Paris As It Was and As It Is by Francis W. Blagdon (page 4)

since the Tribunate have here established their sittings, it has obtained its present appellation of _Palais du Tribunat_.

In the sequel, Lewis XIV granted to Monsieur, his only brother, married to Henrietta Stuart, daughter of Charles I, the enjoyment of the _Palais Royal_, and afterwards vested the property of it in his grandson, the Duke of Chartres.

That prince, become Duke of Orleans, and regent of France, during the minority of Lewis XV, resided in this palace, and (to use Voltaire’s expression) hence gave the signal of voluptuousness to the whole kingdom. Here too, he ruled it with principles the most daring; holding men, in general, in great contempt, and conceiving them to be all as insidious, as servile, and as covetous as those by whom he was surrounded. With the superiority of his character, he made a sport of governing this mass of individuals, as if the task was unworthy of his genius. The fact is illustrated by the following anecdote.

At the commencement of his regency, the debts of the State were immense, and the finances exhausted: such great evils required extraordinary remedies; he wished to persuade the people that paper-money was better than specie. Thousands became the dupes of their avarice, and too soon awoke from their dream only to curse the authors of a project which ended in their total ruin. It is almost needless to mention that I here allude to the Mississippi bubble.

In circumstances so critical, the Parliament of Paris thought it their duty to make remonstrances. They accordingly sent deputies to the regent, who was persuaded that they wished to stir up the Parisians against him. After having listened to their harangue with much phelgm, he gave them his answer in four words: “Go and be d—-n’d.” The deputy, who had addressed him, nothing disconcerted, instantly replied: “Sir, it is the custom of the Parliament to enter in their registers the answers which they receive from the throne: shall they insert this?”

The principles of the regent’s administration, which succeeded those of Lewis XIV, form in history, a very striking shade. The French nation, which, plastic as wax, yields to every impression, was new-modelled in a single instant. As a rotten speck, by spreading, contaminates the finest fruit, so was the _Palais Royal_ the corrupt spot, whence the contagion of debauchery was propagated, even to the remotest parts of the kingdom.

This period, infinitely curious and interesting, paved the way to the present manners. If the basis of morality be at this day overthrown in France, the regency of Philip of Orleans, by completing what the dissolute court of Lewis XIV had begun, has occasioned that rapid change, whose influence was felt long before the revolution, and will, in all probability, last for ages. At least, I think that such a conclusion is exemplified by what has occurred in England since the profligate reign of Charles II, the effects of whose example have never been done away.

Different circumstances have produced considerable alterations in this palace, so that, at the present day, its numerous buildings preserve of the first architect, LE MERCIER, no more than a small part of the second court.

The principal entrance of the _Palais du Tribunat_ is from the _Rue St. Honore_. The facade, on this side, which was constructed in 1763, consists of two pavilions, ornamented by Doric and Ionic pillars, and connected by a lofty stone-wall, perforated with arches, to three grand gates, by which you enter the first court. Here, two elegant wings present themselves, decorated with pilasters, also of the Doric and Ionic orders, which are likewise employed for the pillars of the avant-corps in the centre. This avant-corps is pierced with three arches, which serve as a passage into the second court, and correspond with the three gates before-mentioned.

Having reached the vestibule, between the two courts, where large Doric pillars rise, though partly concealed by a number of little shops and stalls, you see, on the right, the handsome elliptical stair-case, which leads to the apartments. It branches off into two divisions at the third step, and is lighted by a lofty dome. The balustrade of polished iron is beautiful, and is said to have cost thirty-two workmen two years’ labour. Before the revolution, strangers repaired hither to admire the cabinet of gems and engraved stones, the cabinet of natural history, the collection of models of arts, trades, and manufactures, and the famous collection of pictures, belonging to the _last_ duke of Orleans, and chiefly assembled, at a vast expense, by his grandfather, the regent.

This second court is larger than the first; but it still remains in an incomplete state. The right-hand wing only is finished, and is merely a continuation of that which we have seen in the other court. On the left hand, is the site of the new hall intended for the sittings of the Tribunate. Workmen are now employed in its construction; heaps of stones and mortar are lying about, and, the building seems to proceed with tolerable expedition. Here, in the back-ground, is a crowd of little stalls for the sale of various articles, such as prints, plays, fruit, and pastry. In front stand such carriages as remain in waiting for those who may have been set down at this end of the palace. Proceