanely determined to make the education
of this deserted child his particular study. This education, or moral
treatment, he began, on the general principles laid down by doctors
Willis and Crichton, and by professor Pinel himself, though he could not
appeal to any particular precepts, as no such case had been foreseen in
their works. He conceived, that he had five principal objects to effect.

1st. To attach him to social life, in rendering that life more agreeable
than the one which he now led, and particularly by making it more
analogous to the life which he had lately quitted.

2dly. To revive the sensibility of his nerves by the most poignant
stimulants, and sometimes by exciting the liveliest affections of the
mind.

3dly. To extend the sphere of his ideas, by giving him new wants, and by
increasing his connection with surrounding objects.

4thly. To lead him to the use of speech, by dragging into use the power
of imitation by the imperious law of necessity.

5thly. To exercise, during some time, on the objects of his physical
wants, the most simple operations of his mind, and thence to lead it to
objects of instruction.

Dr. Itard then fully explains the methods which he took towards these
important objects, in which, by incessant care, humane treatment, and
the assistance of madame Guerin (the female to whose protection, as a
nurse, the child was intrusted), he has so far succeeded, that he no
longer entertains any doubt of his ultimate success. It is impossible
for me, within the compass of a letter, to enter into the details given
on this subject. I shall therefore content myself with translating the
observations, with which Dr. Itard concludes the account.

“It may be safely concluded,” says he, “from my observations, that
the child, known by the name of the savage of Aveyron, is gifted with
the free exercise of all his senses; that he gives continual proofs
of attention, recollection, and memory; that he can compare, discern,
and judge—in one word, that he can apply all the faculties of his
understanding to objects relative to his instruction. It is necessary to
remark, as an essential point, that these happy changes have taken place
in the short space of nine months, and those too in a subject, who was
thought incapable of attention. Hence we may fairly conclude, that his
education is possible, if it be not already certain, from the success
already obtained, independently of that which may naturally be expected
from the assistance of time, which, in its constant unvarying course,
seems to give to infancy all that strength and power of unfolding itself,
which it takes from man in the decline of life.”

I ought, perhaps, to mention, that this unfortunate child, to whom the
name of “Victor” has been given, because he listened easily to the sounds
which formed that name, has already pronounced the word “lait,” _milk_;
that he has learnt to put the letters together which compose that word;
and that he regularly does so, when he wishes to drink, taking also
in his hand a little cup to receive his favourite beverage. Dr. Itard
assured me, that he entertained no doubt of his ultimately speaking.

He is warm, passionate, grateful, and he has already given strong proofs
of his attachment to his nurse, madame Guerin. His person is not very
remarkable, but his countenance is mild. His face has been cut in several
places. He cannot yet use any two senses at the same time; and, to enable
him to hear, it is necessary to bind his eyes. When he is angry, he makes
a noise like the growling of a dog. He is now dressed like another boy;
but I am told, it was long before they could persuade him to bear the
restraint of clothing. I remarked, that while we were in the room, he
kept his eye constantly on the door, and that the desire of escaping has
not yet abandoned him.

To conclude, it seems that he has a mark in his neck, which proves,
almost to a certainty, that his life was attempted in his infancy. The
hapless offspring of illicit love, he was probably first wounded by the
trembling hand of an unnatural mother; and then, under the supposition of
being dead, thrown into the wood, where he so long wandered, and was at
last discovered.

If you feel as much interested as I do on this subject, you will easily
pardon the prolixity of my letter. I only regret, that I cannot send you
a more perfect account.

I am, &c.

LETTER XIV.

Detailed account of all the theatres or _spectacles_.

Paris, january 21st, 1802 (1 Pluviôse).

MY DEAR SIR,

You have, doubtless, been surprised, that I have not in any of my letters
spoken of theatres, or _spectacles_ as they are called at Paris. I
purposely omitted doing so, till I had had an opportunity of seeing the
greater part of those which are now in vogue, that I might place them all
before you at one view.

“Le théâtre françois de la république,” formerly called, “le théâtre du
roi,” situate in la rue de la Loi, ci-devant de Richelieu, deservedly
takes the lead. It is here, where the tragedies of Racine, Corneille,
and Voltaire, are constantly acted; and where also the best comedies
on the french stage are represented. The most celebrated performers
in the tragic line are, Talma, and la Fond, among the men; and madame
Pettit, (otherwise called, mademoiselle Vanhove,) mademoiselle Volney,
and mademoiselle Burgoing, among the women. Talma and la Fond have
each their admirers, and it is a disputed matter in society to which
the palm is due. The same thing may be said of the actresses. In some
circles, madame Pettit is commended as a performer of very extraordinary
talents, highly superiour to her competitors; in others, mademoiselle
Volney is the favourite; and lately, mademoiselle Burgoing has disputed
the victory with both. It is presumptuous perhaps, in a foreigner, to
form a judgment on a subject on which natives are divided. I shall only
say, that to my english ear, the roaring declamation, common to all the
french tragedians, is dreadfully offensive. I must add, that I have
more than once mistaken the violence of their action for bombast, and
the perpetual motion of their features for grimace. After making this
candid avowal, I do not deserve or expect any credit for the judgment
I am about to pronounce. I think Talma less bad than la Fond; but such
is the difference of national taste, that I am sure neither of them
would be suffered on an english stage. I entertain the same opinion
of madame Pettit, and mademoiselle Volney, though the latter is to my
mind, infinitely superiour to the former. As to mademoiselle Burgoing,
she has the great merit of being natural; and it is for this reason,
I suppose, that in several of the newspapers here, she is accused of
being cold and insipid. I saw her perform “Zaire” a few evenings since,
and I never remember to have been more amused. She is a beautiful young
girl of sixteen, with a fine expressive countenance, and an elegant
graceful figure. Her voice is clear and articulate; her manner simple
and unaffected; and her representation of the different passions strong
and impressive, without “outstepping the modesty of nature.” Her dress
was elegantly simple, and her deportment truly correct. After the play,
“Zaire” was called for again and again, (this is the highest compliment
which can be paid to a performer at Paris) and it was long before she
could be persuaded to appear. At length the curtain drew up, and Talma
led her, “still unwilling,” towards the audience. She seemed really
distressed, by the thunder of applause which greeted her, and she ran off
the stage, as soon as respect to the company would permit.

If mademoiselle Burgoing has the good sense to remember, that this early
praise can only be secured by incessant study; and if she has the courage
to disregard the ridiculous criticisms of the french journals, (in which
she is daily recommended to use more action, to speak in a louder tone of
voice, &c. in short, to lay aside the happy _naturel_, which constitutes
her merit) it is highly probable, that in a few years she may become the
first tragic actress of Europe.

If, generally speaking, I am not pleased with the french tragedians, I
entertain a very different opinion as to their comic actors. In this
line, I conceive their stage is very superiour to ours. The celebrated
mademoiselle Contat, who, for so many years, has been the delight of
the public, is still here. She retains all her powers of acting, and
much of her beauty. Molé is as admirable as ever; and Dezencourt and
Dugazon, in their different lines, cannot be rivalled. Fleury too, is
incomparable; and whoever has seen him act Frederic the 2d, in “Les deux
Pages,” has seen the most perfect performance, which any stage ever
presented. Mesdemoiselles Mezeray, and Mars (cadette), are also excellent
actresses; and St. Fal, in many parts, deserves to be considered as a
very respectable actor.

In the “Philosophe marié,” in the “Vieux Celibataire,” and many other
comedies, and in the farces of “Les deux Pages,” and of “le Circle,” (in
which most of these eminent actors perform), I have sometimes forgotten,
that I was at the play, and believed I saw before me, the characters
which they represented. In the “Abbé l’Epée,” (which has been so well
translated into english) “Monvel” deservedly obtains great applause,
for the excellent and natural manner, in which he represents the
philanthropic abbé. How interesting is this play! those who have seen,
as I have done, the “_institution des sourd muets_,” view it with double
pleasure. The whole appears like a real scene, and the abbé Sicard has so
admirably followed the example of his humane predecessor, that the soul
of the latter seems revived in the former; and in seeming the play, we
forget that l’abbé l’Epée no longer exists.

The _théâtre françois_, though a very large building, is always full,
when the good actors perform. You will be surprised, perhaps, when I add,
that I have not found “Molière’s” plays act as well as I expected. I
was present a few evenings ago at the representation of “Tartuffe,” and
though all the parts were admirably cast, I was heartily tired before the
curtain had dropped. I have more than once heard the audience hiss some
of his farces, believing them to be modern ones; and to say the truth,
they are not on the stage, what they appear in the closet. I cannot
determine, whether the change of manners, which has taken place, makes us
no longer relish a satire on follies, which exist no more; whether the
metre in which these plays are written, fatigues the ear, or that the
broad fun which they are intended to produce, is too coarse for modern
taste. It may arise indeed, from that taste being vitiated, for Voltaire
said, long ago,

“Vous parlez de Molière, oh son regne est passé,
Le siècle est bien plus fin, notre scène épurée,
Du vrai beau qu’on cherchoit est enfin décorée[45].”

Without pretending to decide, whether my judgment be bad or good, I can
only say, that I have never yet been entertained with the performance
of one of Molière’s plays; and if I may judge from the thinness of
the house, in some cases, and the unusual noise of it in others, the
parisians are of my opinion. Even the “Bourgeois gentilhomme” is obliged
to borrow the assistance of a dance: and with this aid, brings but an
indifferent audience.

To conclude my account of “le théâtre françois,” I ought to say something
of their company, and of their accommodations. All the _spectacles_ here
lose much of their effect, from the undress, in which it is the fashion
to frequent the play houses, excepting on a first representation of a
new piece, when the ladies make it a point to appear “en grand costume.”
On common occasions, hats or morning caps, shawls and coloured gowns,
are the toilet of the ladies; and boots, round hats, and great coats,
that of the gentlemen. Wax candles are not used at all; and one solitary
lustre of (what we call in England) patent lamps, suffices for the whole
building: this throws a dim and melancholy light on the countenances of
the audience, and on the appearance of the house in general. Nothing,
indeed, can be less lively, than a french theatre. “La gallerie,” which
is of course filled with inferiour company, occupies that part of the
building, which in England forms the front and side boxes, and the boxes
below are behind the gallery. “Les premières” are immediately above
these, answering in height to our green boxes; but they are considered as
the principal seats, and are accordingly the dearest.

There are four tiers of boxes above, which, under the respective names
of 2me, 3me, 4me, and 5me, diminish in price, in proportion as you
ascend. A box may be engaged before hand, by taking all the places,
which vary in number, from three to eight; and when this is done, no
person whatever has the right of coming there, without the permission
of those by whom it is hired; and it is not necessary, as in London, to
come before the conclusion of the first act. The box, for the whole of
the evening, is private property. It is but justice to add, that if the
french theatres are less gay than the english, they are infinitely more
orderly; and I never remember to have seen any thing like a dispute, or
riot at any of the _spectacles_. Women, too, of a certain description,
do not ply for custom, (with the single exception of one theatre, which
I shall afterwards name) as at Covent Garden, and Drury Lane, and indeed
are rarely seen at the larger play-houses. The price of each ticket in
the first places, is six livres, twelve sous, answering exactly to five
shillings and sixpence of our money. The stage box, ornamented with
scarlet cloth, richly embroidered, is reserved for the family of the
first consul; but he generally occupies a little _loge grillé_, or shaded
box, in which he cannot be seen, immediately under the large one, in
which madame Bonaparte often sits.

The next theatre which I shall mention is, “the opera,” or “le théâtre de
la république, et des arts,” by which latter name it is daily advertised,
but never called.

An englishman just arrived at Paris, will be much disappointed, if,
in going to the opera, he expects to find that blaze of beauty, that
striking _coup d’œil_, and that brilliant assemblage of rank and fashion,
to which he has been accustomed in the Hay market. A connoisseur,
and “lover of soft sounds,” will turn away with equal disgust from a
performance, in which the miserable rant of french composition takes the
place of the best italian music. But to those, who are contented with
splendid exhibition, graceful attitude, and extraordinary agility, this
theatre affords an amusement decidedly unequalled. The _ballets_, in
this respect, deserve all their celebrity; and the opera, in addition
to the first figurantes in Europe, and the most striking decorations,
has to boast some very superiour dancers, without counting either
Vestris, Dehayes, or mademoiselle Chamroi, of whom I shall probably
have occasion to speak hereafter; but who, though engaged, have not
yet appeared this season. The most distinguished dancer at present is
mademoiselle Clotilde, an almost gigantic beauty, who, to great strength
and extraordinary height, unites much grace, agility, and knowledge of
her profession. Her person is well made, her figure commanding, and her
countenance expressive. Next to her in reputation is madame Gardel, who
is deservedly a great favourite with the parisian public; and madame
Vestris, madame Chevigney, and several others, are always received with
considerable applause. If the french _ballet_ has a decided advantage
over the english, it arises from the great art and neatness, with which
they contrive to fill the stage. It is not an unusual thing, to see
in processions or dances, which require the pomp of show, two hundred
persons assembled at a time, all of whom are so admirably drilled, that
the whole proceeds with the utmost regularity. _Lais_ is the only singer,
who enjoys any thing like popularity; and judges of music assure me, that
his voice is uncommonly good.

As to the audience, I have only to refer you to the remarks which I
have already made about “le théâtre françois.” It is the fashion to be,
if possible, less dressed at the opera, than at any other _spectacle;_
and the boxes (very few of which are hired by the year) are exactly on
the same footing as those of the french theatre. The price is something
dearer.

The lighting is equally defective; in short, the whole amusement
consists in the dancing; which, notwithstanding the extraordinary degree
of perfection, to which it is carried, does not, in my mind, sufficiently
repay you for the _ennui_ of hearing the hoarse screaming of execrable
singers, and for the fatigue of being three or four hours locked up in
a hot and gloomy theatre. I never visit this house, without feeling
the truth of lord Chesterfield’s remark, who well observed, that, in
going to the opera, he always left his understanding at the door, with
his half-guinea. I cannot help taking this opportunity, of mentioning
a singular _trait_ in the french character. Notwithstanding the levity
of which, they are, perhaps, not unjustly accused; and notwithstanding
their passion for talking, which I fancy is also indisputable, the most
solemn silence prevails at their _spectacles;_ and if an individual,
during the longest and dullest performance, ventures to speak, though in
a whisper, he is instantly called to order. I am afraid that the theatre
in the Hay market would soon lose half its subscribers, if such a rule
were to be enforced in London, though a Banti, or even a Billington were
the occasion of it. The stage box of this theatre, also ornamented and
embroidered, is kept for the use of the first consul.

After “le théâtre françois de la république,” and “the opera,” the most
esteemed is “le théâtre comique rue Feydeau.” The building is elegant,
and though smaller than the other two, yet sufficiently spacious. It
is of a circular form, supported by Corinthian pillars, and prettily
decorated. It is here, where are performed comic operas, and little
pieces, in which are blended dialogue and music. The singers are very
good, and the actors respectable. “Le Caliph de Bagdad,” “la Maison à
vendre,” and “la Folie,” are the performances, which have attracted
the greatest crowds this winter. Mademoiselle Phyllis is the principal
performer. She is a very pretty woman, with an excellent voice, and an
elegant person.

“Feydeau,” as it is commonly called, is much frequented by the
fashionables of Paris, and is by many preferred even to the larger
theatres. “Vaudeville” is an extremely pretty little theatre, where
short lively pieces are acted, enlivened with songs, all of which
have an epigrammatic turn. Celebrated authors, distinguished public
characters, and temporary occurrences, are often the subjects of these
pieces. The philosopher of “Ferney,” is well represented in one of these
called, “Voltaire,” as are, “Florian,” “Gesner,” “Scarron,” &c. in the
pieces called, by their respective names. When lord Cornwallis honoured
this little theatre with his presence, couplets were instantly sung in
celebration of the peace; and a farce has lately been acted here, called,
“le Peintre françois à Londres,” in which a very handsome compliment
is paid to the english character. Madame Henry is the heroine of
“Vaudeville.” She is a good actress, and one of the most beautiful women
I have yet seen in France.

“Le théâtre de Louvois,” is larger than “Vaudeville;” but smaller than
“Feydeau.” Here plays are acted mostly of two or three acts; but they
sometimes perform longer pieces. I saw at this house, a few nights
since, a comedy taken from Fielding’s Tom Jones. It was a sentimental
drama, and neither ill written, nor ill acted; but the ridiculous use
of the following expression, “Tom, mon cher Tom[46],” in the midst of
a very pathetic scene, had such an effect on my muscles, that I could
not recover my gravity for the rest of the evening. Apropos; the french
have a most extraordinary aptitude to make mistakes in translating, and
adopting our english appellations. In a serious drama, or in a novel
taken from our language, the vulgarism of addressing a young lady, by
the name of, “miss,” is retained in french; and the absurd manner in
which the word is pronounced, united to the coarse familiarity of the
expression, often destroys the effect of the best imagined passages. In
the same manner, “Mrs.” instead of being translated “madame,” is written
“mistriss;” and if “a lord William,” or a “lord Charles” is mentioned,
he is sure to be called in the next page, “le chevalier baronet,” &c. A
respectable old steward receives the childish name of “Dick,” a heroine
is “miss Peggy,” and a renowned warrior, “sir Jack,” or “admiral Billy.”
I resume my subject. The actors of “Louvois,” are tolerably good; the
house is about the size of our little theatre in the Hay market, and the
pieces represented here are often entertaining.

“Le théâtre de la rue Favart,” to which “l’opera Buffa,” or the Italian
opera has lately removed from “la salle olympique,” is a handsome
building, the boxes of which are so far more lively than those of the
other theatres, that they are open. In most of the play-houses at Paris,
the boxes are separated by a partition on each side, like the division
of the private ones in London. This is not done at “Favart,” and the
effect is favourable to the appearance of the theatre; the company not
being concealed from view, as at the other “spectacles.” Madame Bolla has
lately made her appearance on this stage, and has excited a considerable
degree of public curiosity. She is generally much admired; and when her
name is announced, the house is sure to be full. The music is excellent,
the orchestra is well chosen, and some of the actors are uncommonly good.
The “opera Buffa” is particularly patronized by madame Bonaparte, who
has a box here, and seldom fails to attend, when any favourite piece is
performed. The first consul is likewise said to be partial to this house.

Besides the six principal theatres, which I have already enumerated, and
which are not only the most frequented, but also the most central, being
all situate in, or near “la rue de la Loi;” there are several others
scattered about the town, which are full every night. The buildings of
many of them are pretty, and the acting far from indifferent.

The “théâtre de Montansier,” in the Palais royal, is devoted to little
farces, and to that sort of comedy, which rather forces an involuntary
laugh, than claims a smile of serious approbation. The blunders of a
clownish servant, the tricks of _Scapin_, or the caricature of some
reigning fashion, and now and then a sentimental piece of one act, (for
“sentiment” is the order of the day, at Paris) constitute the kind of
amusement, usually offered at this house. At this theatre are lobbies, or
_foyers_ as they are called, in which the ladies of the “Palais royal”
roam at large, as at Covent-garden and Drury-lane. On this account,
“Montansier” is not much frequented by women of character; though now and
then it is the fashion, even for the first females of the place to make
parties, and go there.

“Le théâtre de Molière,” as it was called, till last week, when it
assumed, I know not why, the name of “théâtre National et Étranger,” is
situate in “la rue St. Denys.” It is a very elegant little theatre,
and the backs of the boxes are covered with glass, by which means the
audience are reflected, and doubled on every side. I saw here, a few
evenings since, “le Lovelace Anglois, ou la Jeunesse de Richelieu,” an
excellent comedy, which, to my great surprise, was very well performed by
the actors of this house.

“L’Ambigu-comique,” at the most distant part of the Boulevard, not far
from the ci-devant Bastille, is much frequented, on account of its
splendid processions. A piece called, “le Jugement de Solomon,” has been
so extremely popular, as to render it very difficult to get a seat,
when it was performed. After several fruitless attempts, I succeeded
last night in gaining admittance; and I must confess, that I was much
disappointed. The theatre is little and dirty; and the stage is too
confined for the shows presented on it, to produce any effect. “Le
Jugement de Solomon,” notwithstanding its great celebrity, seemed to me a
very tiresome, dull, uninteresting piece of tawdry parade.

“Le théâtre des jeunes Artistes,” is also on the Boulevard, very near
“l’Ambigu-comique.” “La salle,” or the hall, appropriated to the purpose,
though small, is neat and prettily decorated. Here I saw a pantomime
in five acts; the hero of which was the renowned “Puss in Boots,” or
“le Chat botté,” as he is called by the french. Need I add, that I was
completely _ennuyé_. The actors are really young beginners, or “jeunes
artistes;” and I fear, from the _promising_ appearance of three or four
of the female performers, (none of whose ages exceeded sixteen) that this
theatre is a nursery for other places, besides the play-houses.

“Le théâtre du Marais,” I have not yet visited; but I am told, that the
building is elegant. A detachment from the company, which I have already
mentioned as acting at “le théâtre de Molière,” performs at this house.

There are likewise, “le théâtre de la Gaieté, rue Thionville,” “le
théâtre des jeunes Élèves,” et “le théâtre sans Pretension,” on the
Boulevard. I have not seen them; but I hear they are exactly on the same
plan, and in the same state as “le théâtre de l’Ambigu-comique.”

Besides these numerous play-houses, there are several exhibitions of
horsemanship, on the plan of Astley; and there is likewise a very
curious optical deception, called, “la Phantasmagorie de Robertson.”
The latter is very well worth seeing. After viewing in the outward
room various electrical machines, mechanical inventions, and other
curiosities, you are led into a dark apartment, in which the ghosts of
distinguished characters are supposed to appear. This is extremely well
managed; and the principle of optical deceptions is exemplified, and
clearly explained. A man of the name of _Fitzjames_ also appears as a
ventriloquist; and after he has thrown his voice into different parts of
the room, he declares, that the power of doing so is not a natural gift,
but simply a habit acquired, of varying the sound of the voice. The same
man gives a most admirable imitation of the meeting of a jacobinical
club; and in hearing him, you really imagine, that the demagogues of
those bloody days are still haranguing with all the absurdity and
madness, which characterised them. In addition to the amusements which
I have specified, there are innumerable puppet-shows, _théâtres de
société_, mountebanks, tumblers, fights of wild beasts, jugglers,
rope-dancers, and quack-doctors.

Having given you this general sketch of the _spectacles_ of Paris, I
shall, in my future letters, only mention such particular performances,
as by their merit or their popularity, may deserve your attention.

I am, &c.

LETTER XV.

The play of _Henry_ IV, read by le Texier.

Paris, february 10, 1802 (21 pluviôse).

MY DEAR SIR,

I went this evening to hear _le Texier_, so well known in London, read
_la Partie de Chasse_ de Henry IV. The reputation of the reader, and
the singularity of being present at the recital of a comedy in the
french republic; the fame of which formerly depended on the attachment
of the people to the cause of monarchy, and particularly to the house
of _Bourbon_, drew an unusual crowd, and I had great difficulty in
obtaining admittance. “La salle,” or hall of “le Brun,” in the rue de
Cléry, in which subscription concerts are usually performed, was the
place appropriated to this purpose; and though the room is extremely
large, it was soon filled in every corner. The benches were in a few
minutes occupied, and many persons were obliged to stand during the
whole performance. _Le Texier_, to my great astonishment, appeared much
confused. Though accustomed, for so many years, to appear before the
public, he had all the horrours of a young beginner. I know not, whether
his alarms arose from the numerous audience which he saw collected,
from any apprehension he might entertain as to an interruption from the
police, or from the criticisms which he expected from the french, who,
more conversant in the language, in which he was about to read, than
those to whom he was used to address himself, might be less indulgent.
From whatever cause his fears arose they were very apparent. His hand
trembled, the sweat dropped from his brow, his voice faltered, and in
some scenes, he forgot material passages. It is unfair to pass any
judgment on a person so circumstanced, I shall therefore only observe,
that I saw with regret, that though much applauded, he was but little
admired. As to me, I have often been so highly amused and delighted with
his readings in England, that I was more than commonly disappointed.

“La Partie de Chasse de Henry IV” seems to have lost none of its
popularity; for, notwithstanding the very imperfect manner in which it
was read, the most unbounded applauses testified the approbation of the
audience, at the recital of those passages, which were formerly in the
mouths of every one. A person unacquainted with Paris, would have been
apt to conclude, from what passed this evening, that the french were
all royalists. But it must be remembered, that, in the first place, the
greater part of those assembled on this occasion, were drawn there by
their particular sentiments; secondly, that any thing new, no matter
what, is sure to be well received; and lastly, that Henry the IVth,
besides being the favourite of the ladies of all parties, was at the
beginning of the revolution considered as a kind of popular character,
whom even the most violent democrats held up to public admiration. He
was likewise a military hero; and, after all, there is nothing so much
esteemed in France, as martial merit. Perhaps it was this part of his
character, which induced general Moreau to attend the reading of a play,
of which so renowned a warrior was the subject.

This celebrated general sat in the gallery, with a lady of considerable
talents, in whose company I afterwards supped. The lady in question
entertained the company, with a lively account of the _bon mots_,
brilliant thoughts, and happy expressions of her warlike companion; but
as _madame_ is particularly famed for the richness of her fancy; and as,
notwithstanding his decided merit as a soldier, no one ever before heard
of the conversation talents of Moreau: it was universally allowed, that
the general was not a little indebted for his favourable testimony to the
imagination of his fair reporter.

To return to _le Texier_. His play concluded without any interruption;
and though the words “vive le roi” were omitted, the song of “vive Henry
IV” was repeated and received with enthusiasm, by the audience.

Adieu. How strange a nation are the french! the more I see of them, the
more I find it difficult to discover their real sentiments. I am rather
inclined to think, that they have no decided political opinions at all;
and that their passions, the fashion of the day, or the accidental humour
of the moment, make them at one time stern and visionary republicans;
then hot headed royalists; and at another, quiet, submissive,
unreflecting tools of the ruling power, whatever it may be. But I must
not allow myself to enter on such topics: I therefore take my leave, and
bid you, for the present,

Adieu.

LETTER XVI.

Party at a _fournisseur’s_.—Ball at a _ci-devant_ noble’s.

Paris, february the 15th, 1802 (25 pluviôse).

MY DEAR SIR,

I received an invitation to spend yesterday evening at the house of
an individual, who is supposed to have made a very large fortune as
a “fournisseur,” or army contractor; and whose wife is one of the
“élégantes” of the new set. I send you, therefore, a faithful account, as
descriptive of that class of society, to which the name of “les nouveaux
riches” is given.

A handsome porte cochére[47] led to a well lighted and elegant stair
case, by which we approached the _salon_; where _madame_ ⸺, and some
friends who had dined with her, were seated. As, among the very few
houses at which I visit at Paris, the greater part are of “l’ancien
régime,” I have become so accustomed to dark rooms, old furniture, and
dismal hangings, that I was quite astonished at the splendour of the
apartment, into which I was now ushered. An elegant girandole of cut
glass, made with the greatest taste, and filled with innumerable wax
lights, gave such a lively appearance to the room, that, for a few
moments, I supposed myself in London. The chairs were made with classical
propriety in antique shapes, and the colours were well assorted. The
carpet (a luxury not often met with in this town) was of the finest
Brussels manufactory; and the walls were ornamented with designs on the
plan of “Echart.” We were received with much politeness by the lady of
the house, who is a beautiful woman, and who, whatever her original
situation may have been, is at present graceful in her manner, highly
accomplished, and well acquainted with the literature of her own country.

MONSIEUR was neither very handsome, nor particularly brilliant; but he
was very civil, and took no little pride in showing us the suite of rooms
which adjoined to the _salon_, and which were all, like the latter,
splendidly lighted.

The apartment next to that in which we were received, was covered with
pictures representing a naval engagement; and the inscription underneath
proved, that they had belonged to the unfortunate Louis XVI. A large claw
table was placed in the centre of the room; and our host, though a good
republican, forgot not to inform us, that it had cost him a large sum of
money; having been taken from the Thuilleries, where it had long been
in the use of Marie Antoinette. Next to this was the bed-room, which
was particularly splendid. The canopy of India muslin, so fine that it
appeared like a net, to which was added a rich embroidery of gold. The
stand of this elegant couch was of mahogany, ornamented with antique
figures correctly carved. The _boudoir_, which adjoined, almost, exceeded
in luxury that of madame ⸺, already described in a former letter. The
sofa was of crimson velvet, edged with silver; and the sides and top of
this little _bijou_ were entirely covered with the finest mirrors. Beyond
the _boudoir_ was another bed-room, furnished in a different manner, but
with equal taste and equal extravagance. The party consisted of five or
six ladies, who were, perhaps, more expensively, than correctly dressed,
of two of the ministers, and of some foreigners of distinction. A
musician of eminence performed on the harpsichord; and accompanied madame
⸺ and one of her friends, who both sung very prettily.

The evening would have been pleasant, had there not been a degree of
form, which to me was not a little annoying. About twelve o’clock supper
was announced; which was served on the ground floor, in a small _salle à
manger_, which was also elegantly furnished. The supper was good, and the
servants who waited were attentive.

I saw, this evening, for the first time, general Berthier. He is a little
man, plainly dressed, with cropped hair. His countenance is expressive,
when he speaks; but his figure is diminutive, and his appearance by no
means military. He is extremely polite, gentlemanly, and affable. I am
told, he is by birth “_gentil homme_;” and by his manner it is easy to
see, that he must have passed the early part of his life in good company.

After giving you this account of a party at one of the new houses, you
will, perhaps, not be displeased, if I conclude my letter with a short
description of a ball given by a person, formerly of very high rank, and
still of considerable fortune.

The antichamber, through which it is always necessary to pass at a
french assembly, is rather a disgusting sight. The servants, differently
occupied, some playing cards, some sleeping, and others criticising the
dress of those who pass by them, do not attempt to rise, and even those
of the house seldom give themselves the trouble of moving, at the arrival
of their master’s guests. If the _valet de chambre_ is near, the company
are announced; if otherwise, they are allowed to find their way to the
apartment of those whom they are visiting. At the ball, of which I am
now speaking, in addition to the antichamber devoted to the use I have
mentioned, the second drawing room was filled with _filles de chambre_,
milliners, and mantuamakers, whom the good nature of our hostess
permitted to sit there, that they might view the dancing, and learn the
fashions. I observed, that several of these _soubrettes_ did not direct
their attention solely to the _female_ part of the company.

After passing through these rooms, we found ourselves at last in the
_salon_, which was extremely well lighted with patent lamps. These are
much used at Paris, and almost generally substituted for wax. The oil
used here is less offensive than that which is bought in London; and,
when a sufficient number of reflectors are placed about a room (which is
not very commonly the case) it becomes very brilliant; but the heat is
always oppressive.

The company assembled on this occasion were all of the old _noblesse_;
and no _nouveau riche_, no person connected with the government, and
very few foreigners, were permitted to contaminate this _quintessence_
of “_bonne compagnie_.” I perceived many of those faces which I had
remembered in London among the _emigrés_ of distinction; and the lady of
the house did not forget to enumerate the families of _dukes_, _comtes_,
_marquis_, _marechals_, &c. which formed her society. It is but justice
to this class of company, to observe, that the ladies (whether from a
natural sense of propriety, from habits contracted during their residence
in foreign countries, or from the wish of distinguishing themselves
from their plebeian fellow citizens, I shall not pretend to inquire)
are infinitely more correct in their dress, than those of any other set
at Paris. I saw here several elegant women, who were tasteful, without
being indecent; and though, perhaps, a hundred persons were assembled
(which is considered a very large party in this town) there was only one
female present, of whom it could be said, that she was too liberal in the
display of her charms; and she was the subject of general conversation,
and general censure.

The ball began with two cotillons, or french country dances, which were
very gracefully performed by eight gentlemen and ladies, who vied with
each other in skill and activity. The rest of the company were seated
on benches, which were placed in gradations against the wall. A walse
was then played; about fifteen couple stood up; and the gentlemen,
placing their arms round the waists of their partners, moved round the
room in a circle, while the young men not so employed formed a group,
and filled the centre. The air appropriate to this dance is extremely
pretty, and the figures of the ladies are seen to great advantage. Yet,
notwithstanding the quiet, respectful manner of the parisians, I must
still continue of the opinion of Werter; that no modest woman ought to
dance the walse, unless her partner be either her husband or her brother.

After a short interval, I perceived a string of young men crowding
together, and forming a line. I learnt with surprise, that this was the
preparation for an english dance; and that the gentlemen were taking
places for their partners. Though gallantry is, I suppose, the cause of
this mode of determining precedency, it is extremely dangerous; and the
ladies of Paris ought, like our fair country women, to take the trouble
of arranging, themselves, so _important_ a question. One or two duels
have already taken place, this winter, owing to the disputes occasioned
by the zeal with which these “_preux chevaliers_” contended for the
honours of priority; and the evil will daily increase, if this manner of
taking places be continued.

Walses and cotillons succeeded alternately, for the rest of the evening.
About two o’clock in the morning, supper was announced. The table, not
being large enough to afford seats for all the company, was solely
occupied by the ladies. The entertainment consisted of soups, hot dishes,
_légumes_, fruit, and pastry; after which, as a remove, two large plates,
one of turbot, and one of salmon, made their appearance. These, to an
english eye, seemed very singular; but I hear, all good french suppers
conclude with fish.

After supper, the ball recommenced, and continued till six in the
morning. On summing up the occurrences of the evening, I remarked, that,
though the women were handsome, the company elegant in their dress,
and genteel in their manner; though the music was admirable, and the
refreshments plentiful and good; yet there was something wanting; I mean
that gaiety of heart, and that flow of spirits, which, according to all
accounts, the french formerly possessed.

The ladies danced to perfection; but they seemed to do so rather for
triumph than amusement; and any stranger, coming suddenly into the
room, would have supposed, that he saw before him the _élèves_ of the
opera house, not the daughters of the proud _noblesse_. Dancing is,
indeed, more a science than an entertainment, at Paris; and while
those who were engaged seemed to study every step, and to make all
their motions by rule, the by-standers looked on, and criticised with
the same professional attention. There was little or no conversation:
the loud laugh, involuntary tribute of joy, was not heard; nor the
innocent prattle of unsuspecting, happy youth. I know not whether this
total change of character is to be attributed to the heavy misfortunes
which the higher classes have experienced, or to some other cause; but
certainly nothing is more obsolete than french vivacity. I have now
passed more than three months in Paris; and have not yet seen among its
inhabitants[48], one instance of unbounded mirth. When it happens to
me to be in english, american, or other foreign companies, I am always
surprised at the fun and jollity of the persons around me.

Before I conclude my letter, I ought, perhaps, to mention, that I saw,
at this party, the celebrated Kosciusco, whose heroic exertions in the
cause of polish liberty have rendered him so justly celebrated. I am
happy to say, that he is perfectly recovered from his wound, and that he
has no longer any marks of lameness. He is not now in the vigour or the
bloom of youth; but his eye is finely expressive. I am sure, Lavater, in
seeing it, would have said, “That eye is the eye of a poet, a genius, or
a patriot.” I had not the pleasure of being introduced to him, and can
therefore only speak to you of his exterior.

I am, &c.

LETTER XVII.

Paris, feb. 21, 1802 (2 ventose.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went three evenings ago to see the first representation of a new play,
called “Edouard en Ecosse[49].” The subject was of course the arrival
in the isle of Sky of the english pretender, and his escape thence. The
applications which were likely to be made to the present situation of
France, drew an immense crowd. I went early to “le théâtre françois,”
and was fortunate enough to obtain a seat. If before the curtain drew up
I was struck with the singularity of my situation as a british subject,
about to see on the stage of the French Republic a play founded on such a
topic, my surprise increased when the performance began. I soon perceived
that the whole merit of the piece depended on the interest which an
unfortunate prince, banished from the throne of his ancestors, was
calculated to produce on the minds of the audience; and if such was the
design of the author, he was more than commonly successful. The passages
in favour of royalty, and particularly those which expressed pity for the
proscribed, were applauded with inexpressible warmth. The dialogue was
well written, and so artfully worded, that it was difficult for any man,
whatever his political sentiments might be, not to join in commiserating
the fate of Edward. The story was simple, and as well as I can trace it
from memory, I will give it to you.

The young pretender, after being defeated by his enemies, and abandoned
by his friends, takes refuge, disguised as a peasant, in the isle of
Sky. Having passed three days without food, he is driven by want into
a house, the door of which he finds open. Here exhausted with fatigue
and hunger, he falls asleep. In this situation he is discovered by lady
Athol, (the mistress of the mansion) wife of the governor of the island,
and the particular favourite of king George. He wakes, and, after an
interesting dialogue, confesses who he is. He then asks of lady Athol “a
little bread for the son of him who once was her sovereign.” Long divided
between the sentiments of humanity and those of duty and gratitude, lady
Athol cannot resist this last pathetic appeal, and having supplied him
with some refreshment, she determines to protect him. In the midst of
this scene Argyle, who is commissioned by the british government to take
the pretender, arrives, and seeing Edward, expresses some suspicion. To
remove this, lady Athol, with that presence of mind which women often
possess on such trying occasions, declares, that the person he now sees
in the dress of a peasant is her husband, Lord Athol, (whom Argyle
had never seen) and who, having been shipwrecked, was just arrived in
this pitiful plight. Argyle believes the story, and having paid his
compliments to the supposed governor, leaves him to take that repose, of
which he concludes he must stand in need, after the accident which he had
experienced.

Edward afterwards appears in the dress of lord Athol, and in that
character is obliged to preside at a supper, to which Argyle and some
other english officers had been previously invited. One of the latter, a
violent partisan and rough soldier, proposes, as a toast, “death to all
the enemies of George.” Edward, after a violent struggle, throws down his
glass, and rising from the table, exclaims, “I will not drink the death
of any man.”

After this scene, which was rendered very interesting to the English,
by our “God save the king” being played on the french stage, and to the
whole audience by the last phrase, which was received with unbounded
applause, the real lord Athol arrives. In this dilemma the courage of
lady Athol does not desert her. She makes signs to her husband, who
discovers the truth, and recollecting that Edward had once saved his
life at Rome from the hand of an assassin, he determines to rescue him
from the danger of his present situation. He accordingly pretends to
confess to Argyle, that in assuming the name of Athol, he (Athol) had
deceived him, and that he is the pretender after whom he is seeking.
In this character, therefore, Athol is arrested, and in the mean time
Edward, conducted by the faithful steward of lady Athol, makes his escape
in a boat. The whole then is disclosed, and on the arrival of the duke of
Cumberland, Athol is pardoned for this pious fraud, the duke declaring
that he is convinced that the king himself, would, under similar
circumstances, have acted in the same manner.

There is a kind of counterplot or episode, in which the celebrated miss
Murray appears as the sister of Athol, but her character is not material
to the general story of the play. Argyle, who is in love with her, asks
her of her Edward (while he appears as Lord Athol) and this puts him into
another dilemma, from which he is also saved by the presence of mind of
lady Athol. Mademoiselle Contat played lady Athol most admirably, and the
part of Edward was performed in a very interesting and natural manner by
_St. Fall_, who rose infinitely above himself in the character assigned
him.

From this imperfect account you will at least be able to observe what
occasions were given both in the scenes and in the dialogue, for such
applications, as the friends of royalty took care to make, and which were
applauded with a degree of ardour, which I never saw equalled either in
England or France.

What a strange people are the French? Do I see the same nation who put
Louis XVI to death, and who have, with such daring courage, opposed
the return of the house of Bourbon, shed tears at a similar story,
and enthusiastically support the sentiments of this play, founded not
only on an attachment to monarchy, but on principles of indefeasible
right? Again, do I see the same people, who a few years back permitted
their best and worthiest citizens, however guiltless, to fall in crowds
under the axe of the guillotine, and at the nod of a contemptible petty
tyrant; I say, do I see the same people commiserate the sufferings
of an abdicated prince, and loudly applaud a sentiment which justly
declares, that to wish the death of any one is a base, an unmanly, and an
unnatural action? But I am going out of my element. I return to the play.
It was received with more and more admiration at every line, and when
the curtain at last dropped, the applause increased, and continued for
several minutes uninterruptedly.

The author was called for, and proved to be one of the actors of the
house, who, as if inconsistencies of all kinds were to be reconciled on
this occasion, was formerly a violent jacobin.

The play was acted a second night, with the omission of “God save the
king,” and the sentiment about the toast; and to day it is at last
forbidden.

The royalists are excessively irritated at the prohibition, but how was
it possible to suffer in a republic a performance, every word of which
expressed respect for royalty, and pity for a proscribed family?

In England, where, thank God! liberty is less shackled than in this
country, and where our ideas of government are more fixed, should we
suffer on our stage a play which recommended republican doctrines?
The answer is plain. I believe this is the right way of judging every
question. Viewing it in this light, I think, that if the consuls had any
fault, it was in suffering “Edward” to be acted. In stopping it they have
only done their duty.

I am, &c.

LETTER XVIII.

_The carnival._—Masks in all the streets.—Account of the
different characters, processions, &c.—Masqued ball at the
opera house.

Paris, february the 25th, 1802 (6 ventose).

MY DEAR SIR,

The streets of Paris have, since sunday last, exhibited a very singular
appearance to the eye of an englishman. The carnival is now begun;
and the people, being permitted by the present government to return
to all their old habits, are celebrating this season of the year with
that gayety, whim, and eccentricity, which it has long been a kind of
religious duty, in catholic countries, to display on such occasions. From
six in the morning till midnight, the principal streets are crowded with
masks of every description; and while a certain number are contented with
exhibiting their fun and their dresses on foot, others are mounted on
horses, attended by servants, also in _costume_, and some are seated in
carriages of every description. In short, Paris has been one continued
scene of jubilee, and it is difficult to pass through the principal
avenues of the town, on account of the vast crowds of singular figures,
who press forward on every side, and arrest the attention of spectators.
Harlequins, Columbines, beaux, abbés, lawyers, and monks, present
themselves every where; and while they circulate in detached parties,
mamalukes, turks, and indian savages, correctly dressed, well mounted,
and attended with bands of music, move in numerous bodies. These, and
motley groups of masks of all kinds, filling the inside, top, and every
part of hackney coaches, landaus, sociables, curricles, cabriolets, and
german waggons, form lengthened processions on the Boulevard, in the
rue St. Honoré, and in the neighbourhood of the Palais royal; while the
latter, the Thuilleries, and Champs Elisées, are filled with pedestrian
and motley coloured wits, who, attacking each other with _poissard_
eloquence, amuse not a little the surrounding multitude.

It is difficult to convey an idea of the show, variety, and eccentricity
of the dresses. In the extraordinary processions, which I have already
mentioned, several handsome carriages were employed, drawn very
frequently by four, sometimes by six, and, in more instances than one, by
eight horses. Caricatures of all sorts were exhibited; and it was curious
to see the _costumes_ of friars, nuns, full dressed _marquis_, powdered
_abbés_, and mitred prelates, appearing as masquerade disguises in those
streets, where, twelve years before, the same dresses excited the serious
respect of every one.

The people showed considerable fun in many of the grotesque figures
which they assumed; and I was particularly pleased with a fellow,
who, imitating our english print, was dressed as a monk, and literally
carried on his back a young girl enclosed in a truss of straw, with these
words written on his burden, “Provision pour le convent[50].” Besides
innumerable _Eves_, beautiful _Venusses_, and handsome legged damsels,
dressed as boys, _Diana_ had many a fair representative, clad in flesh
coloured pantaloons, and gracefully perched on the edge of a coach box,
embracing with one arm a Hercules, and with the other an Adonis. I think
you will admire, as I did, the admirable choice of such a dress, and such
a posture, for the goddess of Modesty. The moral conduct of each lady
was, doubtless, not less appropriate than her outward appearance to the
character which she assumed.

This amusement has already continued some days, and will, I am told,
last at least ten more. It is difficult to ascertain how the body of
the people, who alone take part in these sports, can support both, the
loss of time, and the expense which the dresses, carriages, &c. must
necessarily occasion. It is indeed reported, that the government pays
the whole cost, and that the principal characters are hired to amuse
the mob; but a respectable gentleman, who was intimately connected
with the minister of police under the old _régime_, assures me, that
the same thing was said at that time; and that nothing was more false,
though the masks were then as splendid and as numerous as they are at
present. I believe, the truth is simply this, that the french are so
fond of pleasure, of amusement, and _spectacles_ of all kinds, that
there is no sacrifice which they will not endure, in order to be able
to indulge this favourite passion. A parisian will dine for six days on
a sallad, that he may go on the seventh to a ball or a play; and I have
no doubt that the emperors, caliphs, and janissaries, whom I have seen
to day in such oriental splendour, have many of them still, like good
christians, begun to mortify the flesh, even before the commencement of
Lent. This necessary sobriety, united to the regulations of the police,
which are admirable, prevents any disorder or riots in the streets; and
notwithstanding the swarms of idle masqueraders, who wander at present
about this great city, I have not yet heard of a single accident, or of
the slightest disturbance.

The carnival is celebrated in the same manner by the higher classes in
the evening; and there is a masquerade every night at the opera house.
I went there yesterday, and observed more gayety among the persons
assembled, than I have yet seen in France. The pit being joined to the
stage, gave a large space, which was entirely filled. The gentlemen
do not usually wear masks, and their persons are only covered with a
domino. It is one of the privileges of the ladies to conceal their faces,
and to attack, without being known, the _beaux_ of their acquaintance.
This custom takes from the splendour of the masquerade, as very few
persons are fancifully dressed, and almost all are occupied in seeking
adventures. Nor was the conversation livelier than on such occasions
in England: the small number of individuals who pretended to assume
characters, trusted to their dresses, rather than their wit, for the
support of their parts. There were “english jockies,” who had never heard
of Newmarket, and who could speak no language but the french; haughty
dons, who could not answer a question in Spanish; actors, who could not
repeat a single line either of Racine, Corneille, or Voltaire; beys of
Egypt, who knew not the course of the Nile; grand signors, who heard, for
the first time, that wine was forbidden by the Koran; and monks, who did
not know to what order they belonged. Yet, notwithstanding these little
defects, the evening was lively; and though there was no form, there was
no disturbance.

Whatever improprieties might have privately taken place, no indecency
shocked the public eye; no drunken persons made their appearance; no
woman was insulted, and no quiet inoffensive man dragged into a quarrel.

This is, indeed, the great and striking characteristic of a public
place in France, that it may be visited in safety; and if the parisian
_spectacles_ are less amusing than those of London, the former have, at
least, the negative merit of not exposing those who frequent them to
riot, rudeness, or inconvenience.

I am, &c.

LETTER XIX.

Bonaparte’s audience.—His address to the english gentlemen
presented to him.—First appearance, this season, of
_Vestris_.—Madame de St—l’s concert.

Paris, march the 7th, 1801, (16 ventose).

MY DEAR SIR,

I spent yesterday a very busy and a very entertaining day. On the 15th of
every month, the first consul, after the review (the ceremony of which
I have described in a former letter), gives audience to the ambassadors
and foreigners, in other words, holds his court. As I was very anxious
to have an opportunity of seeing, in a private room, and of speaking
to Bonaparte, who, whatever his political merits or faults may be, is
indisputably one of the most extraordinary men whom the world ever
produced, I requested Mr. Jackson, the british minister, to do me the
favour of presenting me. My name having accordingly been sent in to the
minister for foreign affairs, I drove to the palace of the Thuilleries,
at three o’clock, where, in a small apartment on the ground floor,
called “la Salle des Ambassadeurs,” the foreign ministers, and their
respective countrymen, wait till the first consul is ready to receive
them. Chocolate, lemonade, sherbet, and liqueurs, were served round in
abundance; and, after an interval of nearly an hour, the doors were
thrown open, and we ascended the great stairs of the palace, which were
lined with grenadiers, who stood with rested arms on every step. In the
antichamber there was an officer’s guard, which saluted us in passing;
and after going through four or five very large rooms, in each of which
there was on both sides a file of soldiers, we, at last, found ourselves
in what would be called, in England, the presence chamber. Here, in a
splendid _salon_, stood Bonaparte, between Cambacères, the second consul,
and le Brun, the third. They were all three dressed in their grand
_costume_ of scarlet velvet, richly embroidered with gold. The generals,
senators, and counsellors of state, who surrounded Bonaparte, retired
on our arrival, and a circle was instantly formed, the foreigners of
different nations ranging themselves behind their respective ministers.
The imperial ambassador stood on the right hand side of the first consul;
next to him was placed Mr. Jackson; and on the left I perceived _marquis
Luchesini_, the prussian minister, and the hereditary prince of Orange,
whom he presented this day. In compliment to the latter, Bonaparte,
contrary to his usual practice, began the audience on that side. He spoke
for some time to the son of the deposed Stadtholder, and seemed anxious
to render his situation (awkward and extraordinary as it was) as little
painful as possible; but I thought I could remark, in the countenance
of this respectable young man, a look which proved that these efforts,
though well meant, were ineffectual. In passing by each foreign minister,
the first consul received the individuals of their respective nations
with great ease and dignity. When it came to Mr. Jackson’s turn, sixteen
english were presented; and, after Bonaparte had spoke to five or six
of us, he said, with a smile, which is peculiarly his own, and which
changes a countenance, usually stern, into one of great mildness, “Je
suis charmé de voir tant d’Anglois ici. J’espére que notre union sera
de longue durée. Nous sommes les deux nations les plus puissantes et
les plus civilizées de l’Europe. Il faut nous unir pour cultiver les
arts, les sciences, les lettres, enfin pour faire le bonheur de l’espèce
humaine[51].”

Mr. Jackson made no reply, and, of course, no one else could say any
thing. The first consul spoke to each individual with politeness, and
inquired to what regiments those belonged who were presented in uniform.
He particularly distinguished colonel Graham, an officer of great merit
in our service, who, both in Italy and in Syria, had been opposed to the
arms of France, when commanded in person by Bonaparte. After going round
the circle, he spoke a second time to this gentleman, and paid the same
compliment to the hereditary prince of Orange. The audience then closed,
and we descended with the same ceremonies as in coming in, to “la Salle
des Ambassadeurs,” where we waited for our carriages.

The whole was conducted with great dignity; and persons used to courts,
all agree, that the audience of the first consul is one of the most
splendid things of the kind in Europe. The pomp of military parade with
which it is attended, the beauty of the palace, the handsome uniforms
and commanding figures of the soldiery, the variety of regimentals worn
by the officers of different nations, the elegance of taste displayed by
some foreigners (for every one not in uniform is in the full dress of
the old court), the splendid stars, ribands, and orders of others, and,
above all, the celebrity of Bonaparte, unite so many circumstances in
its favour, that you will not be surprised at a judgment, which, to a
person who has not lately seen Paris, may seem extraordinary. As to the
first consul, he is as superiour in little things as in great ones; and,
had he been born a sovereign, he could not possibly discharge this part
of his duty with more ease, dignity, and decorum. He is also very ready
in finding subjects of conversation, and opportunities of civility.
He gave yesterday a proof of this; which, though I did not hear it
myself, I shall venture to report on the credit of a person on whom I
can rely. A prussian aid-de-camp being presented (whose name I have
forgotten), Bonaparte asked, “where his general had last served?” The
officer replied, “in the campaign against France.”—“I beg you a thousand
pardons,” rejoined the consul; “but it is so contrary to the usual order
of things (_si peu naturel_) to see the prussians and french opposed to
each other, that the circumstance had entirely escaped me[52].”

Before I conclude my account of the audience, I ought to mention, that
it may be well called a _court_; for it is attended not only with all
the requisites of show, parade, form, and etiquette, but likewise by
that flattery and cringing attention, which it was once the exclusive
privilege of royalty to receive. I saw the proudest nobles of foreign
courts, decorated with all the trappings of chivalry, humbly bending
the body, and anxiously courting the smile of that individual, whom, a
few years, nay, a few months before, they would have branded with the
names of rebel, jacobin, and usurper; but the creed of courtiers is to
change with “existing circumstances,” and those, whose intrigues against
Bonaparte were the most active, are now his most obsequious sycophants.
But a truce to remarks which lead to politics.

The english who were presented immediately after the peace, were asked
to dinner; but owing to the greatness, I imagine, of our number, this
favour was not yesterday shown to us. I regret much having missed the
entertainment, as I am told it was strikingly magnificent.

I went in the evening to see a _spectacle_, infinitely more interesting,
according to french ideas, though certainly not so according to mine. I
mean, the first appearance, this season, of Vestris, and mademoiselle
Chameroi. This was at Paris a matter of great importance, and boxes were
engaged for weeks before hand. Mrs. ⸺ was fortunate enough to procure
one; and I therefore saw the performance (Hecubé, and “le _Ballet_ de
Paris,”) to great advantage. Vestris has certainly lost none of his
merit, and deserves, as well as ever, that celebrity which has long been
his; but I could not help being disgusted at the thunder of applause
which greeted his appearance. It is impossible, indeed, to carry further
the _sublime_ art of dancing; but how contemptible is it to lavish the
praises of a great nation on the exertions of mere bodily skill! If, as
Dr. Johnson well observes, “the garlands due to the great benefactors
of mankind should not be suffered to fade upon the brow of those who
can boast only petty services and easy virtues,” much less should they
ornament the head of him, whose utmost claims on the gratitude of the
public are the flexibility of his body, or the grace of his steps.

Mademoiselle Chameroi, the _élève_ and favourite of Vestris, danced
delightfully, and almost shared the popularity of her protector.

Bonaparte was present, and sat, for the first time, in his state or
open box. He was welcomed with warm and universal plaudits; but I blush
to add, that they were not greater than those which the “quick-footed”
Vestris had already received. Is it possible that the parisians reward,
with the same honours, the services of their great statesmen, and the
exertions of their favourite dancers?

From the opera I went to a supper and concert, given in honour of the
prince of Orange, at the celebrated madame de St—l’s. Her house is one
of the most agreeable in Paris, and one of the few at which foreigners
are received with kindness and hospitality. I have not been fortunate
enough to form part of her dinner societies; but I am told, that they
well deserve the credit of affording “the feast of reason, and the flow
of wit.” Her evening assemblies, at several of which I have been present,
are the liveliest and best conducted which I have seen in this town.

The most distinguished public characters, all the foreigners of eminence,
and most of the reigning _belles_ of Paris, are always met with at her
house. Her parties, too, are so admirably managed, that every one does
precisely what he wishes; and a stranger is sure to be amused either with
excellent music, cards, or, what is better than either, the conversation
of the lady of the house.

Adieu. This letter is already so very long that I shall make no apology
for an abrupt conclusion.

LETTER XX.

The antichamber of the _Musée Central_, now filled with
an additional collection of fine pictures.—Account of the
wonderful recovery of some chefs-d’œuvre.—List of pictures in
this room.

Paris, march the 20th, 1802 (29 ventose.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went this morning to the picture gallery, (or _Musée Central des
Arts_), and was very agreeably surprised at finding that the antichamber,
which, on my first, arrival at Paris, was filled with a miserable modern
exhibition, now contains some of the _chefs-d’œuvre_ of the first masters.

These pictures, taken from Venice, Florence, Turin, and Foligno, have
lately been arranged and deposited in this room. The advertisement to
the additional catalogue, published on the occasion, acquaints us,
that the persons entrusted with the management of the _Musée_, anxious
to increase the pleasure of the public, and the improvement of the
arts, had regularly exhibited, as they received them, the pictures
collected at Bologna, Cento, Modena, Parma, Placenza, Rome, Venice,
Florence, and Turin. But among the number, there were some in such a
state of decay, that it was impossible to place them in the _Louvre_,
without incurring the almost certain danger of their destruction. The
administrators, therefore, very wisely determined to take every possible
means of rescuing these sublime efforts of the art of painting from that
entire ruin, into which they were rapidly falling. Their zeal and their
perseverance have been crowned with success, infinitely greater than they
could possibly have expected.

By a report made to the _national institute_ by _Morveau_, _Vincent_, and
_Taunay_, it appears, that the celebrated picture of Raphael, called “la
Vierge au Donataire,” or the Virgin with the Donor, found at Foligno, was
in such a state of decay from the dampness of the place, where it had
long been deposited, that the persons employed by the french government,
much doubted the possibility of conveying it to Paris. After having taken
every precaution, which their experience could suggest, to prevent the
danger which they apprehended, they ordered the removal; but they felt,
at the same time, that they could not exhibit this masterpiece in France,
till they had shifted the ground from the wood on which it was originally
painted, and which had become entirely rotten.

“Le Martyre de St. Pierre le Dominican,” or the Martyrdom of St.
Peter the Dominican, esteemed one of the _chefs-d’œuvre_ of the art
of painting, and the finest work which ever came from the pencil of
Titian, was also, when found in the church of St. John and St. Paul,
at Venice, painted on wood, and the pannel uncommonly thick. Its great
dimensions obliged the commissioners to order it to be transported by sea
to Marseilles. As the frigate, “la Favourite,” on board of which it was
embarked, met with a storm during the passage, the case which contained
it was exposed to the wet, and the humidity found its way to the picture.
It was no longer possible to discover its beauties; and the only means
left of saving the picture, was, by removing it from the wood, and
placing it on cloth. This operation, as well as the former one, rendered,
in the latter case, still more difficult, by the extraordinary size of
the picture, was performed by C. Hacquin, with wonderful skill, great
talent, and singular success. The process, which was superintended by a
committee of the _national institute_, is given in the catalogue.

Both these superior specimens of painting are now restored to all their
brilliancy, and to all their original perfection; and the principles on
which this transposition has been effected, are so simple, that there is
no longer any thing to dread from similar accidents.

The preface continues to state, that this new exhibition unites the most
esteemed productions of the florentine, venetian, and roman schools. Some
from the palace of Pitti, at Florence, and some from Turin. Specimens
are presented of the works of artists unknown in Paris, and perhaps in
many parts or Europe. Such are the Hunters, by St. Jean de St. Jean;
the Virgin, the infant Jesus, and the infant St. John, by _Lorenzo
Sabbatini_; and the _Ecce Homo_, of _Cigoli_; to which is added, a
valuable picture of various animals, by J. Weeninix, lately bought by
the minister of the interior, at the sale of _Paillet_ and _Coclers_,
and united to the collection of the _Musée Central_, which, as the
catalogue well observes, will become the most magnificent of Europe, if
acquisitions are thus made of those productions, which are still wanting
to complete it. I shall conclude this account, by mentioning the pictures
of the celebrated masters.

PAUL VERONESE.

No. 44. “Les Nôces de Canna,” or the Marriage in Cana, by Paul
Veronese, is a large picture, in which he has introduced
all the dresses and extraordinary characters of the age in
which he lived. It is one of the four _cenes_, or feasts,
and was exhibited in the refectory of the monks of _St.
George the great_, at Venice. The artist received for
this interesting picture only 90 ducats, or 675 _livres
tournois_.—The second _cene_ is called “le Repas,” or the
Repast at Simon’s, and was in the refectory of the friars
of St. Sebastian, at Venice. It is now in the _Musée_.—The
third is the Repast at _Levi’s_, which forms the number 45
in this collection; and the fourth, in which Paul Veronese
paints our Saviour at the Pharisee’s, has long been at
Versailles, in the _Salon d’Hercule_, having been given
to Lewis XIV by the republic of Venice. “Ainsi,” says
the catalogue, in the style of french gasconade, “graces
au génie de la Victoire, la publique aura bientôt la
jouissance de voir ces quatre magnifique compositions
réunis dans le Musée Central[53].”

No. 45. Is the Repast at Levi’s, mentioned above.

46. Is the Virgin, St. Jerom, and other saints.—One of his best
pictures, taken from the convent of St. Zacharia, at
Venice.

47. The Martyrdom of St. George, taken from the principal altar
of the church of St. George, at Venice, esteemed the
finest work which Paul Veronese left in his own country.
The _Musée_ has the same work in little.

48. Jupiter thundering against Crimes. Taken from the ducal
palace at Venice, where it was placed in the hall of
the council of ten. The crimes described in the picture
are, Forgery, Exaction, and Treason, which were the
subjects specially entrusted to this dreadful tribunal,
whose judgments were without appeal. Paul Veronese
executed this work after a journey to Rome. He pretended
to have copied, and _connoisseurs_ pretend to discover,
figures imitated from the antique.

49. Christ carrying his Cross.—This valuable picture painted on
wood, comes from the old collection of the kings of France.

50. The Crucifixion of our Saviour.—This also comes from the
royal collection.

No. 51. The Pilgrims of Emmaus, taken from Versailles.

PORDENONE.

No. 54. St. Laurence, Justiniani, and other saints. Taken from the
church of _Madona del Orto_, at Venice. Reckoned one of
_Pordenone’s_ best works. His name appears on it, written
thus, “Joannes Antoninus Portapanaensis.”

RAPHAEL.

No. 55. “La Vierge au Donataire,” or the Virgin with the Donor.—I
have before mentioned the wonderful manner in which this
picture has been recovered.

56. Jesus Christ, the Virgin, St. John, St. Paul, and St.
Catherine.—This picture, painted on wood, comes from
St. Paolo, at Parma.

57. The Portrait of Raphael and his Fencing-master, taken by
himself. Painted on cloth, and brought from Versailles.

58. The Portrait of Count _Balthasar Castiglione_. Painted on
cloth, and brought from Versailles.

59. The Portrait of _Cardinal Inghirami_. Painted on cloth.
Taken from the palace of Pitti, at Florence.

60. Portrait of pope Julius II. Painted on wood. Also from the
palace of _Pitti_.

RUBENS.

No. 61. Grotius, Justus Lipsius, Rubens, and his Brother. A picture
of the great painter, and his nearest and most illustrious
friends.

62. The carrying of the Cross.—This picture, painted on cloth,
comes from the abbey of Affingham, near Alost, in Holland.

No. 63. Christ thundering against Heresy. Painted on cloth. Taken
from the church of the Jacobins, at Antwerp.

64. The Assumption of the Virgin. Painted on cloth. Taken from
the church of the _Carmes des Chaux_, at Brussels.

ANDREA SACCHI.

No. 65. St. Romuald.—This picture comes from the church of the
_Camadules_ of _St. Romuald_, at Rome, where it was
placed above the principal altar. It was long esteemed
one of the four best pictures at Rome.

SALVATOR ROSA.

No. 60. The Ghost of Samuel.—This picture, brought from Versailles,
is on cloth.

TINTORET.

No. 67. Saint Mark freeing a Slave. From the fraternity of St. Marco,
at Venice. One of the best pieces of Tintoret, and one of
the three to which he affixed his name, in this manner,
“Jacomo Tintor, F.”

68. St. Agnes bringing to Life the Son of a Prefect, at Rome.
Taken from the church of _la Madona del Orto_, at Venice.

TITIAN.

No. 69. The Martyrdom of St. Peter, the Dominican.—The wonderful
recovery of this precious picture I have before mentioned.
It is now in high preservation. The colours are rich, and
the whole perfect.

No. 70. The Portrait of the _Marquis del Guasto_.—This picture is
painted on cloth, and was in the old collection.

71. The Virgin, the infant Jesus, St. John, and St. Agnes. From
the old collection.

72. The Holy Family, called the Virgin with the Rabbit. From the
old collection.

73. The Pilgrims of Emmaus.—This picture, painted on cloth, was
brought from Versailles.

74. Titian and his Mistress.—This valuable picture comes from the
old collection.

75. The Picture of a man. From the old collection.

76. The Portrait of Cardinal _Hippolytus de Medici_, in a
military dress. From the palace of Pitti.

VAN DYCK.

No. 84. Francis de Moncade, Marquis d’Aytone, on cloth. From the
palace of prince Braschi, at Rome.

LEONARDI DA VINCI.

No. 37. The Virgin and St. Ann, on wood. From the old collection.

GUERCINO (GIO FRANCESCO BARBIERI.)

No. 33. St. Petronelle. The chef-d’œuvre of Guerchini. Taken from
the pontifical palace, at mount Cavallo, at Rome, where
it ornamented the chapel called _Pauline_.

L. CARRACCI.

No. 19. The carrying away the Body of the Virgin.

20. The Apostles at the Sepulchre.—These two pictures came from
Placenza, where they were seen in the cathedral. Painted
in 1608, when Carracci was far advanced in life.

“The Transfiguration,” by Raphael, is undergoing the same
process as the pictures mentioned in the beginning of
this letter; and will, probably, when this is finished,
obtain all its former celebrity.

I make no apology for this long account; for knowing your curiosity about
paintings, and the general taste for such subjects in England, I thought
it an indispensible duty to give you the full particulars of this new
exhibition, which, though on a smaller scale, is perhaps superiour, in
point of real merit, to the larger collection.

Adieu. The more I see of the Musée, the more am I delighted. I often take
advantage of the hospitable privilege accorded to foreigners, and come
here on those days when the public are not admitted. I have then the
united advantages of looking on uninterrupted by the noise of crowds,
and of seeing the number of artists, of both sexes, (some professional,
and some amateurs), who are busily employed in copying the most esteemed
productions.

I think it certain, that so favourable an opportunity will soon revive,
in all its ancient splendour, the art of painting, which, for some years
back, has been, undoubtedly, on the decline.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXI.

Paris, march the 26th, 1802 (5 germinal).

MY DEAR SIR,

We have had for some days delightful weather; and the parisians have
taken advantage of it in the best manner, by passing several hours in the
“_bois de Boulogne_,” which answers in some respects to our Hyde-park.
From three till six o’clock, the champs Elisées, through which the road
runs, leading to this favourite spot, and all the adjoining streets
have been crowded every day during this week, with carriages of all
descriptions. Berlins, chariots, curricles, gigs, cabriolets, sociables,
&c. These united to innumerable horsemen and pedestrians, make the whole
city assume a lively appearance.

The _bois de Boulogne_ is about a mile and a half from the _place de
la Concorde_; and the avenue and turnpike leading to it, form one of
the most striking entrances of Paris. The wood itself was formerly very
fine; but in one of the frantic moments of revolutionary violence,
great part of the trees, were, by order of the then government, cut
down for fuel. It is however still a very pleasant retreat; and though
the wood is not so well garnished as it once was, yet it is singularly
retired and romantic, for a spot so near a capital. A gate leads to it,
where, from the crowds pressing forwards, it is often necessary to wait
before it is possible to pass. A string of carriages fills the centre
of the road, on the sides of which, gentlemen and ladies on horseback
are obliged to range themselves, as there is no separate space for
equestrians. Under the trees, to the right, it is the fashion to walk,
or to sit on chairs, which are placed there for the purpose; while ice,
oranges, flowers, fruit, and lemonade, are offered by persons, who make
it their business to attend, and who are not a little importunate. Here
the _belles_ of Paris appear in all their _éclat_, not dressed in rustic
straw hats, and snow white morning gowns, such as our fair countrywomen
wear in Kensington gardens; and which, while they are the emblem of
their minds, pure and simple, are the most becoming ornaments they could
assume. The ladies of Paris disdain such humble attractions; and in showy
silks, embroidered muslins, pearl necklaces, lace caps, and transparent
petticoats, challenge the attention of passengers. “Les pommes
d’albâtre,” as Voltaire describes them, are as little disguised as at the
balls, which I have mentioned; and ill-nature has a fair opportunity of
determining by day light, whether they owe their fairness to nature or to
art. Clad in this manner, many of them appear in open carriages, while
others lounge on the chairs, or loiter along the walk, followed by their
booted _beaux_, who to english leather breeches and boots, and cropped
hair, sometimes add a pair of ear-rings, or a smart military cocked hat,
when the sun shines in all its meridian heat.

The mixture of english and french fashions is, indeed, very curious at
Paris; and whenever a frenchman wishes to be completely _à l’anglaise_,
he generally contrives to make himself ridiculous. The equestrians sit on
the necks of their horses, and turn out their toes, by way of imitating
our manner of riding; and the grooms who attend them, whom they call
“des jockés,” are dressed like our postilions; that is to say, in short
waistcoats, richly laced with gold and silver, with a cap, ornamented in
the same manner, and without any coat. The horses, generally speaking,
are very bad, very ill trimmed, and worse managed. There are some
handsome english carriages already arrived, and the french coachmakers
copy our fashions as much as possible; but they are, as yet, far behind.
The common run of vehicles is very indifferent. The handsomest equipage
from London, loses much of its elegance here, from the slovenly manner
in which it is sure to be kept by a french coachman; from the tail
of the latter, which it is very difficult to persuade him to cut off;
and from the shabby horses, usually furnished by the jobmen. Apropos,
a very ridiculous circumstance occurred a few days ago. All foreigners
are permitted (notwithstanding the republican prohibition to natives)
to have arms on their carriages, and to give their usual liveries: of
course, several of the english, allowed their servants to wear gold
laced cocked hats. Would you believe it possible, that the government
was apprehensive of these hats being taken for the badges, given to
distinguish the constituted authorities; and that, on this ground, they
have been forbidden by an express order of the police, issued with proper
solemnity? Such is the simple truth. French generals, those renowned and
distinguished warriors, are apprehensive of english footmen being taken
for them. What a strange littleness in great minds.

“Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?” I cannot help exclaiming with lord
Chesterfield, “alas, poor human nature!”

I beg your pardon for this digression. I return to the bois de Boulogne;
when the day is fine, the _promenade_ is very lively; and the grotesque
figures produced by the unnatural union of french finery, and english
simplicity, serve to distinguish it from every thing else of the kind in
Europe. In returning from this motley scene, at four o’clock to day,
I heard the sound of cannon: I learnt soon after, with inexpressible
joy that the news of the signature of the definitive treaty was just
arrived. Happy day, which gives peace to all the world; may you long
be remembered, and may many, many years pass over, before you have a
successor! at six, the whole _façade_ of the Thuilleries, its garden,
“les Invalides,” and the hotel of the minister of marine, were all (as
if by magic), splendidly illuminated. It grieves me to add, that this
important intelligence has produced no effect at Paris. It has scarcely
been mentioned in society, and I have walked about, the whole evening,
admiring the taste with which the public buildings were lighted; and
heartily joining in the satisfaction which occasioned them, without
meeting one single group of french spectators. Indifference is “the order
of the day;” and I really believe, that no subject of any kind could
animate the parisians, or rouse them from the stupid apathy, into which
they have fallen, on the subject of politics. If “_spectacles_” have lost
their attraction, it is in vain to try any other method; for these are
the “penates” of the inhabitants of this great city. I hope and trust,
that the peace will be received in England, in a very different manner.
All good men will unite in rejoicing at the termination of a war, which,
whether “just and necessary,” as some assert, or wantonly undertaken as
others represent, was attended with such an unusual waste of public
money, private happiness, and human blood.

I sincerely congratulate you, my dear sir, on this, the happiest event,
which England has known for many years.

I remain, &c.

LETTER XXII.

The palais du _Luxembourg_.—_Théâtre d’Odéon._—The pantheon or
St. Généviève.—Tombs of Rousseau and Voltaire.

Paris, april the 1st, 1802 (11 germinal).

MY DEAR SIR,

I went yesterday to see the palace of the Luxembourg, now appropriated
to the use of the conservative senate, originally the residence of
_monsieur_, the king’s brother; and afterwards that of the executive
directory. The building is now undergoing a thorough repair. It is
therefore impossible to judge of it properly, in its present state.
The grand _façade_, or front, remains unaltered, and is strikingly
magnificent. I viewed it with particular pleasure; as the college at
Oxford, where I passed some of the happiest days of my life, and to
which I have still the honour of belonging, was built after the model of
this celebrated palace. This circumstance recalled so many interesting
remembrances, that I with difficulty tore myself from the gates of the
Luxembourg. I am told, that the proposed alterations are to be made on
a great and extended scale; and that every member of the senate, is to
have here, a distinct house, or spacious apartment. The gardens are also
to receive every possible improvement. Several workmen were already
employed in carrying this design into execution; but the whole is still
too imperfect to give any idea of what it may ultimately become. I saw
nothing but half formed gravel walks, formal avenues of trees, and
preparations for a round basin of standing water. The ground is indeed
too much surrounded with houses, ever to make what we should call in
England, a fine garden.

The magnificent theatre, called, “le théâtre français de l’Odéon,”
which formerly stood near the Luxembourg, and which was one of the most
magnificent buildings of the kind in Europe, was, a few years ago,
entirely burnt down, in the course of eight and forty hours. Nothing
remains but the stone front, which the fire could not destroy, and which
still serves to ornament this part of the town.

Being in the neighbourhood of _St. Généviève_, now called, “the
Pantheon,” I ordered my coachman to drive there.

St. Généviève appears nearly in the same state, in which I saw it, eleven
years since; that is to say, quite unfinished. Though the interior is
still far from having attained that point of perfection, proposed in the
original plan, yet it is even in its present situation, very beautiful.
As to the exterior, it is strikingly magnificent. Twenty-two Corinthian
pillars form the portico; eighteen of them are 54 feet high. There is a
cupola above, where it was intended to have placed a figure of Fame,
28 feet high; but this plan has never been carried into execution. At
the extremity of this cupola, there is a gallery raised 166 french feet
from the surface of the ground, whence we enjoyed a most extensive view
of Paris. This is the best point, from which the town can be seen: and,
as there is not here, as in London, that kind of mist which arises from
coal fires, the view was uninterrupted. I clearly distinguished from this
spot, all the public buildings; and nearly every private house in Paris.
It is, in short, a kind of real panorama. The ascent to the gallery is
uncommonly easy, up a flight of stone steps, well lighted, and kept in
such order, that I have not seen any stairs so clean, since I have been
an inhabitant of this great city. The front, which has not suffered at
all, during the revolution, has the following words written in large
letters, over the principal porch.

“AUX GRANDS HOMMES, LA PATRIE RECONNOISSANTE[54].”

From the scaffoldings erected in different parts of the church, I was
led to believe, that orders had been given for the immediate completion
of the original plan. I therefore asked my conductor, when he supposed
the whole would be concluded. He shrugged up his shoulders, and said, “il
faut faire cette question au gouvernement. Vraisemblablement l’église
sera achevée, quand le gouvernement aura tant d’argent qu’il ne saura pas
en disposer autrement[55].” I am afraid this is putting it off “_sine
die_.”

The dome and ornaments of the stairs are both worked with a degree of
nicety, elegance, and care, which would be commended on a snuff-box; and
the whole building may be considered as a specimen of good taste and
masterly execution.

It will be remembered, that this was the spot in which, at the beginning
of the revolution, it was proposed, by burying in its vaults, to confer
immortality on such men, as by their talents, their virtues, or their
courage, had deserved well of the republic. This idea, like many others,
started during the fervour of popular enthusiasm, though splendid in
theory, soon became very objectionable in practice. The honours of
sepulture in the Pantheon, were contested for by the friends of deceased
public men, with the same eagerness as they themselves had displayed
during their lives, in the pursuit of the objects of their ambition;
and as the merit which entitled an individual to the proposed reward,
depended entirely on the capricious estimate of those, who happened to be
in power, at the time of his death; the most illustrious, and the most
contemptible characters; the virtuous and the corrupt; the hero and the
coward; the man of talents, and the ignorant jacobin; the enlightened
friend of humanity, and the sanguinary decemvir, received in their turn
the honours of the Pantheon. From this strange abuse soon arose another,
which, though derived from a better motive, was equally indecent. The
bones of those, whom the successful party condemned, were dragged from
the tomb, in which they had been placed with so much pomp and parade,
perhaps only a year before, and thrown, like the carcases of dogs, on
a neighbouring dunghill. Ashamed of having placed the remains of the
infamous Marat, near those of Voltaire and Rousseau, the revolutionary
demagogues may plead some excuse for this strong, but indecorous
testimony of tardy repentance; but the scholar, and the friend of genius
will hear, with regret, that the ashes of the eloquent Mirabeau, who
(whatever his political faults might be) possessed no common talents,
as an orator and a writer, experienced a similar indignity. If his
integrity was not sufficiently evident to entitle him to a tomb among the
benefactors of his country, yet when it was once erected, his literary
merits ought to have saved it from destruction.

To prevent a recurrence of circumstances so little honourable to the
french name, a decree was at last past, for clearing away all the
monuments erected in the Pantheon, excepting those of Voltaire and
Rousseau. These I determined to visit. We accordingly descended into the
vaults, which are neat, clean, well lighted, stone apartments, where we
found the tombs of these celebrated men. On that of Rousseau only the
following words are written:

“Ici répose l’homme de la nature et de la vérité[56];” and a
hand with a torch rises from the tomb, with this inscription,
“il éclairit le monde même du tombeau[57].”

On the monument of Voltaire, the following epitaph is written
on one side.

“Aux manes de Voltaire,
L’Assemblée nationale
A décrétée le 30 mai, 1791,
Qu’il avoit mérité les honneurs
Dûs aux grandes hommes[58].”

On the second side.

“Poet, historien, philosophe,
Il aggrandit l’esprit humain,
Et l’apprit, qu’il devoit être libre[59].”

On the third side.

“Il défendit Calas,
Serven,
De la Barre et Mont Bally[60].”

On the fourth side.

“Il combattit les athées
Et les fanatiques.
Il inspira la tolérance.
Il réclama les droits de l’homme,
Contre le monstre de la féodalité[61].”

The bones of these distinguished men are in the tombs, which I have
described. Rousseau was removed from the garden of Ermenonville, where
his shade reposed in its favourite retreat, under the auspices of
friendship; and the heart of Voltaire, which had remained for some years,
as he desired, among those whom he loved at Ferney, was dragged from its
former resting place to this more splendid, but less tranquil sepulchre.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXIII.

Paris, april the 10th, 1802, (20 germinal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

On thursday last, the legislative body, after a speech from Lucien
Bonaparte, brother of the consul; who, as orator of the tribunate, very
eloquently defended this favourite measure of government; ratified
and approved the _concordat_ with the Pope, by a large majority. The
reestablishment of religion is therefore determined. I was not present on
the occasion; but persons capable of judging, assure me, that Lucien’s
delivery was remarkably good; and that his speech was the finest heard in
France, since the time of Mirabeau. As it will, of course, appear in the
_Moniteur_, I shall not attempt to copy any of those imperfect statements
which are, already, handed about.

Madame Bonaparte held, the same day, for the first time, a kind of court:
that is to say, a card, being previously sent round by the prefect of
the palace, who answers to our master of the ceremonies, saying, that
madame Bonaparte would, at three o’clock, receive the wives of foreign
ministers; and “des étrangers de marque,” such ladies as wished to be
presented, accompanied their respective ambassadors, at the appointed
time, to the palace of the Thuilleries. As Mrs. ⸺ was of the number, you
may depend on the account, which I shall now send you. The ladies were
not in hoops or lappets; but were, in other respects, as much dressed
as they would have been at St. James’s. They were received by the wife
of the _préfect du palais_, in the apartments appropriate to madame
Bonaparte. She and the first consul, soon after appeared. A circle
was then formed, and the consul walked round. In passing, he spoke to
each lady with much politeness. Madame Bonaparte went through the same
ceremony; and at last, seated herself, desiring her guests to follow her
example. She talked again to those, who happened to be near her; and,
after an interval of a few minutes, she rose, courtesied, thanked the
ladies for the honour they had done her, and then retired. I understood
that she behaved with great propriety. Her manners were simple, easy, and
unaffected. She was polite to every one; and particularly civil to the
english. Her apartments, on the ground floor, looking on the Thuilleries,
are not large; but they are furnished with elegance, and considerable
taste. Her footmen were splendidly dressed in green liveries, laced with
gold; and they, as well as the “valets de chambre,” who waited in the
antichamber, were particularly civil, respectful, and attentive. There
were no foreign men present, excepting the ambassadors, and the prince
of Orange; but it is understood, that she will soon have a drawing-room,
for the purpose of receiving such strangers, as are desirous of being
introduced.

I shall conclude this letter, with a short account of the opera, from
which I am just returned. The house was uncommonly crowded, on account of
the first appearance this season, of the dancer Dehayes. This favourite
performer, having been absent more than a year, in consequence of a
fall, which rendered him incapable, during that time, of pursuing his
profession, was received with every possible honour. A _ballet_, called
“le Retour de Zéphyr[62],” was composed on the occasion; and the light
and gentle Zephyr was welcomed with loud and repeated applauses. His
strength is not quite restored; but it is easy to see, that he is no mean
proficient in the art of dancing. His steps are perfect, and perhaps not
inferior to those of Vestris; but in point of grace, the comparison is
infinitely in favour of the latter.

It is said, that Dehayes was convicted, during the time of Robespierre,
of an attempt to emigrate to England. He was condemned to the
_guillotine_; but afterwards pardoned, on condition of dancing, during
the whole of one season, without fee or reward, before “le peuple
souverain.” The agility, therefore, of a dancer, obtained that mercy,
which was refused to the innocence of youth, to the gray hairs of age,
to the purity of virtue, to the charms of beauty, and to the dignity of
talent. After this example of the power it possesses, the art of dancing
ought certainly to be ranked, in France, if not in other countries, among
the liberal and useful sciences.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXIV.

Versailles.—St. Cloud.—Sèvre.—Petit Trianon.—Specimen
of an extravagant bill.—Curious trial.—St.
Germain.—Malmaison.—Waterworks of Marly.

Paris, april 13th, 1802 (24 germinal).

MY DEAR SIR,

I went yesterday, with a small party of english friends, to Versailles,
and am just returned. I sit down now to give you the details of our
little excursion.

We stopped at _St. Cloud_, which is situate about half way, to view
that favourite palace of the unfortunate Lewis XVI, which will long be
celebrated in history, on account of the extraordinary meeting held there
by the council of five hundred, in the orangerie, or green house, which
ended in the establishment of the present consular government.

St. Cloud is undergoing a thorough repair, previously to its being
inhabited by Bonaparte. It is difficult, therefore, to form a proper
estimate, either of what it formerly was, or of what it may become. I do
not suppose it ever could have been on a very large scale. The gallery,
which still remains, is a fine room, and the view is extensive from
the large window, by which it is terminated. The walls are ornamented
with some excellent paintings (I believe) by “_le Brun_.” The chapel
is now in a state of disorder, and I did not examine the pictures which
it contains. The garden has been neglected, and can never have been
either very extensive, or very beautiful. Formal walks, and regular rows
of trees, constitute all its merit. As to the famous _jets d’eau_, or
cascades, they are still in high preservation; and the Parisians, on a
particular day in every year, come here, in splendid procession, to enjoy
this favourite sight. I only saw unmoved stone dragons, Neptunes, frogs,
swans, and griffons, from whose mouths these artificial waterfalls are
vomited. In this state, at least, a _jet d’eau_ forms but a disagreeable
ornament in a garden, which ought to unite every beauty of nature, and to
disdain every other.

The next object to St. Cloud, which attracted our attention, was the
famous manufactory of _Sèvre_. The beautiful porcelain, which bears
the name of this town, continues to be made here, under the immediate
protection of the government. We visited the shop, or _magazin_, and
were shown the several rooms of which it consists. In all of these were
tables, covered with specimens of china made here, but I cannot say
that they answered my expectation. They were neither as various, nor as
splendid, as one should suppose they would be, at the principal dépôt
of so renowned a manufactory. Probably, the situation in which France
has been during the revolution, did not afford a sufficient number of
purchasers, to induce the managers to keep by them any considerable
quantity of expensive articles. There were several busts of Bonaparte in
different sizes, all of which were strikingly resembling. There were also
great and small busts of Voltaire, Franklin, and Rousseau.

Going thence to Versailles, we drove to Rambrand’s, which is esteemed the
principal hotel; but finding, on our arrival, that the best rooms were
engaged, we changed our plan, and proceeded to _le Petit Trianon_ in the
park, which, formerly the much loved retreat of Marie Antoinette, has,
in the strange metamorphosis things as well as men have experienced in
France, become a common inn.

Having ordered dinner to be prepared in a small room, once celebrated as
the luxurious _boudoir_ of the ill fated queen, we proceeded to view the
curiosities of Versailles. The park has lost some trees, and has been
neglected. In other respects, it is not much altered. The _orangerie_[63]
still retains, unimpaired, all its beauty. We walked through long
avenues of orange trees, all of which are in high health and rich
foliage. The gardener assured us, that some of those which were of very
large dimensions, had been planted in the reign of Francis I.

We next visited the private library of the former kings of France,
situate in a separate house in the town. There is nothing very particular
in the building; but there were, above the several doors of the library,
extremely pretty paintings of the different capitals of Europe. We
were here shown a very beautiful collection of illuminated paintings,
representing the splendid _fête_ and _tournaments_ given by the
magnificent Lewis XIV.

Thence our guide wished to take us to the national manufactory of fire
arms, which is carried on with great activity in this town; but having
seen many acknowledgedly superior works of the same kind in England, we
declined visiting it, and proceeded at once to the palace. This superb
building has not suffered at all during the revolution; though, from
being neglected and uninhabited, it has contracted a kind of gloom,
which forcibly recals the misfortunes of its last possessors, and the
uncertainty of human grandeur. The magnificent furniture, which the
apartments once contained, has been removed; but the walls are not
without ornament, for the palace having been made (probably with the view
of preserving it from popular violence) a _musée central_, or _dépôt_
of the works of art, now possesses several valuable pictures, and a
few excellent statues. Among the former, I remarked some good _Claude
Loraines_, and two beautiful portraits by _Vincent_. The subject of one
was Henry IV of France; and the other, that of the celebrated president,
Molé. The latter is painted in his parliamentary robes, heroically
exposing his breast to the violence of the mob, and doing his duty,
unmoved by the poniards raised against him. You seem to hear him exclaim,
as history records he did, “La distance est grande de la main d’un
assassin au cœur d’un honnête homme[64].”

We walked through the vast suite of rooms, which, once the seat of
gayety, splendour, luxury, and royal magnificence, are now the abode of
solitude, and the monument of fallen grandeur.

It is unnecessary to state the many reflections which this spot created.
We failed not to visit the apartment which the unfortunate Lewis
XVI occupied on the 6th of october, and in which _Marie Antoinette_
took refuge. We were also shown the balcony window (now stopped up),
where that virtuous and ill fated princess, _madame Elizabeth_, with a
magnanimity truly heroic, presented herself, when the queen was called
for, and being taken for her, voluntarily subjected herself to all the
brutal violence of an irritated mob.

We likewise saw the opera house, built for the wedding of Lewis XVI,
when dauphin, and which, during the last reign, was sometimes used as a
theatre, and sometimes as a ball room. The apartment is still perfect,
but the scenes and decorations have been removed.

On leaving the palace, we visited several _jets d’eau_; but were
prevented from viewing the garden as particularly as we could have
wished, a violent shower of rain having overtaken us.

The waterworks and pleasure grounds appear to have been much neglected.

We dined at the _Little Trianon_, and slept there. The room, which fell
to my share, was that which the unhappy Lewis formerly occupied, and
the key of the door had attached to it a label, on which could still be
discovered, though half effaced, the words, “appartement du roi[65].”

In calling for our bill this morning, we found that this little inn
(ci-devant a royal residence) had two proprietors, one of whom lets
the apartments, and the other supplies the table in the character of
“traiteur.” With the charges of the latter we had no fault to find; but
the demand of the former was so ridiculously exorbitant, that have kept
the bill as a curiosity, of which I add the copy.

Petit Trianon logement[66].

Francs.
Trois appartemens de maître 36
Bougie 6
Bois 9
Quatre lits de domestique 12
--
Total 63

By way of reconciling us to this extravagant charge, the mistress of
the house sent her daughter to us, a very pretty girl, with the bill.
Our gallantry, however, did not subdue our reason, and we determined to
resist the demand. Our hostess having indignantly refused the half, which
we offered as amply sufficient, Mr. ⸺ and I proceeded to Versailles, in
pursuit of a _juge de paix_. After being sent to two or three justices,
who told us, that it was not within their jurisdiction, we at last,
in a miserable lodging, and at an obscure house, found the magistrate
of the division. His dress and his appearance were not superiour to
his residence, and from these united circumstances, we were far from
expecting that justice which, in the result, we experienced.

Having heard our case, he granted a citation, requiring the attendance
of the landlord; and, of course, suspended his decision till the arrival
of the other party. While our servant, who carried the summons, went to
execute it, we were present at a curious trial, the subject of which was
a small quantity, I believe a quart, of vinegar. The defendant was a
coarse masculine woman, at least sixty years of age, who, when she had
exhausted all her fund of eloquence, burst into tears, and talked of the
weak unprotected stare of an unhappy widow. The plaintiff was a dirty
ill looking fellow, with a witness of no better appearance. They all
talked together; and the justice, instead of being able to moderate their
violence, found it difficult to gain a hearing himself. After a wrangle
of an hour, and after swearing and counterswearing to the same fact, they
went away, without the business being finally settled.

What entertained me much, was, that these disputants, in the middle of
their harangues, turned round to my friend and me, and seemed anxious,
each in his turn, to convince us, by their eloquence, of the justice
of their respective cases; though we were not only strangers to the
business, but also to the laws on which this _important_ question was to
be decided.

When our good landlady arrived, her bill was produced; and the justice
having declared how exorbitant he thought it, she justified herself on
three grounds.

1st. That we had not made a previous agreement; and _ergo_, that she had
a right to demand whatever she pleased.

2dly. That she paid a great rent “à la nation[67];” and that, therefore,
“_la nation_” ought to permit her to make her guests pay a great rent for
their lodgings.

3dly. That “_l’ambassadeur de l’empereur Russe_[68],” having lodged at
her house only a week before, and not having objected to a charge of two
louis per bed, “_les milords anglois_” ought to think her present demand
extremely reasonable.

Notwithstanding this very able defence, the justice told her, that
the law would not allow her _d’écorcher les étrangers_[69]; and very
equitably decreed, that we should pay 36 instead of 63 _francs_. _Madame_
received, very indignantly, the sum allotted her, and went away in a
rage, declaring that, in future, no person should sleep at _le petit
Trianon_, who would not bind himself before hand to pay the price
which “son excellence l’ambassadeur de toutes les Russies” thought so
reasonable.

So concluded our trial, which I have detailed as characteristic of what
is to be expected at inns in France, if prior arrangements be not made by
travellers; and likewise as an honourable proof, that justice, though not
clad in ermine, is fairly administered. In going away, I was not a little
surprised to find, that there were no costs to pay, and that even the
summons had been issued gratuitously.

In England, where we possess so admirable a system of laws, how much are
its advantages diminished, by the expenses attendant on every process!
for, as a distinguished public man once well observed, though the temple
of justice be open to all, it is like the London tavern, only the
favourites of fortune dare approach its threshold.

In returning to our inn, we passed by the royal stables, which are still
kept up, and filled with horses. These are now appropriated to the use of
the officers of the army, who come here to be instructed in the menage,
and who employ, for this purpose, the _quondam_ riding school of the
king. The horses appeared, at least to an english eye, very indifferent.
We also saw here some arabians, lately arrived from Egypt. They are
extremely plain, lanky, and awkward; but the groom assured us, on being
asked if they were swift, “Oui, monsieur, comme les oiseaux.” (“Yes, sir,
as swift as birds.”) It was in vain to object to outward form, when we
learnt that these animals had the talent of flying. If, according to the
old jockey phrase, “no good horse can have a bad colour,” certainly no
horse who flies can be ugly.

Before we left Versailles, we visited the garden of _le petit Trianon_,
which is rented by our honest landlady, and which may be seen, by paying
a small sum for a ticket at the gate. It is kept in tolerable order, and
has still strong marks of that good taste, with which it was originally
made. It is really, and not nominally, an english garden; and would, even
in our happy island, be deemed as prettily laid out, as the smallness of
its extent would permit.

The little theatre, built by the queen, situate within the precincts
of these grounds, is still in existence, and has suffered no loss,
excepting that of the beautiful glasses with which the boxes were
once splendidly illuminated. The last object, to which we were led at
Versailles, was “le grand Trianon,” that favourite spot of Lewis XVI.
This elegant building is also unhurt; and the fine marble pillars,
which form the entrance, excited all our admiration. The poverty, into
which the inhabitants of the town have fallen, in consequence of the
revolution, is strikingly apparent. In every corner, we were surrounded
by half-starved and half-naked beggars, whose importunities were not a
little troublesome.

In returning to Paris, we took the road of St. Germain. The old castle
still remains; but its outward appearance was so gloomy, that we felt no
inclination to visit the interiour. If the french monarch intended to
pay a compliment to the pretender, in giving him a palace as nearly as
possible resembling St. James’s, his choice was admirable. The view from
the terrace is pretty, but by no means either as extensive, nor as rich,
as I expected from its celebrity.

In continuing our road, we saw the celebrated waterworks of Marly, which
are preserved in all their perfection. We likewise passed by the famous
aqueduct, and by _Malmaison_, the private seat of the first consul. The
latter has nothing very particular to distinguish it. It is simply a
moderately sized house, situate near the river, but so low, that it
cannot command a very extensive prospect. I hear, the grounds are well
laid out, and that the furniture of the house unites every thing which
taste could order, or luxury afford. We reached Paris about six o’clock;
and my first employment, after dinner, has been to write you this
account, as I know that Versailles, and its neighbourhood, are among the
number of objects, about which english curiosity is excited.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXV.

_Long Champ_, account of that annual promenade, date of its
origin, and of the great preparations made this year for
attending it.—The bustle, and gayety which it produced at Paris.

Paris, april the 16th, 1802, (27 germinal).

MY DEAR SIR,

All Paris has been alive for the last three days. Can you guess the
reason? Perhaps you will imagine, that the inhabitants, roused from
the state of lethargy, into which they have for some time back been
plunged, are beginning to give sincere but tardy marks of joy, at the
reestablishment of internal order, and external peace. Not at all, my
good friend. A subject, much more interesting to the parisians, is the
cause of the show and gayety so generally exhibited. Know, then, that
“_Long Champ_” has begun! I must now, like other learned commentators,
explain my explanation.

“Long Champ” is the name of a village, situate on the other side of the
“Bois de Boulogne,” of which latter place I spoke to you in a former
letter. In this village stood an abbey, or church; and one of the holy
fathers, some hundred years ago, had a voice of such extraordinary
sweetness, that, when high mass was performed, crowds of Parisians
flocked to hear him. His popularity was not confined to the lower class,
and the _noblesse_ shared the curiosity of the public. The fashion of
going to Long Champ so rapidly increased, that, in a short time, it was
no uncommon thing to see whole strings of splendid carriages at the door
of the convent. The road to this village became the favourite ride, and
vanity soon discovered, that it afforded an excellent opportunity of
displaying all the varieties of dress, and all the pomp of equipage.
In the course of a few years, it became an established custom, at this
particular period of the year, to make, during three days, not an humble
pilgrimage, but a splendid procession, to Long Champ. The mass and the
singer were soon forgotten; but the _promenade_ continued, and increased
every year in the magnificence of parade. To appear, on this occasion,
with becoming grandeur, the haughty, but often distressed noble, would,
for months beforehand, deprive himself of his ordinary comforts. To
rival “les dames de bonne compagnie[70]” in richness of dress, in show
of equipage, and blaze of diamonds, was the grand object of the admired
_belles_ of the opera house; and the means of doing so, was the exacted
price of those smiles, which the well beneficed prelate, or the wealthy
_financier_, were sometimes permitted to enjoy. The _Bourgeois_ and their
wives appeared in their humble _cabriolets_, but the former wore their
Sunday apparel; and the latter were loaded with all the tinsel finery,
which, during the course of the year, they had been able to collect. The
common people, or _la canaille_ (as they were then indignantly called),
were equally fond of this procession; and, at the risk of being run over,
crowded and completed the show, some dressed in tattered regimentals,
some in faded silk coats, and ragged embroidered waistcoats, and others
with bag-wig’s and wooden shoes.

Such was the custom during “l’ancien régime.” The amusements of the
french vanished with their old political institutions, and “horrendum
dictu,” Long Champ was long unobserved.

Robespierre, and after him the directors, forbade every thing which bore
the least resemblance to the customs of former times; but when Bonaparte
came into power, the system was instantly changed, and the people,
left to follow their own inclinations, greedily returned to all their
former diversions. “Long Champ” was of the number; and, since the 18th
of brumaire, it has been gradually recovering its ancient magnificence.
This year, from the reestablishment of peace, and the confluence of
foreigners, it was expected to be finer than ever; and vast preparations
have, during some weeks past, been making. Milliners tortured their fancy
to invent new fashions; mantuamakers passed whole nights without sleep,
in executing the orders which they had received; coachmakers exerted
themselves with all the art of their trade, and all the vanity of their
country, in endeavouring to imitate the carriages of the english; horses
were sent for from every part of the world; regiments of tailors were
employed in making coats for the _beaux_, habits for the ladies, and
laced jackets for their grooms; strings of boots were seen dangling on
the backs of porters in every quarter of the town; saddles were as much
in requisition, as if a great military project, by the means of cavalry,
had been in agitation; and I have been confidently assured, that no less
than three thousand pair of leather breeches were ordered on the occasion.

In consequence of these active preparations, and of “Long Champ” having
been, for some weeks back, infinitely more the subject of conversation
than either the peace, or the reestablishment of religion, I expected,
at least, a very brilliant sight. I must say, I was disappointed. The
only thing which pleased me very much, was the bustle which it produced
in the town, and the gayety with which it animated the faces of the
Parisians. For three days, every vehicle in the shape of a carriage,
and every animal which claimed the name of horse, has been dragged into
use, and become part of the procession. About two o’clock, a military
guard was posted at the beginning of the Champs Elisées, to preserve
order, (for nothing here is done without soldiers); and from that hour,
till some time after sunset, the crowd gradually increased. At three, the
line of carriages reached from “la place de la Concorde” to the “Bois de
Boulogne;” and, of course, there were frequent stoppages, even at the
beginning of the _promenade_. The road not employed in this manner, was
filled with equestrians of all ranks, and the walk on both sides was
equally thronged with passengers on foot. There were some few elegant
english equipages, well appointed, and others spoiled, by the shabby
appearance of the servants, or the extreme badness of the horses. The
french coachmakers, in one or two instances, successfully imitated the
fashions of London; but, generally speaking, the attempt only served to
prove the vast distance which exists, between the two countries, in the
art of constructing carriages.

Mixed with “les voitures _à l’anglaise, ou véritablement anglaises_[71]”
were seen old fashioned _berlins_, family coaches, and superannuated
_cabriolets_ of all descriptions. Phaetons, gigs, curricles, and
whiskies, completed the procession. Among the horsemen were seen a few
returned emigrants, who had so well copied the dress of our young men of
_ton_, that they might have been mistaken for the beaux of Bond street;
but the greater number (_malgré_ their leather breeches and boots,
their blue frocks and high crowned hats) betrayed the forgery, by the
preposterous addition of ear-rings, coloured capes, or pointed toes.
The ladies appeared in every variety of clothing. Some, who ventured
to be their own charioteers, assumed the neat and appropriate dress of
an “amazone,” or habit. Others, decorating, and concealing as little
as possible, the charms of their person, shone in all the brilliance
of their evening apparel. Worked gowns, laced caps, and showy turbans,
were sometimes exhibited from the windows of hackney coaches; and a
dirty buggy had, not unfrequently, the honour of conveying three or
four damsels, whose _costume_ would not have been unsuited to the first
heroine of the stage. It is impossible to describe, or convey, the
faintest idea of the grotesque figures which appeared on this occasion;
and, notwithstanding the trouble and expense to which so many individuals
had exposed themselves, by the purchase of new carriages, new liveries,
new horses, new dresses, and last, not least, new leather breeches, the
whole appeared to me but a shabby exhibition, dull amusement.

Moving, in slow procession, to the other side of the _Bois de Boulogne_,
during five or six hours, constituted the whole pleasure of this vaunted
_fête_. There were certainly some elegant carriages, and some handsome
horses; but the number was too inconsiderable to make amends for the
crowd of those of a contrary description. Nothing could be more tiresome
than sitting in one of these vehicles, as they were compelled, every
instant, to stop, on account of the lengthened line, which increased
every moment. Persons on horseback were equally ill off, as it required
the utmost care to avoid being driven against the wheels of the
carriages; and as for the pedestrians, they were almost buried in a
volley of dust.

Such is the celebrated promenade of Long Champ, which, though an annual
festival, appears to me a wretched and pitiful imitation of Hyde park on
an ordinary sunday. Yet the french are delighted with their amusement;
and in returning this evening, I heard on every side, “Quel beau
spectacle! quelles jolies voitures! quels magnifiques chevaux! quelle
belle parure! Vraiment c’est charmant[72]!”

It is not a little flattering to the vanity of an englishman, to see
how rapidly the french are adopting our fashions; and, notwithstanding
the awkward manner in which they are sometimes copied, yet such is the
general bias, that I entertain no doubt that, in the space of ten years,
(if the peace should last so long), it will become almost impossible to
distinguish, by his dress, a native of France from one of England.

The ladies of Paris, and those of London, differ, indeed, very widely in
their toilet. Perhaps they might reciprocally improve by observing each
other; and while the former would do right to respect and imitate the
modesty, with which the latter are usually clad, our fair countrywomen
might also, without any injury to their beauty, or any violation of that
delicacy, which is their brightest ornament, adopt some of that taste,
elegance, and fancy, which are often seen in the dress of a well bred
frenchwoman.

Adieu, my dear sir. I am heartily tired of my subject, and fear you will
have been so some time. I therefore take my leave for the present.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXVI.

Paris, april the 18th, 1802, Easter Sunday (28 germinal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

To day will probably be long remembered in the annals of France, on
account of the promulgation of the law for (“_l’établissement des
cultes_”) the reestablishment of religion; on account of the definitive
treaty of peace with England, the ratifications of which were exchanged
this morning at the Thuilleries; and of the “Te Deum” sung at _Notre
Dame_, in honour of these united events.

I wished very much to be present at a ceremony, which was rendered
so particularly interesting by the number of curious concurring
circumstances, too obvious to be detailed. Having no ticket, I went
to the church at six o’clock in the morning, hoping to make my way,
among the crowd, into those places, which were not appropriated to the
constituted authorities. The doors were not open; and about a hundred
persons, who were already arrived, stood enclosed in a kind of barrier,
which seemed to have been put up for the purpose of preventing too great
a press at the first opening of the gates. I placed myself against this
bar, and hoped to gain admittance in the second division. I was soon
followed and surrounded by a considerable crowd; and, after we had all
remained about two hours in this uncomfortable state, a detachment of
soldiers arrived, and attempted instantly to clear a passage. We were
already so squeezed together, that it was impossible to make room for
the military, without either losing our places, or incurring the danger
of suffocation. When the soldiers perceived that, notwithstanding the
blows which they dealt around them without ceremony, the people did
not immediately make way, they lost all patience; and, not content
with fixing their bayonets, called out for a detachment of horse. The
brandishing of the one, and the fear of the other, soon dispersed the
mob; but not till some had been wounded, and several severely bruised.

I could not help reflecting, with some degree of indignation, on this
singular scene. In England, under a monarchical form of government,
the military are not allowed to interfere, but in cases of positive
danger, or actual insurrection; and even then under the orders of a
civil magistrate. In France, where the system is called “republican,”
and every man supposed to constitute a part of the sovereignty, the body
of the people, coming quietly to see the first solemn service of that
religion, which is said to be restored in compliance with their wishes,
are driven with blows and military violence from the doors of that
church, in which peace, liberty, equality, and good order, are about to
be celebrated. Perhaps, indeed, it may be urged, that this was only a
necessary precaution of the police, and that the object of the guard was
to prevent that riot and danger to which the public, not so protected,
would have been exposed. The answer is plain. If it was thought necessary
to maintain order by the assistance of the military power, the sentinels
ought to have been placed the preceding night, or at the dawn of morning.
It was adding insult to cruelty, to permit the people to assemble, and
after the loss of several hours, and the endurance of great fatigue, to
dismiss them in the manner I have described.

It is needless for me to say, that I soon relinquished all hope of
getting into the church, and thought myself happy in being able to make
my escape unhurt from the claws of these heroes.

In going away, I perceived at the window of an adjoining hospital, nearly
opposite the church, some ladies of my acquaintance, who were so obliging
as to offer me a place near them, from which I might see the procession.

I had scarcely taken this situation, when a ticket for one of the
privileged places in the church was given me by a person, who was
unwilling to risk the difficulties, with which the approach to the doors
seemed attended. After being sent about to different gates, I at last
found admittance at one. When I reached the gallery, it was so completely
full, that I found myself compelled to take refuge in the orchestra.
From this situation I was again driven by the soldiers; and in despair
I returned to the gallery, where, standing on the back of a tottering
chair, and with at least twenty rows of spectators before me, I caught,
not without some danger, a very imperfect glimpse of this splendid
ceremony.

What I did not see myself, I shall relate on the authority of persons,
who were more fortunately situate, and on whose accuracy I know I can
depend.

The procession began with a numerous escort of different regiments.
Among these were particularly remarked “les guides,” a corps of handsome
young men, clad in hussar dresses, and mounted on beautiful horses, who
excited universal admiration. Next to them came the “_gens d’armes_,” or
“_régiment d’élites_,” lately raised. They are men of a very respectable
appearance, in blue uniforms, faced with yellow, whence long epaulets are
suspended. These, as well as the buttons, are of silver, as is the lace
of their hats. Their horses are black. The consular guards, and several
regiments of the line, completed the military cavalcade. The ministers
of state, and the “corps diplomatique,” came next, and formed a long line
of carriages. Those of the latter were drawn each by four horses, and
ornamented with all the escutcheons of heraldic pomp. Those of the former
were without arms; but they had all six horses, and their servants,
dressed alike, wore splendid liveries, now put on for the first time, of
yellow, gold, and red. A small corps of _Mamalukes_ in their egyptian
_costume_, some of whom led unmounted arabians, and a few aides-de-camp,
immediately preceded the carriage, in which sat Bonaparte, accompanied
by the other two consuls. His coach, new on the occasion, was simply
elegant, and drawn by eight very fine horses richly caparisoned. His
servants appeared in green coats and red waistcoats, on all the seams of
which were rows of broad gold lace. The consuls were received at the door
of the church by the archbishop of Paris, who placed over their head a
_dais_ (or canopy).

_Bonaparte_, with _Cambacères_ on his right, and _le Brun_ on his left
hand, was conducted in this manner to a throne erected near the altar,
under which their three chairs were placed. A similar throne appeared
opposite, in which sat the cardinal legate.

The bishops bowed first to the altar, secondly to the consul, and
lastly to the cardinal. This was remarked by the public; as, under the
monarchy, the representative of the pope was permitted to receive this
homage before the sovereign of the country.

The oath settled by the _concordat_ having been taken by the clergy, high
mass was instantly said.

At the conclusion of this ceremony, M. _de Boisgelin_, formerly
archbishop of Aix, lately named archbishop of Tours, ascended the pulpit,
and delivered a discourse appropriate to the occasion. I regretted
much, that the distance at which I was placed was so great, that it was
impossible for me to hear the venerable preacher, who excited no little
curiosity, from the singularity of his situation. He is the same man,
who, at the “_sacre_” or coronation, of Lewis XVI, preached before that
unfortunate monarch. His sermon will, no doubt, be published in the
“moniteur,” where you will have an opportunity of seeing it.

It was the custom formerly on these occasions, for the bishop, in
beginning his discourse, to address himself to the king. A similar
form was observed to day, and the expression of “_sire_” was exchanged
for that of “_citoyen premier consul_.” After the sermon, “Te Deum”
was chanted. All the band of the opera house was employed, and _Lais_
and _madame Bolla_ supplied the vocal parts. The effect was fine, yet,
comparatively, very inferiour to our musical meetings in Westminster
abbey. I heard some _connoisseurs_ object to the air, as not sufficiently
grave or dignified for the subject which it was intended to celebrate. As
I am totally ignorant of music, I can form no judgment as to the justice
of the criticism.

The church was immensely full. The aisle was filled with the military,
the different uniforms of which had a splendid effect. Behind the consuls
sat the ambassadors, the ministers, and the generals. In a box above, at
the entrance of the chapel, was placed madame Bonaparte, accompanied by
her daughter and some other ladies. On the other side was a similar box,
appropriate to the use of the ladies of the “corps diplomatique.”

The two galleries or choirs, which surround the church, were divided
into an orchestra for the music, seats for the different constituted
authorities, and places for such individuals as were favoured with
tickets. In the latter were of course seen all the persons at Paris
most distinguished for situation, talent, or beauty. The _coup d’œil_
altogether was very striking. The procession returned with the same
ceremony as that in which it arrived; and all the streets of Paris were
lined with spectators.

A discharge of sixty cannon was heard at the departure of the first
consul from the Thuilleries; and his arrival at the church, and his
return to the palace, were announced in the same manner.

In the evening, the palace was splendidly illuminated. Every division of
the arches forming the front towards the garden was covered with lamps,
and a lustre of lights was suspended from each. The garden itself was
prettily, but less brilliantly, decorated, than on the _fête_ in honour
of the preliminaries.

All the public buildings and offices were also lighted; but the only
illumination at all remarkable, beside those which I have named, was
that of Mr. Jackson, his majesty’s envoy extraordinary. The gates of
“l’hôtel de Caramon,” where he lodges, were entirely covered with lamps
of different colours; the effect of which was much admired, as at Paris
that mode of decorating their rejoicings is unknown. On the right hand
were the letters R. F. (République Française); and on the left, G. R.
(Georgius Rex).

I forgot to mention that Bonaparte was much applauded by the populace, in
going to _Notre Dame_; and that _madame_ received the same compliment,
though she went there without any parade, in a plain handsome carriage,
and seemed to decline, rather than to court, the notice of the public.

During the illuminations there was no noise, and, indeed, no expression
of joy. Very few people were seen in the Thuilleries, though the weather
was fine, and the day sunday. The more I see of the french, the more
am I astonished and disgusted at the indifference which they have
contracted. Their dullness is the more disagreeable, from it’s being
unnatural; and I cannot help exclaiming, every hour, with Voltaire,

Que je plains un françois, quand il est sans gaieté;
Loin de son élément le pauvre homme est jetté[73].

Adieu.

LETTER XXVII.

_Palais de Justice._—Account of the different tribunals or
courts of law.

Paris, april the 30th, 1802, (10 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went this morning to the “_Palais de Justice_,” in order to visit the
different tribunals. The “_façade_,” or front, of this building has a
commanding appearance. A handsome iron railing, with three gates, forms
its barrier; after passing through which, you ascend a lofty flight of
stone steps. The avenues to the principal hall are filled with shops
of various descriptions, and particularly those of booksellers. The
hall, or central room, which is of considerable extent, forms a kind of
antichamber to the different courts. I went into one of the “tribunals
de premier instance,” in each of which three judges preside. They wear
long bands, and black coats, from which is suspended a cloke or gown
of black silk. The advocates plead in a sort of bar; but, excepting
being dressed in black, have no distinguishing badge, or professional
decoration. The judges had a grave appearance; and, though they did not
seem to be men of much importance, conducted themselves with decency
and propriety. I was present while some causes were argued; but they
were not of sufficient consequence to enable me to form any estimate of
the talents of the advocates, now called, in the general change of name,
“des défenseurs officiaux[74].” As to their outward garb, it was not
prepossessing; and, if it were not unjust to form any conclusion from
mere exteriors, I should say, that a french counsel and an english one
appear to be drawn from a very different class of society. I next saw a
court, which, under the title of “tribunal de la police correctionelle,”
is charged with the investigation and punishment of petty offences. I
here heard the trial of a man charged with pawning, for his own use,
some goods belonging to a shop, in which he was employed as a workman.
The witnesses were regularly examined; after which the criminal was very
patiently heard in his defence. As he had nothing to urge but his poverty
and the charges of a large family, he was found guilty by the judges,
(for I observed no jury) and was sentenced, though an old offender, to
only six months imprisonment. This trial having satisfied my curiosity
about “la police correctionelle,” I next visited the chief or supreme
court of the republic, which is called “le tribunal de cassation.” Here
every thing bore a more dignified appearance. The room was lofty, the
seats elevated, and the judges (whose number was considerable) seemed,
by their dress, their manner, and their language, to be well suited to
the important functions of their office. They wore black and red gowns,
with cocked hats, the cords of which were of gold lace. Nothing can be
more respectable than the exterior of this court; of the proceedings of
which I could form no idea, as the judges were employed in reading papers
relating to mere matters of form. I imagine, that this is the tribunal
intended, in some respects, to replace the parliament of Paris. The
magistrates, as far as I could form an opinion from this cursory visit,
seem men of education, learning, and polished manners.

Before I left the _Palais de Justice_, I looked in at the criminal court
of the “_départment de la Seine_.” A culprit was reading a long written
defence, which I had not the patience to hear concluded. The room was
handsome, and the proceedings orderly and correct. I saw here nothing
like a jury; yet I am told, that all capital offences are tried by that
mode of process. An Italian was a few days ago tried in this court, and
convicted of assassination. I regret much, that I was not present at
the trial. I did not hear of the circumstance till to day. He yesterday
underwent the punishment of the _guillotine_, being led to the scaffold
in a red shirt, this disgrace being added to the sentence in cases of
murder. I ought to mention, in honour of the present criminal laws of
France, that this is the first individual, who has been condemned to
death, during the six months which I have passed at Paris.

Underneath the “_Palais de Justice_” is situate that fatal prison, called
“_la Conciergerie_.” It was here that the sanguinary _Robespierre_
immured the daily victims of his wild and unrelenting tyranny; who
awaited, within its dismal walls, the signal of death, under the
insulting and degraded name of trial. It was here, that rank, beauty,
age, philosophy, virtue, and patriotism, took the places of vice; and,
in the caverns destined to receive the blackest perpetrators of hideous
crimes, were hurled, among multitudes of other innocent and dignified
characters, the learned _Condorcet_, the ingenious _Lavoisier_, the
respectable _Madame Roland_, the venerable _Malesherbes_, and the lovely,
courageous, and once haughty queen of France. When I have been forced to
make such painful reflections, in viewing the different objects which
present themselves at Paris, I have always found some consolation in
looking round me, and seeing how completely that system of suspicion,
bloodshed, and injustice, has passed away. Those horrors, so disgraceful
to France, took place in a moment of national delirium (if I may be
permitted the expression); and the inhabitants of Paris, who committed,
or rather suffered, the scenes of judicial murder, which every day
contaminated the streets of the capital, now, restored to their senses,
are the first to deplore and execrate them. I am persuaded, that crimes
like these can never again find their way into the polished metropolis of
this great, brave, and ingenious people.

With this hope I shall conclude my letter—a hope, in which I am certain
that you will warmly and cordially unite.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXVIII.

The gardens and walks of Paris.

Paris, may the 2d, 1802 (12 floréal).

MY DEAR SIR,

Whenever you come to Paris, come with the smiling month of may. On my
arrival here, at the end of october, I was disgusted with the dirt of the
streets, the mire of the Thuilleries, the ruts of the Boulevards, and the
general gloom of the town. Accustomed to take a great deal of exercise, I
could not persuade myself to be shut up, the whole of every day, either
in a hot room, or a close carriage. I therefore continued to walk about:
but, while my feet were cut to pieces at every step, I was frequently
in danger of being run over by a rapid cabriolet, or squeezed to atoms
under the ponderous wheels of an overloaded cart. Nor was I consoled for
this hazardous undertaking by meeting with any conversable persons of my
acquaintance.

The parisians, who have carriages, never think of walking during the
severe days of winter; and those who do not possess that convenience,
spend the greater part of every day at home. To save the expense of a
_fiacre_[75], they will, indeed, sometimes use their feet in going to a
_restaurateur’s_, a _spectacle_, or a ball, or in paying some of those
innumerable visits, in which an inhabitant of this town passes half his
life; but, as to taking exercise for health, it never enters into the
calculations of a frenchman. Nothing, therefore, could be so dismal as
the streets in the months of november, december, and january; and a
severer punishment could not be devised for the daily murder of time
committed by our Bond street loungers, than to condemn them to a three
months pilgrimage, at that period of the year, round the streets of Paris.

The spring has, with fine weather, changed the face of every thing here;
and a person fond of exercise may now have all the advantages which he
can possibly desire.

The _Thuilleries_ and _Champs Elisées_, which in winter are almost
impassable, now offer excellent gravel walks, and delightful shade under
the long avenues of lofty trees. Here crowds are collected at almost
every hour of the day; and, besides long lines of pedestrians, rows
of chairs are filled with ladies eating ice, and politicians reading
newspapers.

The Bois de Boulogne affords an admirable ride for persons in carriages
or on horseback, and a lengthened walk for those on foot.

Besides these, there are several delightful gardens open to the public
in different parts of the town. The Boulevards, which surround Paris on
every side, are now seen to great advantage.

The walks are in high order, the trees are in rich foliage; and the
number of mountebanks, printsellers, quack doctors, and shows of all
kinds, collected here, and the crowds of persons and carriages which are
constantly passing, make them present a very curious and lively scene.

The “_Hameau de Chantilly_,” or _Elisée de Bourbon_, very near the Champs
Elisées, has a very pretty, though not an extensive garden, into which,
for a few _sols_, you gain admittance. It was hence I saw madame Garnerin
ascend, about a month ago, in a balloon, unaccompanied by any one. The
day was fine; and we were all much delighted with the courage of the fair
heroine, who was the first female that had ventured alone on such an
expedition.

She descended a few leagues from Paris, and supped, the same evening,
in public, at the _Hameau_, where she was received with universal and
merited applause.

I am particularly pleased with a garden, called “_Mousseux, ou les
délices de Chartre_,” situate in the _Fauxbourg St. Honoré_, and within
the gates of Paris. It formerly belonged to the duke of Orleans; but,
having been confiscated with the rest of his enormous fortune, is now
national property, and open every day for the use of the public. The
garden is arranged in the english taste, commands an extensive view,
and has all the advantages and appearance of grounds at a considerable
distance from a capital. Fine verdure, trees of every kind in the must
luxuriant blossom, variety of flowers, a clear sky, and birds warbling
a thousand wild notes, make you entirely forget the town; and the whole
seems a fairy scene produced by enchantment.

The only things in bad taste, I mean the modern antiques and drawbridges,
are now falling into decay; and the artificial ruins are daily becoming
real ones.

The salon or house consists of a long gallery; but it has been so much
neglected during the revolution, that it is now in a very tottering and
dangerous state. “Mousseux” is still a most delightful spot, and must
have been exquisitely so, when kept in proper order. I doubt much, if
such a garden is to be found within the walls of any other capital in
Europe.

I ought to mention, that, though the town is completely hidden in the
shady walks of this charming retreat, one of the best views of Paris is
enjoyed from a hillock of easy ascent, situate in the centre of these
grounds. There is a _traiteur_ at the door of the garden, where dinners
may be ordered; but his accommodations (as far as can be judged from
the outward appearance of his habitation) I should suppose not very
superiour. I have heard, however, of large and fashionable parties, who
have dined here. Nothing is paid for walking in the garden.

At the further end of the _Bois de Boulogne_, about two miles from Paris,
there is another place of this kind, which, whenever you come to Paris,
I recommend your visiting. It is called “_Bagatelle_,” and formerly
belonged to the _Comte D’Artois_, who is said to have built the house and
arranged the grounds in the space of six weeks. The building, which is
now an inn or tavern, is light and elegant; and the garden (allowing for
some few exceptions) is laid out with considerable taste. Near the house
there is a very pretty and very striking view of the bridge of _Neuilly_.
The accommodations here are good, and a person fond of the country cannot
pass a fine evening more agreeably, than by dining at _Bagatelle_, and
strolling afterwards about the grounds.

Before I conclude my account of the gardens of Paris, I ought to mention
two, which, are opened at this season of the year, at a late hour,
and usually frequented after the opera, or other _spectacles_; I mean
_Frescati_ and _Tivoli_.

_Frescati_ consists of a large house and small garden, situate on the
Boulevard. The gate stands in the corner of “la rue de la Loi.” The
apartments, elegantly painted with italian landscapes, are large
and numerous, and splendidly lighted every evening. The garden was
illuminated last night, for the first time this season, and is as pretty
as its limited extent can permit. It is the fashion to come here about
ten o’clock; and the amusement consists in walking about, chatting with
your friends, eating ices and cakes, or drinking tea, punch, or lemonade,
the sale of which articles constitute the whole profits of the landlord,
to whom nothing is paid for admittance. Frescati is, in short, a kind
of coffee house; and, notwithstanding the smell of brandy, gin, and
rum, generally prevalent, is frequented by ladies as well as gentlemen.
When I first came here, I supposed that these ladies were of a _certain
description_: but I was soon undeceived; and, besides seeing at this
place the most respectable families of Paris, was assured by a _ci-devant
comtesse_ excessively rigid on matters of etiquette, “que toute la bonne
compagnie y alloit[76].” After this authoritative decision, it would be
presumptuous to doubt the propriety of going to _Frescati_; and our most
scrupulous countrywomen may, without apprehension of being taken either
for “filles” or “parvenues,” enjoy this strange and singular amusement.

_Tivoli_ is but just opened for the season. I have been there once. It
is a large and beautiful garden, situate in “la rue St. Lazare,” in the
“Chaussée d’Antin.” It was illuminated with much taste; the trees are
lofty; and the whole seemed to resemble what I imagine our Vauxhall was,
before it was covered in.

There was a band of music, and dancing, on a platform erected for the
purpose. There was also a party of tumblers. The company was not either
very numerous or very genteel; but the night was not hot, and fine
weather is necessary to render this place agreeable; as there is no house
or shelter of any kind. In the months of July or august _Tivoli_ must be
delightful.

I forgot to mention, that there were roundabouts, (as they are vulgarly
called in England) on which full grown people were very gravely amusing
themselves. I heard, the other day, of a duel, which took place in
consequence of a dispute for one of these places. You will scarcely
believe the report; yet I am every day convinced, that there is nothing
so ridiculous, that fancy can suppose, which does not actually and
frequently take place in this most extraordinary town.

Having given you this short sketch of the amusements “al fresco,” I shall
conclude with repeating my recommendations to you, whenever you come to
Paris, to come in the spring. Winter is, indeed, the time for private
society; but I have found from experience, that a foreigner has so little
to expect on this head, that it is much wiser to choose a season, when an
infinite variety of amusements, and all the charms of Nature, in their
richest and happiest colours, offer a sure and constant fund of pleasure.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXIX.

The manufactory of “_Gobelins_,” the observatory, “_les Enfans
trouvés_,” “_Champ de Mars_,” les _Invalides_, and the temple
of Mars, containing the colours taken from different nations,
and the tomb of _Turenne_.—_Le Musée des Monumens françois_,
or collection of monuments.—List of the most esteemed of
these.—Note to this letter contains the account of a dinner at
the first consul’s.

Paris, may the 5th, 1802 (15 floréal).

MY DEAR SIR,

As my stay at Paris draws towards a conclusion, I have occupied the three
or four last days in visiting those objects of curiosity, which as yet I
had neglected to see.

The manufactory of _Gobelins_ deserves all its celebrity. The colours,
the design, and the execution of the tapestry made here, are equal to
the productions of the finest painting. I was shown some specimens,
which were uncommonly beautiful, particularly two pieces, one of which
represented the assassination of the admiral _Coligni_, and the other
the heroic conduct of the _président Molé_, copied from the picture at
Versailles, an account of which I have already given.

There are ninety persons now employed, of whom I saw several at work. It
is astonishing with what facility they seem to perform the most difficult
tasks, but I am told that the art is not learnt without much time and
considerable attention. The apprenticeship requires six years, and at
least eighteen are necessary to make a proficient. The workmen are not
locked up within the walls of the manufactory, as was the case during the
monarchy, but they are kept under the constant “surveillance[77] of the
police.” Most of the pieces now in hand have been ordered by the first
consul, and are destined to form the ornament of St. Cloud, and other
public buildings.

From the _Gobelins_, situate in the most distant part of the Fauxbourg
St. Germain, I drove along the new Boulevard to the observatory. I found
here only some common sized telescopes, on which I observed with pride
the respectable name of “Dollond,” of London. I was informed that a
magnificent instrument of this kind is preparing on the plan of Herschel,
which is to be twenty-two feet long, with a speculum of platina. It is
to be moved on a platform, for the purpose of making observations, by
means of a machine invented for the purpose. I ascended the top of the
building, and the view thence, which commands all Paris, is grand and
striking.

Near the observatory is the nursery of that humane establishment called
“les Enfans trouvés,” which is still kept up on the old philanthropic
plan. Orphan children, deprived by death of their parents, or abandoned
by them, are received here without question, recommendation, or inquiry,
and are nursed with tenderness, well fed, properly educated, and lastly,
qualified for some trade or profession, in which they are afterwards
placed at the expense of the public. Their infancy is passed in the
building shown to me; they are, at a certain age, sent into the country,
for the benefit of the air, and then return to the principal hospital
of the institution at Paris, where their education is completed. Their
number is seldom less than a thousand.

I shall continue to speak of the different objects I have lately seen, in
the same order in which I visited them.

The _Champ de Mars_, where, on the 14th of july, 1790, I was present,
when the unfortunate Lewis XVI received and repeated the oath of fidelity
to that constitution which was so soon violated, has still the remains of
that vast amphitheatre, made by the activity and zeal of the parisians in
the course of fourteen days, and on which were seated nearly a million
of people. I recollected all the spots, where the principal authorities
were placed on that memorable day; and it will be needless for me to
repeat the innumerable reflections which were created by a remembrance
of the extraordinary and many-coloured events which have since occurred.
The _École Militaire_, which is now a barrack for the _consular horse
guards_, forms the front and principal ornament of the _Champ de Mars_,
which is terminated on the other side by the river _Seine_. _L’École
Militaire_ was built, in 1751, from a plan of Gabriel. It has a handsome
_façade_, and a lofty dome, with a dial, and the figures of Time and
Astronomy.

The building of “les Invalides” presents one of the most striking
objects of Paris. Besides the beauty of its construction, its handsome
entrance, its four courts, its celebrated clock, its lofty dome, and
elegant pillars, it contains, in the principal hall, or chapel, now
called “le Temple de Mars,” the colours, or ensigns, taken during the
war, by the republican armies, from the different powers opposed to
France. This beautiful room at least a hundred feet long, is lined on
all sides with the badges of triumph, many of which bear, from their
tattered appearance, the most convincing proofs of not having been
obtained without considerable difficulty. Among the innumerable colours
of all nations, I perceived, with pride, that there were only two or
three english; and these, from their size, had belonged to some ship,
perhaps to a merchantman, or to that man of war, which, after sharing the
glories of Aboukir, was taken by five french vessels of the line, after a
resistance no less honourable than her former success. In the centre of
this spacious apartment, to the right, surrounded by the trophies of his
successors and countrymen, is placed the tomb of _Turenne_. This monument
was removed to the Temple of Mars by the present government, and placed
here, with considerable pomp, after having been saved from the fury of
jacobinical rage, and preserved, by the care of _le Noir_, in the “_Musée
des Monuments françois_.”

The circumstance which I have just mentioned, naturally leads me to
speak of the last named institution, which I visited yesterday for
the second time. On my arrival at Paris, I went to see _le Musée des
Monuments françois_; and not being as much struck with the exhibition
as I expected, from its great renown, I purposely postponed speaking
of it, till I had had an opportunity of examining it again with all
the attention it deserved. After several hours employed in this second
view, I continue of my former opinion, that the spot[78], in which these
monuments are collected, is infinitely too small; that the garden, meant
to be the tranquil site of sepulchral honours, and the calm retreat
of departed grandeur, is on so limited a scale, is so surrounded with
adjoining houses, and altogether so ill arranged, that, instead of
presenting the model of

“Those deep solitudes ...
Where heav’nly pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever musing Melancholy reigns,”

it might easily be mistaken for the working yard of a statuary, or
the pleasure ground of a tasteless citizen, decked out with Cupids,
Mercuries, and Fauns.

It must, however, be acknowledged, that “_le Noir_,” by whose care
this establishment was formed, deserves great credit for the courage
with which he rescued the many precious monuments here deposited, from
the barbarous and undiscriminating fury of revolutionary vandalism,
for the perseverance and attention which has marked his conduct in the
arrangement, and for the plan (whether successful or not, I shall not
pretend to examine) of presenting complete and exact representations of
the art of building in the different ages. Among the innumerable tombs,
crowded together in this collection, of which a catalogue, in large
octavo, is sold at the door, I observed many of great beauty, taste, and
symmetry. Kings, poets, _belles_, philosophers, and painters, torn from
the graves, in which, for centuries past, their remains had tranquilly
reposed, would have had no stone to record their past celebrity, if this
institution had not existed. The arts, too, are highly indebted to the
founder, for the specimens of sculpture, many of them _chefs d’œuvre_,
which are here seen in all their original perfection. Models, too, of
ancient and celtic buildings are added to those of french architecture.

_Le Noir’s_ favourite plan of having a chapel for each century,
ornamented with all the appropriate decorations, and containing the tombs
of contemporary persons, is in part executed, and three or four ages
have already their respective temples, completed in the taste of the
times which belonged to them. These chapels have been much admired by
persons, whose knowledge on such subjects entitle them to respect; and
it would, therefore, be presumptuous in me to give a dissenting voice. I
shall be pardoned, however, for remarking, that there appeared, in the
whole arrangement, a kind of quackery, which prevented my feeling that
unalloyed satisfaction which I had been led to expect; and that, in spite
of my better judgment, I felt an inclination to laugh, when perhaps my
tears ought to have flowed.

As every body must rejoice at the preservation of these monuments,
whatever opinions he may entertain about the arrangement, I cannot
help regretting, that they are not deposited in a place more worthy of
containing them. Since the restoration of religion has removed every
obstacle which could be started to such a project, would it not be
worthy of the present government, decidedly the friend and protector of
the arts, to order that all these precious specimens of sculpture should
become the ornament of one or more of the principal churches of Paris,
the present naked state of which is an additional argument in favour of
the measure? What splendour would they not both receive and confer, in
being removed either to _Notre Dame_, _St. Sulpice_, or _St. Généviève_?

To satisfy the curiosity which I know you entertain on such subjects,
I examined, with attention, the principal objects, and marked in my
catalogue those which seemed most deserving of notice. The following is
the list:

No. 5. The tomb of Dagobert, with the figures of Nautilda his wife,
and Clovis his son.

94. The tomb of Lewis XII.

99. The Monument, or sepulchral Chapel, of Francis the First,
with Claude his wife.—(Destroyed in the revolution, and
restored by le Noir.)

105. Monument erected in honour of Ann of Montmorency.

111. A group of Graces.

113. Statue of Henry the Fourth of France, assassinated in 1610,
clad in a military dress. The artist was _Francavilla_,
or _Francevelle_, as he was otherwise called. The
catalogue mentions, that judging from the body, found
at St. Denys in 1793, and which was yet perfect, one
should suppose that this was a striking likeness.

115. Statue of _Claude Catherine de Clermont Tonnere_.

121. Statue in black marble, representing David after the death
of Goliath, by _Peter Francavilla_, in 1580.

146. Monument erected in honour of _Charles the Fifth_, taken
from _St. Germain-des-Prés_. His medallion, in bronze, is
by John Cousin.

174. The Mausoleum of the _Cardinal de Richelieu_, taken from the
_Sorbonne_.—This celebrated group of figures, after a
design by _le Brun_, was executed by _Girardon_, and
considered as his _chef-d’œuvre_.

187. The Mausoleum of _Cardinal Mazarin_, taken from the college
of that name. This monument, of white marble, is the work
of _Coyzevox_.

189. Statue of Ann of Austria, taken from the _Pont au Change_.
Executed by _Guillain_.

200. Monument, erected to _John Baptiste Colbert_, the celebrated
minister.

263. Monument, in marble, erected to the memory of _Charles le
Brun_, one of the most celebrated painters of the french
school. Taken from _St. Nicholas de Chardonnet_.

205. A group of Figures in black marble, representing _Francis
Michael Letellier Marquis de Louvois_, minister of state,
who died in 1691.—This was the work of _Girardon_.

207. This Monument, called _la Pyramide_, or the pillar of
_Longueville_, was erected by _Anne Généviève de
Bourbon_, duchess of _Longueville_, and was meant
in honour both of the first and second duke of that
name.

208. This is a Monument formed by _le Noir_, from the ruins of
that which formerly stood in _la place des Victoires_.
He has placed on the pedestal a figure of Abundance and
Equality.

210. A colossal Statue, taken from _les Invalides_, representing
_Charlemagne_. Executed by _Coyzevox_.

211. A colossal Statue of _Lewis the Eleventh_, in black marble,
executed by _Couston_. Taken from _les Invalides_.

214. A Statue of _Lewis the Fourteenth_, in black marble, by
_Michel Anguier_. The king is in a Roman dress.

218. A much admired Statue, by _Sarrasin_, of _St. Denys_ praying.
Taken from the abbey of _Montmartre_.

220 or 449. This fine Monument, executed under the immediate
orders and design of the celebrated architect _Bullant_,
was taken from _St. Martin_, at _Montmorency_, and was
erected in honour of _Ann de Montmorency_.

286. The marble Bust of _Lewis de Bourbon Condé_, called the
great _Condé_, from the chisel of _Coyzevox_.

384. This is a modern Monument, in honour of modern events, and
of living characters. It is the work of _Foucon_, and it
is meant to represent, allegorically, the peace of
Luneville, and to record the glory of _Bonaparte_.

448. This is a beautiful Statue, in black marble, of _Francis
the First_ on his death bed. Two thousand modern goths,
not content with mutilating this _chef-d’œuvre_, have
ventured to record their barbarity in writing on the
monument itself, or rather on what remains, their
dishonoured names, several of which are still apparent.
The convention, afterwards found it necessary to pass a
law, condemning to ten years imprisonment, in chains, the
mutilators or destroyers of the works of art.

The following are in the garden:

No. 467. From the _Chateau d’Anet_, a beautiful group, representing
Diana with a stag, accompanied by her dogs, _Procyon_ and
_Sirius_—supposed to be the work of _John Gougeon_, made
for the fountain in the park of _Diana_ of _Poitiers_, at
_Anet_.

471. Statue, in black marble, and on his knees, of Lewis II. Taken
from the church of _Notre Dame de Cléry_, where it was
dreadfully mutilated by the fury of the inhabitants. It
was the work of _Michael Bourdin_, of _Orleans_, who, not
satisfied with the price which he received for it, stole
a silver lamp from the church, for which crime he was
afterwards executed at _Orleans_.

507. A sepulchral Urn, containing the ashes of the celebrated
_René Descartes_, who died in Sweden, in the year 1650.

508. The Tomb of _Molière_, containing the body of that celebrated
dramatic writer. The following inscription appears:

“Molière & Thalie reposent dans ce tombeau[79].”

The whole is surrounded with myrtles, roses, and cypress
trees.

509. The tomb of J. de la Fontaine, containing his body.

510. This is a Monument with four fronts. It contains the busts
of _Molière_, _John la Fontaine_, _Boileau_, and _Racine_,
who were intimate friends, and sometimes lived together at
_Auteuil_.

511. The Tomb which, for some time, contained the mummy of
_Turenne_, first preserved in the _Musée de l’Histoire
Naturelle_, then removed to this spot, and lastly placed,
as I have before observed, in the Temple of Mars.

555. Sepulchral Urn, containing the ashes of the celebrated
_Boileau_, with this inscription:

“_Nicholas Boileau_ est dans ce tombeau[80].”

And above:

“Ainsi que mes chagrins, mes beaux jours sont passés,
Je ne sens plus l’aigreur de ma bile première,
Et laisse aux froids rimeurs, une libre carrière[81].”

_Boileau_, Epist. 5. à M. _Guilléraques_.

There are, doubtless, besides those which I have enumerated, many
tombs deserving of notice; but I have specified these, on account of
the celebrity of the artists, or that of the persons whose memory the
monuments were intended to record. I send you a very imperfect account,
yet it is the result of a six hours’ visit, made with no little care and
attention.

_Le Noir’s_ catalogue, which, I understand, is now translating into
english, concludes with a curious account of the state in which the
bodies of the former kings of France were found at _St. Denys_, when,
in the year 1793, the national convention, with a savage disregard of
decency, and with a contempt for departed grandeur scarcely credible,
ordered that the kings, princes, and other great men, who had for fifteen
hundred years lain in peace at _St. Denys_, should be dragged from their
tombs, in order that the lead, of which their coffins were made, should
be converted into ball.

You will be surprised to hear, that the celebrated _Turenne_, preserved
like a mummy, was instantly recognized by the resemblance which he still
bore to his busts and pictures; and Henry the fourth was yet so perfect,
(though he died in 1610), that not a feature was altered.

This account is already of such a length, that I shall make no apology
for abruptly concluding it.

I am, &c.

_POSTSCRIPT._

Returning home to day, at half past four o’clock, from viewing some of
the sights, (which I have mentioned in my letter), we found a messenger
waiting with a note from the _Thuilleries_. It proved to be an invitation
to Mrs. ⸺, from the first consul, asking her to dinner the same day at
five. She dressed as quickly as possible, and drove to the palace. She
is just returned; and from her statement, I send you the following short
account.

The entertainment was extremely elegant, and the sight very striking.
More than two hundred persons sat down to table in a splendid apartment.
The company consisted, besides the family of Bonaparte, of the ministers,
the ambassadors, several generals, senators, counsellors of state, and
other constituted authorities. The number of women present was by no
means in proportion to that of the men, and did not exceed fifteen.
All the english ladies, who had been presented to madame Bonaparte,
were invited (though not their husbands) to this entertainment; but it
happened, that only two remained at Paris.

The dinner was served entirely on plate and _Sèvre china_, the latter
bearing the letter B on every dish, and every plate; and the _plateau_
was covered with moss, out of which arose innumerable natural flowers,
the odour of which perfumed the whole room.

The first consul and madame Bonaparte conducted themselves with much
ease, and spoke very affably to those around them.

The servants were numerous, splendidly dressed, and highly attentive. The
dinner lasted more than two hours.

LETTER XXX.

General account of literary establishments at Paris.—National
library.—Manuscripts.—Memoirs of his own times, by Lewis
XIV.—_Fac simile_ of a love letter of Henry IV.—Cabinet
of medals.—Cabinet of engravings, &c.—Library of the
Pantheon.—Mazarine library.—Library of the Institute.—Libraries
of the senate, the legislative body, and tribunate.—The
_Lycées_, now called _les Athénées_.—Admirable lectures
given at one of them.—Professors _Fourcroy_, _Cuvier_, and
_la Harpe_.—“L’Institute national.”—“_Jardin national des
Plantes_”—Collection of birds, plants, fossils, and insects,
in the house attached to the “_Jardin des Plantes_.”—“Cabinet
de l’École des Mines, _à l’Hôtel des Monnoies_.”—Great
opportunities afforded at Paris of cultivating science and
literature in all their various branches.

Paris, may the 10th, 1802 (20 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I have postponed speaking to you of the literary establishments of Paris,
till my residence here had been sufficiently long to enable me to give my
opinion with some degree of certainty.

Perhaps there is no town in the known world, which affords such
favourable opportunities of acquiring and cultivating knowledge, as
that from which I am now writing. On this subject, equality in the best
sense exists; and while the poor man has the finest libraries, and most
extensive collections opened to his use, without any expense whatever,
he, whose circumstances are moderately easy, obtains, for a trifling
consideration, every possible means of additional improvement.

The national library, which existed during the monarchy, and was founded
by Charles the fifth, occupies a large building in the _rue de la Loi_
(_ci-devant de Richelieu_). An elegant staircase, painted by Pelegrini,
leads to the spacious apartments on the first floor, which take up three
sides of the large court by which you enter, and which contain no less
than three hundred thousand printed volumes. Five or six rooms, well
lighted and well aired, offer on each side the best books, in every
science and in every language. Tables are placed for the convenience of
students, and attentive librarians civilly deliver the works which are
asked for.

In the second room is a curious piece of workmanship, called “le Parnasse
françois[82]” by _Titon Dutillet_, in which the different poets and
writers of France are represented as climbing up the steep ascent of that
difficult but inspired mountain. In my opinion, it deserves attention
more as a specimen of national taste, and private industry, than as a
production either of genius or of beauty.

In the third “_salon_” are the celebrated globes, the one celestial,
the other terrestrial, made in 1683, by the jesuit _Coronelli_, for
the _cardinal d’Estrées_. They are of immense dimensions, but require
new painting; as, in the first place, they were made before the last
discoveries, and secondly, the colours are almost entirely effaced by
the lapse of time.

This admirable library, which also contains collections of medals,
and other curiosities, is open to all persons who choose to attend as
students, without any expense, recommendation, or favour, every day in
the week; but, to prevent the labours of these being interrupted, the
visits of such as only come from motives of curiosity are limited to two
days in seven. I saw, with pleasure, that the object of this splendid
institution is fully answered. Forty or fifty young men, deeply intent
on the subject of their inquiries, were seated in different parts of the
room, and seemed to pursue, with enthusiasm, those studies, which the
liberality of their country thus afforded them the means of cultivating.

The gallery of manuscripts (called the gallery of Mazarine) contains
thirty thousand volumes, generally on the history of France, and more
particularly relating to facts which have taken place since the reign
of Lewis XI, twenty-five thousand of which are in learned or foreign
languages. The librarian, to whose care these precious papers are
entrusted, was known to a gentleman who accompanied me, and through his
goodness we saw several, which are not commonly exhibited.

I was much surprised at finding, in the hand writing of _Lewis XIV._
memoirs of his own times, so accurately taken, that, with very little
difficulty, they might be prepared for the press. I understand that a
gentleman, belonging to the library, began this useful task, and had made
considerable progress, when a sudden illness deprived his country and the
literary world of his services.

I was not a little entertained with the love letters of Henry IV., which
are in perfect preservation, and some of which have, I believe, been
published. The following is a _fac simile_ of one, which particularly
attracted my notice:

“Mon cher cœur, nous venons de dyner
ceans, et sommes fort sous. Je
vous veyrré devant que partyre de Parys
vous cherryre non comme yl
faut, mes comme je pourre
Ce porteur me haste sy fort que
je ne vous puys fayre que ce
mot bonsoyr le cœur a moy je
te bese un mylyon de foys

8
ce XIIIIIme octobre 8 H 8
8
HENRY[83].”

As the tokens of regard, which the gallant Henry thought his mistress
deserved, were only limited in number to a million, we cannot too much
admire the prudence with which he, who was never known to break his word,
promised to testify his affection, not according to the merit of the
lady, but to the powers of her lover.

The five large rooms on the second floor contain the titles and
genealogies of private families, which, though forbidden, since the
revolution, to be kept by individuals, are here preserved, in order
to ascertain the claims of property, and to assist the researches
of historians. They are contained in five thousand boxes, or
_porte-feuilles_, and are arranged and labelled with the greatest
precision.

The cabinet of medals is ornamented by drawings over the doors by
_Boucher_; by three large pictures, by Natoire, representing Thalia,
Calliope, and Terpsichore; by three of Carlo Vanloo, representing
_Psyche_ led by Hymen, the inventress of the flute, and the three
protectors of the Muses. The cabinet of antiques, above stairs, contains
the busts, vases, inscriptions, instruments of sacrifice, &c. collected
by the celebrated _Caylus_.

The cabinet of engravings, which occupies what is called, in France,
the “entresol,” or the floor between the first and second, consists of
five thousand volumes, divided into twelve classes. The first contains
sculptors, architects, engineers, and engravers, arranged in schools.
The second, prints, emblems, and devices of piety. The third, greek
and roman fables and antiquities. The fourth, medals, coins, and arms.
The fifth, public festivals, cavalcades, and tournaments. The sixth,
arts and mathematics. The seventh, prints relating to romances and
works of pleasantry. The eighth, natural history in all its branches.
The ninth, geography. The tenth, plans and views of ancient and modern
edifices. The eleventh, portraits of persons, of all conditions, to the
number of fifty thousand; and the twelfth, a collection of fashions and
_costumes_ of almost every country in the world, from the _porte-feuille_
of _Gaigniéres_. This last class is said to contain the most extensive
collection yet known of french fashions, from the time of Clovis to the
present age. The greater part of the sheets are coloured, some are on
vellum, copied from glass windows, from pieces of tapestry, and from
figures on tombs. The picture of king John, being the first specimen of
french painting, is found in this collection. It is well preserved.

I ought not to conclude my account of the national library without
mentioning, that among the manuscripts there are several in the persian,
arabic, and Chinese languages.

Besides the “national library,” there is the library of the Pantheon (or
St. Généviève), consisting of eighty thousand volumes, and two thousand
manuscripts, open every day from ten till two o’clock.

The Mazarine library, or (“des quatre nations,”) is open every day, from
ten till two o’clock (excepting on the 5th and 10th of each month), and
contains sixty thousand volumes.

The library of the “Institute” is open every day to members, and every
15th of the month to the public.

The legislature, the tribunate, the senate, and the other constituted
authorities, have also their libraries.

In addition to these sources of knowledge, there are several literary
institutions, called, when I first came here, “_des Lycées_, or
_Lyceums_,” but which, in consequence of the national colleges lately
established having taken that name, have changed theirs, and assumed the
appellation of “_des Athénées_.” The most distinguished of these, “le
Lycée,” (or, according to its new title, “l’Athénée,”), “republicain,”
has been the principal source of my amusement at Paris. It consists of
annual subscribers, who, for the moderate sum of four _louis_, enjoy
all its benefits. The society has a large floor, or apartment, situate
near the “Palais Royal,” (in a street called by its name); and it is
open the whole of every day for the use of the subscribers. There is a
small library, where all the periodical publications and newspapers are
taken in; and while three or four rooms are appropriated to conversation,
one is devoted to reading, and profound silence is there ordered and
maintained. In addition to these, there is an excellent lecture room,
with all the necessary apparatus for experiments, in which the ablest
men in France appear as professors. The subject of the lectures, which
are regularly given, always twice, and frequently three times, in the
course of the day, are literature, the sciences, and modern languages.
When I add, that _Fourcroy_ takes the chymical department, that _Cuvier_
reads on natural history, and that _la Harpe_, till banished by the
government, was the professor of literature, you will readily allow, that
no establishment can be better organized. Besides these, “_Hassenfratz_”
gives very good lectures on agriculture, and the studies connected
with that science. “_Sué_,” as an anatomist, is justly celebrated; and
the other professors, in their different lines, prove themselves well
qualified for the tasks assigned them. With “_Fourcroy_,” and “_Cuvier_,”
I was particularly delighted; and it is impossible, without having heard
them, to form an idea of the clearness and eloquence with which they
explain the subjects of their respective departments. As to “_la Harpe_”
I must confess, I was not a little disappointed. From his great renown,
and from the encomiums past on him, in early life, by _Voltaire_,
I expected to have been at once pleased, instructed, and surprised.
In these hopes I was strongly encouraged by the manner in which his
lectures were spoken, of at Paris, and by the crowds which flocked to
the “_Lycée_,” whenever it was his turn to fill the chair. Dreadful was
my disappointment, when, at last, I heard him. _Pompignan_, _la Motte_,
_Fontenelle_, and some other authors of that stamp, were the subjects
of his discourses; and, beginning with telling us that these writers
were either entirely forgotten, or deserved to be so, he continued, for
whole days together, to drag their ghosts before his audience, whom he
seemed to convert into a “_tribunal révolutionaire_” of criticism, and to
attack their memory with all the warmth and violence of an “_accusateur
public_.” These philippics against dead and neglected authors, filled
up with long quotations from the works which he ridiculed, interlarded
with attacks on those philosophical and political principles of which
he was originally the ardent advocate, and enlivened now and then with
a joke, and sometimes with an anecdote, constituted the whole merit of
his lectures. Yet the members of the “_Lycée_” heard him with wonder and
admiration; and whenever he threw down his book, turned round with a
look of self-complacence, or filled his tumbler with lemonade from the
decanter always placed by his side, the signal was instantly taken, and
loud and repeated applauses thundered from every corner of the room. To
account for this partiality, I must repeat, that every thing at Paris is
ruled by fashion; and _la Harpe_ being generally considered as the most
distinguished literary man now alive, every thing which fell from his
tongue was necessarily excellent; and I have no doubt, that if he had
contented himself with reading an article from one of the newspapers of
the morning, he would have been equally admired and as warmly applauded.

The “_Lycée_” is altogether a most excellent establishment; and,
considering, that two lectures, and frequently three, are given six days
in every week, and that these lectures are included in the subscription,
the price of four louis is very moderate.

I cannot speak properly of this institution as a place of society, as I
seldom staid there after the conclusion of the lectures; but I am told,
that the members are, generally speaking, respectable men. The rooms
are constantly full, and some persons may be said nearly to pass their
lives there, since they are scarcely ever absent, except at the hour of
dinner. I think it not improbable, that much amusement may be found in
the conversation of the members; but I confine my recommendation to the
advantages which the “_Lycée_” affords, as an easy source of profitable
knowledge.

“_L’Institut national_,” that celebrated society, which has succeeded
“_l’académie française_,” which is held up as the great republican
repository of genius and learning, and into which admittance is solicited
with so much eagerness, both at home and abroad, consists of one hundred
and forty-four members resident at Paris, and of twenty-four foreign
associates. It is divided into three classes; the sciences, physical and
mathematical; the sciences, moral and political; literature and the fine
arts. Each of these classes is again subdivided.

The “_Institut_” has a public séance, or meeting, on the 15th of every
month. I was present at one of these assemblies; and I am ashamed to
confess, that I had difficulty in refraining from laughter. The society
holds its sittings in a spacious room in the palace of the _Louvre_.
The members were seated in such silent, solemn state, each with his
reading desk, books, ink, and wax lights before him, while a dull and
uninteresting paper was reading, that their gravity produced the opposite
effect on me, and “_malgré_” my respect for the establishment, and for
those who belong to it, it was not without a struggle that I composed my
features, and checked the impulse of nature. At last, fortunately for
me, “_Colin d’Harleville_,” a dramatic writer of merit, ascended the
rostrum, and read a kind of funeral oration, or eulogy, on the memory of
an author of reputation, lately dead. The simplicity of the speaker’s
manner, the harmony of his voice, and the feeling which he displayed,
in deploring the loss and proving the worth of his friend, charmed
every ear; and, notwithstanding the pompous faces which surrounded me,
I became as melancholy as they wished to appear serious. The members of
“l’institut national” wear a blue cloth uniform, richly embroidered with
silk of the same colour.

The “_Jardin national des Plantes_[84],” founded originally by Buffon, is
one of the most interesting objects at Paris. Naturalists, and persons
fond of botany, have here every opportunity of cultivating those useful
studies, and of gratifying, in the amplest manner, their favourite taste.
The garden itself, which is extensive, and reaches to the river, contains
every kind of curious and exotic plant. There is a greenhouse likewise,
filled with such trees, the tender nature of which cannot bear the
coldness of a northern atmosphere.

There is also a _ménagerie_, or collection of animals, among which every
kind of fierce, rare, and foreign quadrupeds may be found. On my first
arrival at Paris, there were two elephants, of different sizes, who
had lived several years together in the same stable. They were of very
considerable dimensions, equal to those, the effigy of which is sometimes
seen on a London stage. The male has lately died, and “_Cuvier_” is to
anatomise the body, and give a lecture on the subject. The female, for
some time after the death of her companion, showed evident symptoms of
grief, and even refused, at first, every kind of nourishment. The house
attached to “le Jardin des Plantes” is filled with a precious collection
of curiosities in natural history, properly arranged, and correctly
named. Several rooms are filled with these valuable objects; and I am
told, by persons acquainted with such subjects, that very little is
wanting to make this _dépôt_ complete. Stuffed quadrupeds[85], birds,
plants, fossils, fish, and shells, offer every kind of variety; and even
the ignorant man finds here a source of never-failing amusement. The
collection of insects is particularly curious and extensive. I believe it
is considered as the finest in the world.

The “_Jardin des Plantes_,” like every other national establishment at
Paris, is seen gratuitously, and is open to foreigners every day, while
frenchmen are only admitted three or four times in each week. It is
impossible to mention too often, or to admire too highly, a _trait_ of
hospitality so truly magnificent.

The “cabinet _de l’École des Mines_” is a superb establishment. It is
situate in the principal building towards the key of the “_hôtel des
Monnaies_.” It was formed in 1778, of the collection which the famous
mineralogist, le Sage, was eighteen years in putting together. The middle
of the cabinet forms an amphitheatre, capable of containing two hundred
persons. Glass cases enclose, in the finest order, minerals of every
kind, and from every part of the world. Four other separate cases offer
models of machinery. On the stairs, leading to the gallery, is the bust
of monsieur le Sage, which was placed there by the gratitude of his
pupils. The gallery itself is surrounded with cases, containing specimens
of the productions of mines, too numerous to be placed with those which
are in the first cabinet of mines. The interior of the cabinet is 45
feet long, by 38 wide, and 40 feet high. All the english, who have seen
“_l’École des Mines_,” agree, in speaking of it as one of the most
interesting sights of this interesting capital[86].

Beside the great establishments which I have mentioned, there are several
others, which it would be an endless task to attempt to specify.

There are also many “lycées” or “athénées,” beside that of which I have
spoken. There are likewise private subscription lectures on all subjects,
many of which are of high repute, such as those of Mr. Charles on natural
philosophy, of the excellence of whose experiments, and the clearness of
whose discourses, I hear a very favourable account.

The english, german, and italian languages, are taught by professors at
the different “lycées,” by particular subscription, and for moderate sums
in other places. In short, there is no literary pursuit, of any kind,
which any man, in any circumstances, may not cultivate with success at
Paris.

Fortitude is necessary to resist the opportunities of committing
crimes, if the individual be poor, and of falling into the temptations
of pleasure, if he happen to be rich. Guarded against these respective
evils, the industrious scholar, whether covered with rags, or “clad every
day in purple,” may move on in the career of letters with every possible
advantage, and with the certitude of, at last, obtaining the utmost
object of his wishes. If any equality exist in France, it is found in the
fount of knowledge, which literally

“⸺In patriam populumque fluxit.”

In addition to the opportunities afforded for literary improvement
already mentioned, the price of books is moderate; and “_cabinets
litéraires_” offer in every quarter of the town, and almost in every
street, newspapers, pamphlets, and periodical works.

Paris, however, does not possess many circulating libraries, and of the
few which exist, I can give no favourable account. Perhaps the facility
with which works of value are consulted, and the trifle for which those
of the day are bought, are the reasons of this deficiency. It is,
however, a considerable convenience wanting in so great a city; and I
think that such an establishment, on a liberal and extended scale, would
be a profitable and useful subject of speculation.

I have said nothing of “la Société des belles Lettres” of “_la Société
de Médecine_” of “_la Société d’Institution_,” &c. Were I to enumerate
all the useful establishments, both public and private, connected with
literature, my letter would soon be swelled into a volume, and that even
of no small dimensions. I shall, therefore, now conclude my account by
observing, that whatever are the particular objects, to which a studious
man wishes to direct his attention, “quod petit hic est,” he will find
here all the facilities which he can possibly desire for pursuing his
favourite science, with little or no expense and great advantage.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXXI.

Calculation and estimate of expenses at Paris.—List of hotels,
traiteurs, &c.

Paris, may the 12th, 1802, (22 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

You know how much I dislike the petty detail of economical arrangements,
and will therefore pardon me for having so long delayed to speak to you
of the expenses and mode of living at Paris. I have not forgotten your
queries, and will, in this letter, endeavour to answer them as fully
as possible. You will, at least, derive one advantage from my apparent
neglect; that the information which I shall now send you, is not hastily
given, but the result of experience, gained during a residence of nearly
seven months.

Persons who have represented Paris (to use a vulgar phrase) as a cheap
place, have either been greatly deceived themselves, or have intended
purposely to deceive. The difference between the expense of living in
London and in Paris, appears to me infinitely less than it is generally
supposed. It is true, indeed, that a french family will apparently
support a much more elegant establishment on a given income, than an
english one can in London; but I believe the cause arises almost
entirely from the superiour economy and arrangement of the former, from
the sparing system observed in the interiour of private houses, and
from the constant and unvarying attention to the _minutiæ_ of every
disbursement. Though the table of a Parisian boasts, when company are
invited, every kind of luxury, yet I have reason to suspect, that, on
ordinary occasions, “le bouilli[87],” and “le vin ordinaire,” form its
principal support. A carriage, which has been in a family twenty or
thirty years, is treated with all the respect due to its antiquity, and
is seldom or ever discarded on account of its oldfashioned shape or faded
colour; and horses, used only now and then, may be fed on hay and straw.
Liveries are forbidden by the law; and servants are therefore permitted
to wait in the tattered garments which their present master has left off,
or in those which they have collected in a former service.

The drawing-rooms, and “_salles à manger_,” are lighted, even at the
largest assemblies, with oil, instead of wax; and antichambers and
staircases are so dark, that to find one’s way into the principal
apartment is generally a service of difficulty, if not of danger. As
to fire, on common occasions, one in the bed room either of “madame,”
or “monsieur,” is thought sufficient, with the addition of a “poële,”
or stove, which is so contrived, as to heat both the eating room, and
the antichamber, in which latter the servants always sit. In respect to
dress, an old great coat (or “riding coat,” as they call it) is often
worn in the house, by gentlemen, and the _belles_ who appear with the
greatest splendour in the evening, sometimes pass their morning in a
powdering gown, or “_robe de chambre_.”

The same kind of rigid economy is observed in their amusements. A family
of distinction will occupy a box “_au second_, or _au bagnoir_[88],” to
save a few _livres_; and I knew a young lady of considerable fortune,
who expressed an anxious wish to see the first appearance of _Vestris_,
and who, when a place was offered her, refused it, _malgré_ the general
passion for _spectacles_, and the celebrity of this, when she found that
the price of the ticket was nine francs (or seven and sixpence english).
I have entered into this explanation, to account for the apparently
splendid establishments of persons of moderate fortunes, which might
otherwise seem to contradict the opinion which I am about to give, and
which I have already hinted.

I repeat, then, that an english family settling here[89], with english
ideas and english habits, would spend very little less than they would do
in London, with a similar establishment.

To enable you to judge for yourself on this subject, I shall mention
the prices of the most essential articles of expense; some of which are
lower, while others are infinitely higher.

Meat is much cheaper, being only eleven or twelve sols per pound (or five
or six pence english).

Bread bears, at present, nearly the same price in the two countries.

The keep of horses costs infinitely less at Paris, than in London.

Poultry is cheaper; and wine of the best kind may be bought for something
more than we pay for good port.

On the other hand, house rent is equally dear, if not dearer. Furniture
is exorbitant; and dress of all kinds, both for men and women (only
excepting shoes and gloves) is, beyond comparison, dearer in price, and
more expensive in its kind.

The price of amusements, in the first places, is nearly the same at the
large theatres of Paris, as at those of London; and _spectacles_, being
infinitely more frequented at the former than in the latter city, much
more is spent, in this article, in the one than in the other capital.

Groceries are dearer, and fuel at least double. Putting these articles,
the one against the other, perhaps with economy eleven hundred pounds
in Paris might purchase as many conveniences as twelve in London. But I
think even this difference is liberally allowed.

Having given this rough calculation of family expenses, I shall proceed
to speak more particularly of those of a foreigner, or temporary
resident. On this point I can be more positive, having experience for my
guide.

A job carriage and pair of horses cost from twenty to twenty two louis
per month, according to the manner in which you are served. A pair of
horses, without the hire of a carriage, may be had for fifteen or sixteen
louis per month. In both cases the coachman is paid by the jobman; but
the former expects a trifle, as a mark of your approbation.

A “_laquais de place_” asks four, but will take three, livres (or half a
crown English) per day.

Apartments vary so infinitely in price, according to the part of the
town where they are situate, according to the number of rooms wanted,
according to the height of the floor, and, above all, according to the
bargain made by the individual wanting them, that it is very difficult
to fix any thing like an average. I shall only say, generally, that I
think a single man may be well lodged (at a price proportioned to the
accommodation which he requires) from five to twelve louis per month; and
a family of two or three persons, with as many servants, from twelve to
thirty louis.

A “_traiteur_” will supply a dinner at six livres (or five shillings) per
head; but the fare will neither be very good, nor very abundant.

Wine, of the best quality, if taken from the “_traiteur_,” or the master
of the hotel, will cost from five to six _livres_ the bottle. The same
may be had from a wine merchant at about half the price. I ought to
add, that it is not expected here, as in England, that the wine should
necessarily be ordered from the person who supplies your table.

The price of washing is greater than in London; and the english ladies
complain much of the manner in which it is executed.

Fuel is immensely dear. A “voie de bois,” or load of wood, the contents
of which one fire will consume in ten days, costs about thirty two or
thirty three livres (making about twenty six or twenty seven shillings
english.)

About nine livres (or seven shillings and sixpence) are paid for
admittance in the first places for each person at the “opera,” at “le
théâtre de la Feydeau,” and at “le théâtre de la rue Favart;” at the
“théâtre françois” six livres, twelve sols, (or five shillings and
sixpence english) and in the little theatres, half a crown, or three
shillings. I cannot give the prices exactly, as they vary according to
the manner in which you go to the play-house. In taking a box, more
is paid for each ticket, than what is otherwise paid simply for the
admittance of each individual at the door.

Clothing is very expensive. A plain frock of superfine cloth costs from
four louis to five and a half, according to the fashion of the tailor:
and I am told, that ladies’ muslins are at least four times dearer than
in London.

About lodgings, it is very necessary that those who intend visiting Paris
should make previous arrangements. The hotels are not so numerous as
before the revolution; and the difficulty of getting well accommodated is
much greater than any one, who has not been here, can possibly conceive.
Great advantage is also taken of the situation of strangers, who arrive
(unprepared) at one of these houses with post horses, the drivers of
which are always impatient, and very often impertinent, if you detain
them long in seeing rooms, or go to several hotels, before you are
settled.

To enable you and your friends to form some idea of the merits of
the different hotels, and accordingly to give directions to your
correspondents, I will add a list and short account of the most
celebrated.

“L’Hôtel de Grange Batelière, rue de Grange Batelière,” in the Chaussée
Dantin, (where Lord Cornwallis lodged) is a large and spacious house, in
which there are many handsome apartments. It has also the advantage of a
fine and extensive garden. I think I have heard, that the charges here
are rather high. The situation of the house is excellent; adjoining the
Boulevard, nearly opposite “_la rue de la Loi_ (or _de Richelieu_),” and
in that part of the town, which is now esteemed the most fashionable.

“L’Hôtel de l’Empire,” rue Cerruti, (formerly the private house of M. _la
Borde_, the king’s Banker) is much frequented by the english. It is of
course expensive. The high reputation which this hotel enjoys, induced me
to go there on my first arrival. I was much disappointed. I did not find
either the lodgings good, or the cooking very superiour. The principal
apartment is certainly very splendid, the price of which is ninety louis
per month; but the other rooms have nothing very particular to recommend
them. Every kind of refreshment is found in the house, and charged by the
article, as at the hotels in London, and at about the same prices.

This house is also in the “Chaussée Dantin,” and not far distant from
“l’Hôtel de Grange Batelière.”

In the “rue de la Loi,” (or “de Richelieu”) there are several hotels;
but the situation, though extremely central and convenient, has the
disadvantage of being very noisy. The upper part of the street, near the
Boulevard, is the most agreeable; and in that position are “l’Hôtel de
l’Europe,” and “l’Hôtel des Étrangers.” They appear good houses. I know
nothing of their character.

“L’Hôtel d’Angleterre, rue des Filles de St. Thomas,” very near the
“rue de la Loi,” has been inhabited by several English this winter. The
charges are said to be expensive. The situation is convenient; but it is
noisy, and surrounded by houses.

“L’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Vivienne,” very near the “rue de la Loi,”
and the “Palais Royal,” is also in the centre of the town. This house I
have heard more generally commended by those who have lodged there, as
to its prices, accommodations, and kitchen, than any other at Paris; but
I cannot say I like the street where it stands, which is both close and
dirty.

“_L’Hôtel de Mirabeau, rue de Helder_,” is in a new street, near the
Boulevard. It seems a good house. I do not know its character.

The two hotels, the situation of which is the most agreeable, being
both near the Boulevard, the Thuilleries, and the Champs Elisées, are
“_l’Hôtel de Courlande_, _place Louis XV_, (or _de la Concorde_”),
and “_l’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Royale_ (or _de la Concorde_).” The
former is part of that fine building, the “Garde Meuble,” and stands
in the most beautiful “_place_,” or square, of Paris. The windows
command a delightful view of the “_place_,” the bridge, the river, the
_Thuilleries_, and _Champs Elisées_. The house is newly furnished, and
only lately opened. I am sorry to add, that it consists but of few
apartments; but those which there are, are elegant and spacious. The
prices are extremely high. I was asked forty _louis_ a month for a second
floor.

The other house, I mean “_l’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Royale_ (or _de la
Concorde_)” standing in a very wide street, which runs from the Boulevard
to “la place Louis XV,” has equal advantages as to the neighbourhood of
all the public walks, with the hotel of which I spoke last; but it does
not command the same view. I am forced also to mention, having lived two
months in the house, that the landlord is a very insolent fellow, and
his wife, if possible, more impertinent than himself.

There are three small hotels, called, “_l’Hôtel de Galle_,” “_l’Hôtel
des Quinz Vingts_,” and “_l’Hôtel de Carousel_,” all in the immediate
neighbourhood of the palace of the Thuilleries, of which each commands
a view. A single man would be agreeably lodged at one of these; but I
should not suppose, that there was sufficient accommodation at either for
a family consisting of several persons.

In the “_Fauxbourg St. Germain_,” the hotels formerly frequented by the
english either exist no more, or have lost their reputation. Those only
which are of any repute in this part of the town, seem to be “_l’Hôtel de
Rome, rue St. Dominique_,” where there are several handsome apartments,
more remarkable for their size than their cleanliness; and “_l’Hôtel de
Marengo_,” in the same street, and next door to the former. The lodgings
of the latter are good; but some friends of mine, who lived there,
complained much of the disagreeable state, in which they found the beds.
Both these hotels have good gardens.

“_L’Hôtel de Caramont_,” in the same street, belonging to the _ci-devant
comte_ of that name, though not an “_hôtel garni_,” is let in apartments,
the greater part of which were occupied first by Mr. Jackson, and
afterwards by Mr. Merry. The rooms are delightful; but it rarely
happens, that any are vacant. I forgot to mention, that there is also in
this street a small hotel, called, “_l’Hôtel de Jura_,” which is well
furnished, and has a pretty garden.

The houses, which I have enumerated, are those which are the most
known, the best situate, and the most esteemed. Beside these, there
are “_l’Hôtel de Vauban_,” “_l’Hôtel de Congrès_,” and “_l’Hôtel de la
Grand Bretagne_,” all situate in “_la rue St. Honoré_,” and said to be
respectable houses. For those also who do not object to be surrounded
with bustle and noise, “_l’Hôtel de la Chancellerie_,” near the “Palais
Royal,” will offer good accommodations. I am told, the apartments there
are uncommonly elegant, and extremely spacious[90].

To this account I must add a _negative_ recommendation of _la rue
Traversière_, in which there are several hotels, and into which the
windows of some in _la rue de la Loi_ also look. A perpetual market,
with all the attendant smells, renders the houses in “la rue Traversière”
extremely unpleasant; and the same reason obstructs the passage, so
that it is difficult, in a carriage, to find one’s way to any door in
this street. The caution is the more necessary, as postboys frequently
recommend the situation.

There is some objection to almost every hotel; I cannot, therefore,
recommend any one; but, were I to visit Paris again, I think I should
either try “_l’Hôtel de Courlande, place Louis XV_,” the situation
of which is incomparable; “_l’Hôtel de Grange Batelière_,” which, in
accommodations and size, is superior to any house of the same kind; or
“_l’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Vivienne_,” which is universally well spoken
of by those who have inhabited it.

As to the “traiteurs,” or persons who supply you with dinners, they
sometimes belong to the house where you lodge, and sometimes not.

I tried several during my stay at Paris, and I found them all so bad, and
so uncertain, that, were I to return, I would either hire a cook, or dine
constantly at the house of a “restaurateur[91].” The most celebrated are,
_Naudit_, and _Robert_, in the Palais Royal, _Beauvillier_ in the _rue
de la Loi_, and _Verry_ in the garden of the _Thuilleries_. Besides the
public room, which is always elegantly ornamented, there is, at each of
these places, several _small rooms_, or _cabinets_, for private parties.
A long bill of fare, called “la carte,” consisting of all the delicacies
of the season, and every variety of wine, with the prices affixed to each
article, is handed to you, and the dishes are no sooner named, than they
are instantly served. The apartments are tastefully decorated, the linen
and plate are particularly clean, and the waiters civil, attentive, and
well dressed. The cooking is incomparable. Ladies, as well as gentlemen,
dine at these houses, and even in the public room several of the former
are always present. On a rough calculation, the expense of dining at one
of the first _restaurateurs_, including a fair quantity of the best wine,
varies from twelve livres (ten shillings) to a louis each person.

There are, however, inferiour houses of this kind, where, even for
_trent-six sols_ (or eighteen pence english) a dinner of several dishes,
and a bottle of wine, are allowed. As I never tried one of these
economical _repas_, I cannot speak of the fare they afford. A returned
“_abbé_” assured me, that he dined in this manner “_à merveille_;” but,
notwithstanding his authority, I should scarcely recommend a hungry
englishman to make the experiment.

In concluding my account of hotels and _traiteurs_, I must repeat my
advice to you, to make a previous bargain for whatever you may want. In
Paris, no tradesman has a settled price; and the shopkeeper or landlord,
who has the most respectable appearance, is not to be trusted.

An englishman, who, from delicacy, omits to offer a smaller sum than that
which is asked, may be certain, that he makes a present of at least fifty
per cent to the person of whom he purchases. In every line of trade the
same system is pursued; and even in buying books and plate, I have known
one fourth of the original demand taken.

Strangers ought to be particularly careful, how they deal with the
“marchands” of the “hôtel garni” where they lodge. They are a tribe of
people, who, under the recommendation of the landlord or porter, to whom
they pay a regular commission at the expense of the traveller, knock
perpetually at his door, and, with the utmost importunity, insist on
showing the different articles of their trade. What they sell is always
dear, generally out of fashion, and frequently damaged.

In calculating the expenses of Paris, much will depend on the manner
in which an individual lays out his money; and I am certain, that if a
good manager and a thoughtless young man were, during a winter passed in
Paris, to order exactly the same articles, and were afterwards to compare
their disbursements, a difference would appear in the result, of nearly
one half. It must be remembered also, that “_milord anglais_” (as they
call every englishman) is supposed to be so very rich, and so lavish of
his treasures, that he is rather flattered than offended by the largeness
of the sums which he is called upon to pay; and, while a conscientious
tradesman is satisfied with asking of another foreigner about forty or
fifty per cent beyond the value of his goods, he fails not to demand
double of him, whom, by his accent, he discovers to be a native of that
happy island, in which frenchmen believe, that gold is as common as the
air we breathe.

With these remarks, thrown out as a necessary caution, I shall conclude
my subject; and, meaning to write to you once again, before I leave
Paris, I shall, for the present, bid you adieu.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXXII.

General view of Paris, principally taken as compared with
London.

Paris, may the 14th, 1802 (24 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my former letters endeavoured to give you some idea of the
particular objects of greatest curiosity, I shall, in this last, take a
general view of Paris, principally as compared with London.

I shall begin with remarking, that of all the foreigners of different
nations, who frequent this city, the english are those who are least
satisfied with its pleasures, its occupations, and its manners. For this
many reasons may be assigned. The nations of the continent have, in the
first place, in their mode of living, a kind of general resemblance,
which qualifies them more for domesticating (if I may be permitted
the expression) in a country not their own than we have. A german, an
italian, a russian, or a swede has been accustomed at home to the french
kitchen, or at least to a bad imitation of its dishes: his habits, his
fashions, and even his literary pursuits have been formed on the model of
the french: and if he has lived in a court, the french language has also
been, from infancy, as familiar to him as his own. Very different is the
situation of an englishman. He finds himself, on landing at Calais, in a
new world, and in all the ordinary occurrences of life, his habits are to
be fresh modelled.

The cleanliness, so generally prevalent in England, not only in private
houses but likewise in inns, taverns, and hotels, is seldom met with
on the continent, and it is necessary for the traveller to lay aside
his best customs, and most excusable prejudices, before he can become
tolerably easy.

To breakfast and dine in a bed-room, to eat with the same knife of every
article, to have the bed made by a man, and other indelicacies too
gross to mention, are little misfortunes to which an english gentleman
submits with regret, and a lady with real pain. The numerous but scanty
dishes which crowd a french table, among which a joint of plain roasted
meat seldom appears, cloy without satisfying the appetite of those
who have been used to simpler but more substantial food. The wine,
also, notwithstanding its high repute, seldom seems strong enough or
of sufficient body for such as are habitual drinkers of port, though,
when the latter has been for some time discontinued, the taste becomes
disagreeable. The familiarity of servants and waiters (though less than
before the revolution), is still disgusting and offensive. The necessity
of bargaining, even at the most respectable shops, for the commonest
articles of merchandize, renders the purchase of them very unpleasant.
These circumstances, however trifling, occur too frequently in the course
of every day, not to have a considerable effect on the _serenity of John
Bull_. Accustomed only to his own language, he is either totally ignorant
of the french, or speaks it with difficulty, hesitation, and fear. He is
tormented with the frequent visits[92], which he is expected to pay; and
the custom of leaving the table immediately after dinner, seldom allowing
time for more than one or two glasses of good wine, completely destroys
the original good nature of his character.

I have recapitulated these little distresses, as I am convinced they
sour the temper, and have a, considerable influence on the unfavourable
judgment often pronounced by my countrymen. I do not pretend myself to
be superiour to such weaknesses, and mention the circumstance, that
too implicit credit may not be given to the opinions of one capable of
being biassed by “trifles light as air.” I must be permitted, however,
to observe, that there are reasons of a much more serious nature, which
make the english less easy to please than other foreigners. We come from
a country, where all the arts are carried to a degree of perfection, at
least equal to what is attained on the same objects in France, and where,
in many things, the ingenuity of our manufacturers is unrivalled. In
science and literature we have not been compelled to look from home;
and while we now admire the many distinguished writers which France has
produced, they are not our only models, and with Locke and Newton, Milton
and Shakspeare, we cannot pay that unbounded homage to the genius and
learning of our neighbours, which they are apt to demand. The freedom and
excellence of our constitution accustoms us to a degree of unrestrained
conversation, seldom met with at Paris; and the general diffusion of
wealth in London, has introduced, among all orders, a degree of comfort
which is seldom found even in the proudest houses of the french capital.

The beauty of our women, and the delicacy of their behaviour, render us
less enthusiastic admirers of parisian belles, and parisian fashions,
than the strangers of other countries.

The perfection to which the stage has advanced in London, and the
splendid manner in which our theatres are lighted, prevent our being
greatly struck with the renowned _spectacles_ of this place; and
the taste, profusion, and magnificence, displayed in our private
entertainments, oppose too powerful a contrast to the gayeties of Paris,
to allow us to be much delighted with the latter. Our race of horses, and
our manufacture of carriages, are both too perfect to render it possible
for us to admire the wretched equipages, which are here considered
as the _acme_ of elegance. It is equally impossible for us to praise
the gardens of the _Thuilleries_, the Champs Elisées, or the _Bois de
Boulogne_, as long as we remember Hyde park or Kensington gardens. Nor
can the lighting and paving of Paris excite the admiration of those who
have been used to the comfortable _trottoir_ and brilliant lamps of the
streets of London.

Having thus stated the reasons, good and bad, for the tameness with which
englishmen often speak of Paris, I shall endeavour to divest myself,
as much as possible, of national prejudice, and to lay before you the
advantages and disadvantages attendant on a residence in this city.

In respect to literature, the arts and sciences, certainly every
opportunity is offered which knowledge can afford, or which a zeal for
letters can desire. In this respect, I think, Paris is superiour to
London. Besides the immense acquisitions which it has lately made, and
the great and wonderful collections that are constantly open to the
public, there are so many private institutions within the reach of men of
moderate fortune, that this city would soon rival all the universities of
Europe, did not the pleasures of the place hold out temptations dangerous
to the morals of youth.

Literary men also are more respected than in England; and, instead of
abandoning society (which is too much the case with men of learning in
our country), the industrious, but unprotected frenchman, who engages in
the career of letters, finds his way into the most brilliant circles of
the capital. Even the haughtiest of the old nobility admit into their
most intimate _coteries_, those who have attained any literary fame,
however low their origin, or however mean their appearance. On this head,
I give unqualified and unrivalled praise to Paris.

Whether a foreigner could profitably pursue any commercial speculation
here, it is not for me to inquire. I shall only observe, that,
notwithstanding the laws of equality, prejudices exist as strongly as
ever at Paris; and could a fortune be accumulated here as rapidly as in
London, that fortune would never purchase the respect and consequence
with which a similar acquisition is attended in England. A merchant (or
“négociant,” to use the french expression) is still an insignificant
character in this town, and all the wealth of India would not place him
on a level with a general, a minister, or a _ci-devant_ noble.

A man of pleasure, or rather of dissipation, may, in all the joys of
unbounded variety, destroy his health, vitiate his principles, enervate
his mind, and ruin his fortune. To the rich, however old, ugly, or
deformed, beauty will not refuse her smiles; and every assembly is
open to him who, in the morning, will convey “madame” to milliners,
jewellers, and lace merchants, and will devote his evenings to the
_boulotte_[93] of “monsieur.”

The politician, or in other words, he who is anxious to become acquainted
with the real causes of the present order of things, and to examine to
their source the many-coloured events which have preceded it, will be
much disappointed. The greater number of those who took an active part in
the revolution, have been swept away in the general torrent; the few that
remain, are either living in obscurity, and cautious of expressing their
opinions, or become, like other apostates, as violent on one side as they
were formerly on the other. Of course, no satisfactory information is to
be derived from them. As to the general bulk of the nation, passive under
the iron tyranny of that sanguinary monster, Robespierre, they preferred,
at that time, the accidental hope of individual escape, to the generous
and braver conduct of a bold resistance. They are still the same people;
and, now that their tranquillity and private happiness are secured, they
look on in perfect apathy, and (if the term were not too rash) I should
add, in sulky content.

Should France be deprived of Bonaparte, a circumstance which french men
of all parties allow would be at present a great national misfortune,
I have no doubt that obedience would be quietly and generally yielded
to whatever party should seize the reins of power. It is universally
allowed, that there is no security beyond the life of the first
consul[94]; yet no one proposes, and I am sure no one thinks of providing
against an event, which, in the order of nature, must sooner or later
arrive. You cannot, living in England, form an idea of the indifference
prevalent here about public matters.

The time of Robespierre, or “la regne de la terreur,” as it is commonly
called, is often the subject of conversation, and it is mentioned
with as much disgust and horror as in other countries; yet it never
seems to occur to any one, that in having been the tacit spectators
and instruments of the murders committed at that time, the inhabitants
of this country were parties to his crimes. But it is perhaps absurd
to complain of the present want of feeling, when we recollect the
strange unconcern with which, under the immediate terror and view of
the _guillotine_, the persons confined in the different prisons, while
they awaited their turn of cruelty, engaged in every sort of frivolous
amusement. I have been assured, by those who were themselves in custody
at that unhappy period, that toilets were made, parties planned, cards
played, scandal talked of, assemblies arranged, and little jealousies
entertained, in the very caverns of death. More than one person was taken
from the dinner table, or the game of chess, to the place of execution.
From a nation so strangely indifferent to its dearest interests, what
intelligence can you expect to collect? If you ask a question relating
to those dreadful moments, instead of a simple answer of facts, you
receive a violent philippic against the memory of a man, too infamous
even to deserve the honours of abuse. If you make an inquiry about the
present constitution, you are laughed at, and, _pour toute réponse_, are
told, “C’est Bonaparte qui fait tout—tout lui est soumis—tout lui est
possible.[95]”

A gentleman and his wife, proposing to visit Paris, particularly if they
happen to be attached to each other, and have no decided rank, ought
carefully to provide themselves with all the letters of recommendation
which they can possibly obtain, if they wish to be admitted into any
of the houses of the parisians. They must remember, that every thing
is calculated in this town, and that, if the female traveller will not
conciliate the masters of families by her smiles, nor her husband by
presents and attentions to the ladies, no door will be opened which is
not forced open by the imperious command of some person, on whose power
and interest the party depends. With the most insignificant title, or
the lowest order of chivalry, something may be done, for these add to
the splendour of an assembly; but without these advantages, and without
vice, foreigners live but dully in this gay city. An english lady, of
superiour talents, observed to me one day, with great truth, that she
never discovered that her title of “countess” was of any use, till she
entered the territory of the french republic. I ought also to mention,
that it seldom happens in this country, that a person, to whom a stranger
is recommended, thinks it necessary to present him to another. Of
course, the number of acquaintance will not exceed that of the letters
with which a foreigner is favoured. It may be doubtful, whether all
of these will be attended to; but, at any rate, the houses of those
to whom he is addressed will form the limits of his society. Families
coming here with children, will have great advantages in procuring them
education. Masters in every science, and in every language, may be had
at a very easy expense. The only antidote is the temptation to pleasure.
Under a certain age, no place can be so well suited to the purposes of
instruction.

Having taken a hasty view of the different situations in which this town
may be visited, I shall conclude my subject by enumerating in what I
conceive London is superiour to Paris, and in what Paris is superiour to
London.

In width, cleanliness, and beauty, the streets of London have such a
decided advantage over those of Paris, that I believe even a frenchman
would acknowledge, that the question could not be disputed. The footpaths
of the former, on which the pedestrian may walk without danger or dirt;
the excellent pavement, which prevents any fatigue from being experienced
in the use of a carriage; and the brilliance of the lamps at night, which
renders the passage, in an evening, from one part of the town to another,
rather a pleasure than a pain, are but ill contrasted by the narrow and
filthy lanes of the latter, in which persons on foot are constantly
exposed to every kind of accident and inconvenience; to the neglected
carriage ways, in moving over which individuals are bruised, and wheels
rapidly worn out, and to the dismal and uncertain light, which a few
lanterns, hung by cords suspended from the opposite houses, faintly
afford. But if the streets of Paris must yield to those of London,
the former city is undoubtedly superiour in its palaces and public
buildings, and in the height, style, and architecture of private houses,
the stone fronts, regular plan, and lofty dimensions of which, have a
very commanding appearance. But though the edifices are finer, and the
arrangement more convenient, each floor consisting of a complete set of
rooms, yet, from their great size, it usually happens that the same house
is inhabited by several families, and the stairs, consequently, becoming
public, are as dirty and as disgusting as the common streets. Where too
an individual keeps an entire house in his possession, the number of his
servants is rarely proportioned to the size of his habitation, and either
only a part is occupied, or the whole is neglected and in bad order.

I cannot help adding, as a singular circumstance, that notwithstanding
the extensive and superiour scale on which private hotels are built at
Paris, I have seldom seen open, at an assembly here, either as many
rooms, or those of such large dimensions, as are met with, on similar
occasions, in families of rank and fashion in London. The reason of this
apparent contradiction, perhaps, is this, that as but one floor (whether
others belong to the same person or not) is generally made use of, the
bed rooms, offices, and antichamber, occupy too large a space to allow
much extent for the apartments devoted to the reception of company.
From the opposite reason, it often happens that a house in London, of
moderate size, has several large rooms, in which a numerous society may
be entertained, though these rooms are scattered on different floors.

In respect to furniture, the houses of the “_parvenus_” are elegantly
and splendidly fitted up. Most of the other private hotels have received
little improvement, repair, or alteration, since the beginning of
the revolution, and are consequently not very remarkable, either for
freshness or novelty of taste. Carpets are not common; and though the
beds are generally better, and in a more ornamental form, than those
usually seen in England, and the antique shapes are most classically
imitated in the decoration of these, and in the chairs, or _fauteuils_;
yet, in other respects, I think our modern manner of fitting up houses
has the advantage over that which generally prevails at Paris. Mahogany,
so commonly used in England for dinner tables, is seldom applied to that
purpose in France; and, as the cloth is never removed, they are made
of deal. _En revanchè_ it forms, instead of gold, the frames of satin
furniture; and the walls of drawing rooms are often ornamented with
that wood. I cannot say, I admire mahogany thus employed; but this is
entirely a matter of taste. Plate glass is, of course, very superiour,
and infinitely more common in the decoration of rooms than in England;
yet, with this exception, and a few others, I think our apartments in
London are more completely furnished, are much cleaner, and have many
little comforts which are wanting in those of Paris. Some particular
houses here do, indeed, present models of taste, profusion, and luxury,
unequalled by any of ours; but the number of these is very trifling, and
alters but little the general result.

The eating rooms of french houses are very disgusting. Instead of the
comfortable turkey carpet, handsome curtains, _stuccoed_ walls, blazing
fire, and ornamented sideboard, of a London parlour, the dinner is here
served in a dark and gloomy apartment, called “_la salle à manger_,”
imperfectly heated with a stove, the floor generally of stone, and always
without a carpet, the windows without curtains or shutters, and the whole
dirty and uninviting. Where there is not a separate antichamber, the
servants occupy the dining rooms in the absence of their masters; and, in
that case, the smell, which such company are apt to leave, is extremely
offensive.

Of the assemblies I have already spoken. Excepting a great ball given
by madame Recamier, where there was a crowd of three or four hundred
persons of different classes, with only a standing or _sandwich_ supper,
and a superb fête given by monsieur de Dimidoff, a rich russian, I
have heard of no very numerous party. The balls generally consist of
from fifty to a hundred people. Those at which I was present, appeared
rather calculated to show the dancing and dress of the ladies, than to
promote general gayety or diversion. In splendour of _costume_, and in
graceful movements, our entertainments of this sort must yield to those
of Paris; but in general mirth, in decorations, in supper, and brilliancy
of light, the comparison is decidedly in favour of the former. The
constant fluctuation also which takes place in London, from the number
of engagements of each individual, gives a variety which is wanting in a
french party, at which all the invited pass their whole evening.

The _thés_, which answer, in some respects, to our card parties, are
infinitely less in number than the latter. The conversation of the former
is, undoubtedly, on subjects more worthy of occupying the attention
of rational beings, than the senseless _chit chat_ of our fashionable
_coteries_. It is only to be regretted, that the desire of speaking
on literary subjects with _éclat_, so generally prevalent at Paris,
not unfrequently degenerates into pedantry and affectation. Hence the
tasteless coiner of pompous sentences is often mistaken for a man of
genius; and the chattering ostentatious coxcomb is admired, while the
silence of modesty, and the reflection of good sense, expose those in
whom they are discovered, sometimes to ridicule, and always to neglect.
The conversation too, is commonly monopolised by a few, and the rest
of the company yawn away their evening uninterested and uninteresting.
On this subject the higher classes, of both countries, might improve,
by observing the faults of each other; those of England, in rendering
the topics of their conversation less trifling; and those of France, by
letting ideas, instead of expressions, occupy their attention.

The concerts here are dull and tiresome entertainments, which last five
or six hours uninterruptedly. Young ladies are often the principal
performers, and admired rather in proportion to their rank and fashion
than to the harmony of their voice, or the scientifical proficiency which
they have made in the study of music. As we have generally in London the
first italian masters, and the most distinguished singers, I conceive
that our amusements of this sort must be superiour to those of Paris.

Of the _spectacles_ I have fully spoken in a former letter. I shall,
therefore, be as concise as possible at present. The opera of Paris is
superiour to that of London in dancing and decoration; but the latter, in
point of brilliance, gayety, music, beauty, and elegance of company, has
such an advantage over the former, that it may be justly said to be, in
the language of Shakspeare, “Hyperion to a satyr.” As to the play-houses,
the comic performers in France possess a degree of extraordinary merit,
and of professional skill, which I do not conceive any theatre of Europe
can equal; but if they have attained a higher point of perfection than
our actors in that line, I think our tragedians as decidedly exceed the
french in simplicity of diction and of manner, in the just representation
of human passions, and, above all, in taking nature for their guide,
which, in assuming the buskin, the latter seem entirely to forget. As to
the general state of the _spectacles_ as public places, those of London
are infinitely gayer, but those of Paris more orderly, and less subject
to riots, indecency, and disturbance.

The walks, or _promenades_, of both these great cities, are delightful.
Ours have the singular merit of being pleasant even in winter; and,
besides, our large streets, the footways of which, even after rain, are
soon dry, with the gardens of our various squares and inns of court, St.
James’s and Hyde park offer constant and beautiful spots for exercise.
At Paris, there are no _trottoirs_; and the Thuilleries, Champs Elisées,
and Boulevards, are almost impassable for foot passengers in bad weather.
When the spring begins, the scene changes, and this city then boasts some
charming gardens, which I have already enumerated, and which are well
frequented. In my opinion, however, there is nothing here to be compared
either with Hyde park or Kensington gardens.

For excursions round the town, the neighbourhood of London seems to
afford more variety and picturesque views than that of Paris; but the
vicinity of both cities is very beautiful.

The hours of the two capitals are now so nearly alike, that it is
unnecessary to draw a comparison between them. No genteel family at
Paris dines before four or five o’clock, and some persons not till six
or seven. The _thés_ begin about nine, the balls at twelve. The theatres
commence at seven, and are generally over between ten and eleven.

The shops of London, as well as every kind of trade and manufactory, are
so decidedly superiour to those of Paris, that it would be ridiculous
to make the subject a question of doubt. There have been, however, some
very elegant “_magazins_” (or shops) lately opened in la Rue de la Loi
(ci-devant de Richelieu), particularly that of M. le Roi, and another
called “la Maison de la Providence,” nearly opposite _la Rue de Feydeau_.

Hackney coaches are a convenience which both these cities enjoy in great
perfection. Those of Paris have improved so much since the revolution,
that I conceive them now to be superiour to ours, both in carriages
and horses. The fare for one distance (or “_course_,”) whether long
or short, provided it be within the gates of Paris, is _thirty sols_
(or one shilling and three-pence english). There are, besides these,
“_cabriolets_,” or open carriages, constantly plying, which are not only
good, but uncommonly elegant. They are equal to the best appointed gigs
of private persons in London. The horses are fleet, and the drivers
civil. The fare is something more than that of a “fiacre,” or hackney
coach.

The “hôtels garnis” are not so good or so numerous as they were formerly;
but I think them still better than our houses of the same kind in London.
There is also a privacy in a french apartment (the outward door of each
making a distinct habitation), which gives it a decided advantage over
the lodgings of an english hotel.

The public rooms and private _cabinets_ of “restaurateurs,” are
certainly more elegantly fitted up than the apartments of our taverns or
coffeehouses. The cooking of the former is better, and presents a much
greater variety of dishes, and the affixed price to each article, makes
the price of a dinner depend entirely on the choice of him by whom it is
ordered.

As to society, that material ingredient in the happiness of man, of
which every one who has a head or heart, feels the vast importance, I
conceive that foreigners arriving either in London or in Paris, without
pressing recommendations or exalted rank, may be much embarassed, and
may in both places pass months and even years, without making one
proper acquaintance. Yet it appears to me that there is this great and
distinguishing difference between the manners of the two capitals, that a
person properly introduced to a few families of fashion in London, will
rapidly find his way into every society which he wishes to frequent,
whereas, in Paris, however well individuals may be received in one or
two of the most esteemed houses, that circumstance will not contribute
to their introduction to any others, and if a stranger arrives with a
certain number of recommendations, he may, after a six months residence,
quit Paris without having increased the list of his acquaintance. I
speak on this subject from experience. Besides a near relation of my
own, two or three families[96] long connected with mine, have still
establishments here, and live in the best company of the place. By all
of these Mrs. ⸺ and myself were well and hospitably received, but the
persons whom we met at their houses, neither paid us visits, or in other
respects showed us the most trifling civilities.

Madame de St—l, is the only new acquaintance to whom we are indebted
for a polite and hospitable reception, which indeed every foreigner of
character is sure to find at her house, which on account of the public
characters often seen there, on account of the rational conversation,
and general gayety which always prevail, and above all, on account of
the distinguished wit and universal politeness of “madame,” is the most
agreeable of Paris.

Having thus drawn a comparative statement of the advantages and
disadvantages of these cities, principally viewed as places either of
study or of amusement, I shall be excused for adding a few words on the
state of charitable institutions, though they do not immediately form
part of my subject.

Our hospitals and asylums for suffering poverty, are too well known, and
stand on too high a basis to require any eulogium from me. I am happy
to add, that those of Paris have not been neglected during the united
horrors of war and revolution. A respectable physician (not a frenchman)
assures me, that even during the most barbarous moments of the sanguinary
Robespierre, these useful establishments were not abandoned. By a strange
contradiction, while virtue and innocence were daily dragged to the
scaffold, misery here found a refuge from the agonies of pain, and the
menaces of disease. These institutions are now kept up with liberality,
and every possible attention. Besides several others the medical
gentleman in question particularly praises “l’Hôtel Dieu, rue du Marché
Palu,” where from fifteen hundred to two thousand sick persons receive
the advice of the ablest physicians, and are treated with the most
delicate care. The government, and the persons particularly entrusted
with the management of this establishment, show the most laudable zeal
in its support. “L’Hospice St. Louis” is an excellent appendage to this,
to which those whose complaints are contagious are immediately removed.
He next commends “l’Hospice de la Pitié, rue Fossés St. Victor,” behind
“_le Jardin des Plantes_,” the refuge of distressed innocence, in which
two thousand children of soldiers, who died in the service of their
country, are rescued from misery, and comfortably supported. “L’Hospice
de St. Sulpice, rue de Sèvres,” originally built by madame Necker, in
which one hundred and twenty sick, and eighteen wounded persons are
relieved. “L’Hospice des Incurables,” where the doom of these unhappy
wretches is softened by an extensive garden; and “l’Hospice de la
Salpétrière,” built by Louis XIII, and maintained at present in all its
original grandeur. The building is fine, presenting a majestic _façade_,
and its boundaries are so extensive that it is almost a little city. Here
sixteen hundred girls are employed in making linen and in working lace.
Old married men, young women affected with madness, and female ideots
here receive those little comforts, of which their respective situations
still allow them to partake.

Requesting you to pardon this digression I shall conclude my subject with
a few short observations drawn from my former remarks.

To those who are fond of the arts, and who devote their time to the
pursuit, Paris offers objects of great interest and unequalled beauty.
Persons who pass their lives in a career of dissipation, who are
satisfied with public amusements, bought pleasures, and high play, will
find here, decked in all the joys of variety, the means of gratifying
their favourite wishes. To such as come to view the curiosities of the
place, Paris will appear delightful during a residence of two or three
months, as that time will be fully and agreeably occupied in examining
its various institutions, and in visiting its different theatres,
particularly if the traveller arrives in the beginning of spring,
when the charms of nature are added to those of art. But to him whose
attachments are centred within the circle of his own family, who is fond
of the investigation of truth, and whose early days have been passed in
the polished societies of London, Paris, after its great and striking
beauties have once been sufficiently viewed, will appear comparatively
tame, dull, and uninteresting. He will daily miss the freedom of
conversation, which is so generally prevalent in England; he will look
in vain for that manly sense, with which great national questions are
discussed by men of education in London, he will be irritated by the
flippancy of french politicians, and by the pedantic terms and laboured
sentences, which take the place of sound argument and solid reasoning.
He will find the amusements rather various than splendid. He will find
society difficult when it is good, and dangerous when it is easy[97]. He
will admire the grace and elegance of the ladies, and will look with an
eye of pity, it not of contempt, on the indelicacy of their dress. He
will hear “la bonne compagnie” talked of in every set, and never defined.
He will perhaps at last discover that it only exists, where it does not
assume the name, or as Voltaire says,

“Qui ne s’appelle pas la bonne compagnie, mais qui l’est.”

He will view with wonder and admiration the works of art, and see with no
little pleasure and curiosity the extraordinary man now at the head of
government. Such will be his principal sources of satisfaction at Paris.
He will soon discover that every thing else, however blazoned out in the
trappings of grandeur, or vamped up in the colouring of hyperbole, is
only “air and empty nothing.”

Adieu, my dear sir, I propose setting out to-morrow morning for Lyons,
Switzerland, and Italy. You will, therefore, not hear from me again till
I am far distant from this capital. I came here big with hope, and eager
in expectation. I rejoice at having undertaken the journey, as it has
afforded me much useful information, but I leave Paris without regret,
and with but little desire of a speedy return.

I am, &c.

THE END.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Three horses and a post boy cost six livres, or five shillings per
post. The post is two leagues, or five miles english.

[2] The room in question has, since this was written, been limited to a
better use. Vide LETTER XX.

[3] Maria Cosway. Her plan is to follow the arrangement of the gallery,
and to devote one copper-plate to each of the fifty-seven grand
divisions or compartments, of which it at present consists, engaging to
continue her work, as the collection shall be increased. The size of the
copper-plate is to be twenty-one inches high, and seventeen wide. The
numbers are to appear monthly, and each is to contain two engravings,
with an historical description of the subjects, and the artists, by
J. Griffiths. Didot the elder, in the Palais royal, receives her
subscriptions. Coloured proofs cost thirty-six livres, and plain ones
twenty-four.

[4] I ought perhaps to mention, that judges of painting have frequently,
in my hearing, complained of the double light in which the pictures are
seen in this gallery. Individually speaking, I was always during the
very many times when I visited this museum so amused, and so delighted,
that I had no inclination to criticise; but it is certainly true, that
on some days the pictures were seen to greater advantage than on others.
The windows of the gallery are directly opposite to one another, and
the paintings are hung on the piers between them. The glare which this
circumstance produces, is the cause of the objection I have named.

[5] Next to the Apollo and the Laocoon, the most celebrated statue is
the Dying Gladiator, the copies of which are dispersed over almost every
country in Europe.

[6] _Spectacle._—This is so important a word, and of such general use in
french conversation, that I cannot too soon introduce it to the notice
of my english reader. It means, first, all the theatres, puppet-shows,
pantomimes, horse exercises, and other motley amusements of this gay
capital.

It is also perpetually in the mouths both of gentlemen and ladies. If
you ask one of the former, whether he were pleased with the opera, he
replies, “Oui, enchanté; le spectacle étoit magnifique.” (Yes, delighted;
the spectacle was magnificent.) And if you put a similar question about a
ball to one of the latter, you receive a similar answer.

If you speak with enthusiasm of the picture gallery, a parisian coldly
observes, “C’est bien vrai, c’est un très beau spectacle.” (Yes, it is a
very fine spectacle, or sight.)

If a stranger inquire, whether the monthly parade of Bonaparte’s troops
deserve its celebrity, he is told, “Oui, c’est un très beau spectacle.”
(Yes, it is a fine spectacle.)

It is also the favourite theme of conversation; and a parisian compelled
to talk with a foreigner, is sure to begin with the following words:
“Allez vous souvent, monsieur, au spectacle? Ne sont ils pas bien beaux
nos spectacles?” (Do you often go to the _spectacles_? Are not our
_spectacles_ very fine?)

A similar observation forms likewise the hospitable kind of consolation
which an englishman sometimes receives, if he complain, that he has not
seen much of french society. “Mais cependant, vous ne pouvez pas manquer
d’amusement; à Paris les spectacles sont si beaux.” (You cannot want
amusement, however; the spectacles at Paris are so fine.)

In consequence of the general application of this word in France to
every thing relating to the stage, a parisian, on his arrival in London,
wishing to go to the play, supposed that he had only to look for the word
spectacle in a french and english dictionary; and, having found that
the literal translation gave him the same word, with perfect confidence
directed his hackney coachman to _drive to the spectacle_. The fellow,
supposing that he wanted to purchase a pair of spectacles, conducted
him to the celebrated shop at Charing-cross. The frenchman flew into
a passion, and by his gestures conveyed, that this was not the place
where he desired to go. The coachman, imagining that this was not the
optician’s, to which he wished to be taken, carried him to several others
in different parts of the town. After a long round, during which the
favourite oaths of the two countries were mutually exchanged between
_monsieur_ and his _charioteer_, the former was compelled to pass his
evening in the hackney coach instead of the play-house, and thus learnt
the difference between french _spectacles_ and english _spectacles_.

[7] Mademoiselle Beauharnois is since married to Louis Bonaparte, one of
the brothers of the first consul; to whom she has become, therefore, both
daughter and sister.

[8] Married to General le Clerc, who commanded the expedition to St.
Domingo. She accompanied him to that island, and incurred all the dangers
of climate and of war. She did so in obedience to Bonaparte’s particular
orders; with whom it is an undeviating principle, that a wife should
always follow the steps and fortunes of her husband.

[9] As we should say in english, “a lost thing.” The french expression
is more commonly used, and is infinitely stronger in its meaning. It is
adopted on all occasions of misfortune; such as to deplore the death of
a friend, or the loss of a “spectacle.” A general was lately killed in a
duel. A fair parisian of high fashion, to whom he was much attached, on
hearing of the accident, exclaimed, with an accent of deep despair, “Que
je suis à plaindre! il devoit m’avoir amenée au bal de l’opéra demain.
Voilà une affaire bien manquée.” (How am I to be pitied! he was to have
taken me to the ball at the opera to-morrow. Here is a lost thing, or a
party completely deranged.)

[10] What bad weather! what a misfortune! really it is terrible! it is
shocking! The _fête_ would have been so fine, if this devilish rain had
not fallen!

[11] By the good fortune of Bonaparte.

[12] At the house of the respectable M. de la T⸺, whose niece is the
lady of the celebrated P⸺t, some time president of the convention, and
afterwards banished, with many other worthy men, at the revolution of
the 18th of Fructidor. M. P⸺t is a distinguished writer; and, as a
politician, was much esteemed for the moderation of his principles, and
the integrity of his conduct. Madame P⸺t is a woman of very superiour
talents and great acquirements. She is likewise justly admired for the
humanity which has induced her to devote her hours to that excellent
institution, _la Société Maternelle_, of which she is the president. The
object of this society is, to afford deserted orphans that comfort, of
which they have been deprived by the death or the fault of their parents.

[13] “De mauvaise compagnie”—“of bad company, unfit for good company.”
The terms, “bonne compagnie,” and “_mauvaise_ compagnie,” are for ever in
the mouths of _coquettes_ and _petits-maîtres_. It is difficult to define
what, I believe, is meant to be indefinable.

[14] _L’ancienne noblesse_, literally translated, “the ancient nobility.”
I use the expression in french, because the word “nobility,” in our
language, expresses a very different thing.—The nobility of England are
a small, respectable, and wealthy body, exercising a great and important
part of the constitution, and possessed of powers highly important to the
state. The french “_noblesse_” consisted of sixty or seventy thousand
families, every individual of which would have thought himself disgraced
by engaging in any branch of trade, or useful industry; enjoying many
privileges personally advantageous, but discharging no public functions,
as nobles, at all connected with the government.

[15] “Contractors.”

[16] Every landholder in France, in consequence of a law passed in one of
the most violent moments of the revolution, and which is still continued,
pays one fourth of his real revenue to the state; and as, in particular
parts of the country, the rate has been unfairly made, it happens, in
some cases, that even a half is paid, instead of a fourth. The latter is
the _minimum_ of the present taxation.

[17] I am very sorry, but to tell you the truth.

[18] At their house—I am really quite distressed.

[19] “New Comers,” upstarts.

[20] Eating room.

[21] Silence guards the slumbers and the loves of this bed.

[22] President’s chair.

[23] To the Legislative Body, to the first Consul, and to madame
Bonaparte.

[24] Yes, yes, that tall man is lord Cornwallis. He has a fine figure.
He looks like a military man. He has served in the army. Is it not true,
sir? Look at that little man near him, what a difference! what a mean
appearance!

[25] “They do right,” said one, “to wear boots—it is a travelling dress.
They will not stay here long.”

[26] We pay them ten thousand francs for doing nothing. I am astonished
Bonaparte does not get rid of these fellows.

[27] I believe that your ambassador has an income of his own, larger than
that of all these fellows together. Without their salary of legislators,
they would die of hunger.

[28] The sovereign people.

[29] The abbé Sicard, in the course of this lecture, took occasion to
remark, that of all languages, the english was the most simple, the most
reasonable, and the most natural, in its instruction. As a proof of the
truth of his assertion, he informed us, that his pupils, as they began to
learn the means of conveying their thoughts by writing, were constantly
guilty of _anglicisms_. He added, that it was difficult to make them lay
aside idioms purely english, and still more so, to teach them those which
are peculiar to the french language.

[30] I hear only silence and see only night.

[31] Your droll Shakspeare.

[32] By way of an unanswerable argument, said, “It is Mr. Pitt who
understands reasoning; but as to Mr. Fox, he can declaim prettily: all
his talent consists in this. You will allow me to know, for it was I,”
assuming a look of great dignity, “who translated his speeches.”

[33] General Dessaix, by whose valour the battle of Marengo, in which he
fell, was principally gained.

[34] To take advantage of the discoveries of the present age, but not to
run before them.

[35] To love the world at large, it may be truly said, that we ought
first to love our own country; but he who begins with loving the world at
large, will probably end in not loving any country whatever. Philosophy
has done its duty; it is for you, citizen legislators, to discharge
yours. Philosophy begins the happiness of men; but it is legislation
which completes it, &c.

[36] “La loi d’aubaine,” by which foreigners were prevented from
inheriting or purchasing lands in France.

[37] Boissy d’Anglass. This worthy man was president of the national
assembly on one of those occasions, when the mob burst into the hall, and
attempted to dictate to the members.

With heroic courage, he refused to put any question, while the
rabble remained in the assembly; and persevered in his resolution,
notwithstanding the poignards which were raised against him, and the
dreadful example of one of his colleagues, who was murdered by his side.

[38] That dark and wet climate.

[39] Believe me, sir, our young men see all this with the most perfect
indifference.

[40] Coffeehouses.—The number of coffeehouses (properly so called, as
coffee and _liqueurs_ are the only articles which they supply) is very
great at Paris, and they are constantly crowded. Swarms of idle persons
spend their lives at these places, playing chess, talking politics,
reading the journals, or sitting still. I have often counted more than
one hundred individuals in a coffeeroom of a moderate size; and there
is no hour of the day when the same scene does not present itself.
Paris, under every government, and at all periods, will bear the same
appearance as to amusements. Montesquieu, in his Persian Letters, gives
the following description of the coffeehouses of his time, which applies
exactly to those of the day:

_“Le café est très en usage à Paris, il y a un grand nombre de
maisons publiques, où on le distribue. Dans quelques unes de
ces maisons on dit des nouvelles, dans d’autres on joue aux
échecs. Il y en a une où l’on apprête le café, de telle manière
qu’il donne de l’esprit à ceux qui en prennent; au moins, de
tous ceux qui en sortent, il n’y a personne que ne croie qu’il
en a quatre fois plus que lorsqu’il est entré.”_

“Coffee is much in use in Paris. There are a great many public houses
where it is distributed. In some of these houses the news of the day is
reported, and in others chess is played. There is one, in which coffee
is prepared, in such an extraordinary manner, that it improves the
intellects of those who take it: at least, of those who come from this
house, there is not one who does not think himself four times as wise as
when he went in.”

[41] The establishment for the employment of the blind.

[42] In spite of myself.

[43] As our Saviour did of old.

[44] It is the art of writing as quick as speech. Stenography moves like
the deer or the horse, but common writing like the ox.

[45] You speak of _Molière!_ Oh! his reign is past; our age is much
more refined in its ideas; our stage, cleared of such trash, is at last
adorned with the really beautiful, which was so long sought for in vain.

[46] “Tom, my dear Tom.”

[47] Every large house in France is approached by a court yard, the gate
of which is called “la porte cochére.”

[48] I speak only of the superiour orders. Among the common people, I
have remarked some of that liveliness so vaunted, as forming a material
ingredient in the french character.

[49] Edward in Scotland.

[50] Provision for the convent.

[51] I am delighted to see here so many english. I hope our union may
be of long continuance. We are the two most powerful and most civilized
nations of Europe. We should unite to cultivate the arts, the sciences,
and letters; in short, to improve the happiness of human nature.

[52] When the present worthy and respectable minister from the United
States of America Mr. Livingston was presented, Bonaparte said to
him, “Vous venez d’une république libre et vertueuse dans un monde de
corruption.”—(You come from a free and virtuous republic into a world of
corruption.)—Mr. Livingston, who is rather deaf, and does not perfectly
understand french, did not immediately hear him. Bonaparte instantly
called to M. Talleyrand, and desired him to explain, in english, what he
had said.

[53] Thus, thanks to the genius of Victory, the public will soon have
the pleasure of seeing these four magnificent compositions united in the
_Musée Central_, or Central Museum.

[54] “The gratitude of the country dedicates this building to the memory
of great men.”

[55] You must ask that question of the government. The church will
probably be finished, when the government has so much money, as not to
know what to do with it otherwise.

[56] Here reposes the man of nature and of truth.

[57] He enlightens the world even from the tomb.

[58] To the manes of Voltaire, the national assembly passed a decree, on
the 30th of may, 1791, declaring, that he deserved the honours due to the
memory of great men.

[59] Poet, historian, philosopher, he enlarged the human mind and taught
it, that it ought to be free.

[60] He defended Calas, Serven, de la Barre, and Mont Bally.

[61] He combated atheists and fanatics. He preached tolerance. He
vindicated the rights of man against the monster Feudality.

[62] The return of Zephyr.

[63] _Orangerie._—The following description, given by _la Fontaine_
of the same place in his time, is exactly descriptive of its present
situation:

“_Comme nos gens avoient encore de loisir ils firent un tour à
l’orangerie. La beauté et le nombre des orangers et des autres plantes
qu’on y conserve on ne sauroit exprimer. Il y a tel de ces arbres qui a
resisté aux attaques de cent hivers._”

“As our _friends_ had still some time to spare, they took a turn in the
_orangerie_, or green house. The beauty and number of orange and other
plants here preserved, cannot be described. There are, among these trees,
some which have resisted the attacks of a hundred winters.”

La Fontaine, Amours de Psyche & de Cupidon.

[64] The distance is great from the hand of an assassin to the heart of
an honest man.

[65] The king’s apartment.

[66] Lodging account at the Little Trianon.

Francs.
Three masters’ rooms 36
Wax lights 6
Wood 9
Four servants’ beds 12
--
Total 63

N. B. Sixty-three francs of french money make exactly two guineas and a
half english; and this sum was asked for one night’s lodging (without
eating or wine) for three masters’ beds and four servants’.

[67] To the nation.

[68] The ambassador of the emperor of Russia.

[69] To fleece strangers.

[70] “Ladies of good company,” or, as we should say in english, women of
character.

[71] Carriages in the english fashion, or carriages really english.

[72] What a fine sight! what pretty carriages! what beautiful horses!
what elegant dresses! Really it is charming!

[73]

How I pity the frenchman, whose gayety’s lost;
The creature’s a wretch, from his element toss’d.

[74] Official defenders.

[75] Hackney coach.

[76] That all the good company of Paris went there.

[77] _Surveillance_—Watch, or special care.

[78] Formerly a convent.

[79] Molière and Thalia rest in this grave.

[80] Nicholas Boileau is in this tomb.

[81] My cares, as well as my happy days, are past. I feel no longer the
indignation of my youthful anger, and leave an open course to the tribe
of dull and cold versificators.

[82] French Parnassus.

[83] The following is nearly the exact translation:

“My dear heart, we have just dined, and are very drunk. I will see you
before I set out from Paris, and will caress you not as you deserve, but
as I can. The bearer hurries me so much, that I can only say this one
word—good night, my dear heart, I kiss you a million of times.

8
This XIIIIIth october, 8 H 8
8
HENRY.”

[84] The national garden of plants.

[85] Among the curious quadrupeds here preserved is the _Camelopardalis_.
_Vide Vaillant’s Travels in Africa._

[86] I do not mention _l’École Polytechnique_, that admirable
institution, in which eight hundred young men, named by the government
(principally as a reward for the services of their fathers), are
liberally educated, because it forms part of the system of public
instruction, which, being of a political nature, is foreign to my object.
In this letter I only mean to point out those establishments, from which
foreigners can derive either information or pleasure.

[87] The boiled beef, which, after making the soup, is always served
at a trench table. “Le vin ordinaire,” or common wine, is a weak, sour
beverage, which costs about sixpence english per bottle, and is not,
either in taste or strength, superiour to our small beer.

[88] The boxes “au baignoir” are on the level with the pit, under the
first tier, and are in the shape of a bath, from which they take their
name.

[89] Persons going to France ought to know, that, the exchange being at
present against England, we regularly lose from _five_ to _seven_ per
cent on the money drawn from the latter country. This loss must of course
be added to the calculation of expenses on the continent.

[90] I have heard, since I left Paris, that a very fine house, formerly
belonging to a nobleman, and known by the name of “_l’Hôtel de
Beauveau_,” has lately been opened as an “_hôtel garni_,” and assumed the
title of “_Hôtel de Prince de Galle_.” It stands in “_la Rue Fauxbourg
St. Honoré_,” nearly fronting one of the avenues to the _Champs Elisées_.
In spring the situation must be very pleasant. It is at a considerable
distance from the theatres, but in a most respectable part of the town.

[91] “_Restaurateurs_” are tavern keepers, where dinners are served.

[92] Visits.—It is the custom, in all parts of France, and particularly
at Paris, to receive and pay perpetual visits. The whole of every evening
is passed in a _routine_ of this kind (when the _spectacle_ offers no
irresistible temptation); and a parisian _belle_ was, the other day,
quite astonished and disgusted, when I told her, that in England ladies
seldom received the visits of young men.—“_Qu’elle vie ennuyeuse que
votre vie de Londres!_” exclaimed the fair one; “_qu’on doit passer des
tristes journées!_ Que peut elle faire, une malheureuse anglaise, après
diner?”

“Elle va aux assemblées ou à l’opera—Mais si elle est malade?

“Elle reste chez elle.”

“_Quoi_ toute seule! que _vos dames sont à plaindre_! Que _je me félicite
d’être françoise! Sans les visites de quelques amis choisis, je mourrois
d’ennui._”

What a dull life must your english manners afford! What dismal days must
one pass in such a country! What can a poor english lady do after dinner?

She goes to assemblies, or to the opera.

But if she is ill—

She stays at home.

What quite alone? Oh, how I pity your poor english ladies! Oh, how I
rejoice at being born a frenchwoman! without the visits of a few well
chosen friends I should die of _ennui_.

Notwithstanding this passion for receiving and returning visits among
one another, the french are frequently negligent in this respect towards
the foreigners who are recommended to them. I have heard english ladies
at Paris complain, that their visits were often not returned at all, and
that that early attention was rarely shown as to this little _etiquette_,
which well bred persons in England are so careful to observe.

[93] _Boulotte_ is a gambling game much played at Paris, and said to be
the support of several families.

[94] This was, of course, written before the late changes in the
government, which appear to provide against this event. I leave the
remark unaltered, as, in the first place, this provision comes not from
the people, but from the first consul himself. Secondly, this arrangement
is only on paper, and if it last the life of Bonaparte, will scarcely be
respected after his death.

[95] It is Bonaparte who does every thing—every thing is submitted to
him—every thing is possible for him.

[96] Among the old friends of my family, from whom we received particular
kindness, I shall be pardoned for naming madame (la ci-devant comtesse)
d’H—t, so frequently mentioned in the confessions of _Jean Jacques_,
and the real model on which he formed his imaginary Heloise. We had
the pleasure of passing some days at her country seat, in the valley
of Montmorency, and several evenings at her hotel at Paris. This
accomplished woman, who at the age of thirty, had the talent to attract,
and the virtue to resist the affection of Rousseau, has still at seventy,
that amiability of manner, that suavity of disposition, and that fund of
enlightened conversation, which, notwithstanding the disadvantages of a
person far from handsome, gained her the love of that extraordinary man.
The latter has been very unjust in the character which he has drawn of
the husband of this lady. He is still living, and is a respectable man
of ancient family, independent fortune, and irreproachable reputation.
_St. Lambert_, the Thomson of France, resides with Mr. and madame d’H—t,
and his extreme old age receives from their attention the comforts and
kindness of unvarying friendship.

[97] There are innumerable houses at Paris in which, with every
appearance of respectability, and often with the assistance of some lofty
sounding title, the unwary stranger often finds his ruin. Amidst the
smiles of beauty, the splendour of foreign orders, the jollity of wine,
and the gaiety of dancing, youth loses its prudence, and one evening’s
entertainment is paid by the loss of that fortune, on which a man’s
happiness, and perhaps that of many dear relatives depended.

INDEX.

Advocates, 223

Affaire manquée, definition of the term, 44

Albani, Francesco, his paintings, 32

Amiens, 6

Ancienne noblesse, account of, 55, 57
a ball of, 140

Antiquities, cabinet of, 16

Apathy of the french people, 179

Apollo Belvidere, 16, 18

Arabian horses, 202

Archbishop of Paris, 217
of Tours, 218

Artistes, théâtre des jeunes, 130

Athénée, 255

Aveyron, savage of, 109

Bagatelle, garden of, 231

Ball, a public, 92

Ball, a private, 140

Ballets, 123

Bargains, necessity of making them, 280, 283

Beggars, 5

Berthier, general, 139

Bendette, paintings of, 31

Blind, Institutions for the, 103

Boissy d’Anglass, 90

Bois de Boulogne, 175, 228

Bonaparte, first consul, account of, 81, 158, 161
court of, 159
dinner with, 247
madame, 43, 188, 220
Lucien, 188

Boulevards, 229

Brun, le, the third consul, 59
Charles, paintings of, 23

Burgoing, mademoiselle, 116, 117

Calais, 2

Caravaggio, Michael Angelo Amerigi, 34

Cardinal legate, 217

Carnival, 152

Carracci, Agostino, 33
Lodovico, 33, 173
Antonio, 33
Annibale, _ib._

Carriages, 177, 209, 211
job, 270

Castiglione, Gio Benedetto, his paintings, 31

Cavedone, James, 35

Champagne, Philip of, 25

Champ de Mars, 237

Champs Elisées, 228

Chantilly, 7

Claissens, Anthony, 25

Clotilde, mademoiselle, 124

Cloud, St., 192

Comparison between London and Paris, 282

Concert of the blind, 104

Conciergerie, 225

Concordat, 188

Contat, mademoiselle, 118

Cornwallis, lord, 67

Corregio, 35

Costume of dress, 93, 176

Cosway, Maria, copying the principal pictures in the Museum for
prints, 15

Court of Bonaparte, 159
of madame Bonaparte, 188

Criminal law, 224

Dancers, 123, 190

Dances, 95, 142

Dancing, 144

Deaf and dumb, 69

Dessein’s hotel, 3

Dinner with Bonaparte, 247

Domenichino, 35

Douaine at Calais, 2

Dover, 1

Duel, frivolous occasion of one, 233

Dress, 93, 176

Durer, Albert, 25

Dutch school of painting, _ib._

Dyck, Anthony Van, 26, 173
Philip Van, 27

École Militaire, 238

Edouard en Ecosse, 146

Élèves, theatre of, 131

Elephant, account of, 261

Emigrés, their conduct to the english, 57, 58

Enfans trouvés, 236

English language most simple and natural in its construction, 70

Engravings, cabinet of, 253

Exorbitant demands at Versailles, 198

Expenses at Paris, 266

Fashions, 176

Ferrari, Gandertio, 36

Fête for the peace, 40

Feydeau, théâtre, 125

Fire arms, manufacture of, 195

Fireworks, 50

Fitzjames, the ventriloquist, 132

Flemish school of painting, 25

Fleury, the actor, 119

Fond, la, 116

Footmen, english, publicly forbidden to wear laced hats, 178

Fournisseur, assembly at the house of a, 137

Fox, Mr., opinion entertained of him, as an orator, in french
society, 78

French school of painting, 23

Frescati, 231

Furniture of the houses in Paris, 60, 295

Gallery of paintings, 11, 166
of statues, 16

Galvanism explained by Massieu, deaf and dumb, 106

Gambling houses, 99

Gardens of Paris, 228, 229

Garden, national, of plants, 260, 261

Généviève, St., 182

Gens d’armes, 216

German school of painting, 25

Germain, St., 203

Globes, 250

Gobelins, 235

Governmental class of society, 55, 59

Guards, consular, 84

Guercino, paintings of, 37, 173

Guides, les, 215

Guido, paintings of, 36

Guillotine, 225

Gyzen, Peter, 27

Hameau de Chantilly, 229

Harpe, la, 256

Hayes, de, 190

Henry, the Fourth, original manuscript of, 252

Henry, madame, 127

Holbein, Hans, paintings of, 27

Horses, 177, 202, 270

Horsemanship, exhibitions of, 181

Hospitals, 304

Hotels, 9, 272
list of the best in Paris, and their prices, 273

Houses, description of an elegant Parisian house, 60
expense of, 267

I & J.

Jets d’eau at St. Cloud, 193
at Versailles, 197

Illuminations, description of, at Paris, 47, 179, 220

Indifference in the french people, 179

Inns, 8

Institute, national, 259

Institution for the deaf and dumb, 69
for the blind, 103
for les enfans trouvés, 236

Introduction to Bonaparte, 158

Invalides, 238

Italian opera, 42, 128

Italian school of painting, 31

Judges of the tribunals, 222

Justice of a juge de paix at Versailles, 199

Kosciusko, 145

Lanfranco, 38

Laocoon, description of the statue, 21

La partie de chasse de Henri IV, 133

Laquais de place, expense of, 270

Lectures, account of, 256

Legislative body, account of its sittings, 63

Leonardo da Vinci, paintings of, 38, 173

Lewis XIV, memoirs of his own times, 251

Libraries, want of circulating, in Paris, 264

Library, national, 250
of the Pantheon, 254
des quatre nations, 255
Mazarine, _ib._
of the institute, _ib._
of the legislature, tribunate, senate, &c., _ib._

Literature, advantages in the pursuits of, at Paris, 249

Lodgings, price of, 272, 273

London compared with Paris, 282

Long Champ, 205

Louvois, théâtre, 127

Louvre, 11

Luxembourg, palace of, 181

Lyceum, 255

Malmaison, 203

Mamalukes, 217

Manuscripts, cabinet of, 257

Maria Cosway, her paintings and proposed engravings, 15

Marley, 203

Masquerade at Paris, 5

Massieu, deaf and dumb pupil of l’abbé Sicard, 71, 105

Mauvais compagnie, definition of the phrase, 54

Mazarine library, 255

Medals, cabinet of, 251, 253

Ménagerie, 260

Military made use of on trifling occasions, 214

Mineralogy, collection of, 262

Mistakes of the french concerning english names, 127

Molière’s plays, 120

Molière, théâtre de, 129

Montreuil, 5

Monuments, collection of, 242

Moreau, general, 135

Monvel, 119

Mousseux, garden of, 229

Museum of arts, 11, 166
of monuments, 239

National institute, 259

National library, 250

New year’s day kept at Paris, 98

Noir, le, 240

Observatory, 236

Œconomy of Paris, 267

Opera, french, 123

Opera, italian, 42, 128

Orange, prince of, his introduction to Bonaparte, 159

Orators, french, 89

Paintings, gallery of, 11, 166
catalogue of, 23, 169
at Versailles, 195
restored, 167

Palace Royal, 99
of Versailles, 195
of Justice, 222

Pantheon, description of, 182
library of, 254

Paris, view of, 183, 230
streets of, 227, 293
compared with London, 282

Parvenues, or third class of society, 55, 60

Passports, 3, 8

Paul Potter, paintings of, 28

Payne, of the York Hotel, Dover, 1

People, better behaved to their superiours since the revolution, 6

Pettit, madame, 116

Phantasmagorie de Robertson, 131

Phyllis, mademoiselle, 126

Plate glass, manufactory of, 105

Police, their order, 93

Pordenone, paintings of, 171

Portalis, account and speech of, 87

Poussin, Nicholas, paintings of, 23

Price of posting, 5
of the various articles of life, 269
of tickets for the play, 122, 268, 272

Printing by the blind, 103

Provision, price of, 269

Raphael, paintings of, 38, 171

Recommendation, letters of, necessary, 291, 292

Religion, reestablishment of, 213

Rembrandt, paintings of, 28

Restaurateurs, 278

Restout, paintings of, 24

Review of troops before Bonaparte, 81

Road from Calais, 4

Rousseau, tomb of, 186

Rubens, paintings of, 29, 171

Sacchi, Andrea, paintings of, 172

Salon des étrangers, 92

Salvator Rosa, 172

Savage of Aveyron, 109

Sèvre, manufactory of, 193

Shakspeare, opinion of the french concerning him, 77

Shorthand defined by a deaf and dumb youth, 107

Sicard, abbé, 69

Societies, literary and scientific, 249, 264

Society, state and classes of, in Paris, 53, 74

_Spectacle_, definition of the word, 41

_Spectacles_, general account of, 116

Stables of Chantilly, 8
of Versailles, 202

Statues, gallery of, 16

Sueur, le, Eustache, paintings of, 24

Tallien, madame, 95

Talma, 116

Taxes, 56

Tea assemblies, 74

Temple of Mars, 233

Teniers, the elder and the younger, paintings of, 31

Texier, 133

Theatre, general account of, 116
Comique, rue Feydeau, 125
de la Gaieté, 131
de l’Ambigu Comique, 130
de la République et des Arts, 123
de Molière, 129
des jeunes Artistes, 130
des jeunes Élèves, 131
du Marais, _ib._
François de la République, 116
Italian Opera, 42, 128
Louvois, 127
Montansier, 129
sans Pretension, 121
Vaudeville, 126

Thuilleries, 10

Tintoret, paintings of, 173

Titian, paintings of, 39, 172

Tivoli, the gardens of, 232

Tom Jones, a french play, 127

Traiteurs, a list of the principal, 278

Trial at Versailles, 199

Trianon, le Grand, 203
le Petit, Hôtel at Versailles, exorbitant charges, 198
garden of, 202

Tribunal de Cassation, 223
de la Police Correctionelle, _ib._

Tribunals of justice, 222

Tribunal, sitting of, 87

Turenne, tomb of, 245, 247

Turnpikes, 8

Van Loo, Carlo, paintings of, 25
John Baptist, paintings of, _ib._
Lewis Michael, paintings of, _ib._

Venetian horses at the gates of the Thuilleries, 11

Veronese, Alexander, paintings of, 38
Paul, paintings of, _ib._

Versailles, 192, 194

Vestris, 163

Vinci, Leonardo da, 38, 173

Visits, 284

Vivacity wanted in french society, 80

Volney, mademoiselle, 116

Voltaire, tomb of, 186

Walse, description of this dance, 142

Wild boy of Aveyron, 109

York Hotel, Dover, 1

ERRATA.

Transcriber’s Note: the errata have been corrected. In addition, accents
in the French have been standardized, and obvious typographical errors
have been amended.

Page 14, l. 17, for _chefs d’œuvre_, read _chefs d’œuvres_.

⸺ 33, No. 713, for occupation, read vocation.

⸺ 45, l. 21, for merits, read talents.

⸺ 56, l. 20, for public offices hereditary in their families, read
public offices which had become almost hereditary in their
families.

⸺ 79, l. 9, for _c’est_ moi qui _a traduit_, read c’est moi _qui ai
traduit_.

⸺ 91, l. 3, for _ce climate_, read _ce climat_.

⸺ 93, l. 6, for nor, read or.

⸺ 102, l. 19, for Monteaussier,” read Montansier.”

⸺ 105, l. 6, the word _illness_ ought not to have been in italics.

⸺ 114, l. 8, for that too, read those too.

⸺ 119, l. 21, for “Morvel,” read “Monvel.” [Transcriber’s Note: also
changed in the index.]

⸺ 159, l. 23, for _count_, read _marquis_.

⸺ 160, l. 13, for des Anglois, read d’Anglois.

⸺ 171, No. 61, for Justus, Lipsius, read Justus Lipsius.

⸺ 182, l. 8, for even, read ever.

⸺ 184, l. 15, for it was proposed to confer immortality by burying
in its vaults, read it was proposed, by burying in its
vaults, to confer immortality.

⸺ 195, note, l. 1, put _on_ before _ne_.

⸺ 203, last line, for moderate, read moderately.

⸺ 218, l. 9, for Thoulouse, read Tours. [Transcriber’s Note: also
changed in the index.]
l. 17, the words in the same pulpit, should be omitted.

⸺ 224, l. 19, for _Seine_, read _la Seine_.

⸺ 231, l. 10, for Prince de Condé, read Comte D’Artois.

⸺ 234, l. 4, for infinitely, read much.

⸺ 246, l. 9, for statues, read tombs.

⸺ 257, l. 8, for _Perpignan_, read _Pompignan_.
l. 18, for _publique_,” read _public_.”

⸺ 260, l. 1, read “_Colin d’Harleville_.”

⸺ 268, l. 15, and note l. 1, read _baignoir_.”

⸺ 280, l. 3, after and, add the.

⸺ 285, l. 8, of the note, add that, after that.

⸺ 294, l. 1, for affords, read afford.

⸺ 303, l. 1, for having, read have. [Transcriber’s Note: This change
didn’t need making. The original text already read “have”,
correctly.]

⸺ 307, l. 19, read Lyons, Switzerland, and Italy.

⸺ 318, l. 18, read Montansier. [Transcriber’s Note: Also changed
twice on page 129, to which this index entry refers.]

G. Woodfall, Printer, Paternoster-row.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A rough sketch of modern Paris : Or, letters on society, manners, public curiosities, and amusements, in that capital" ***

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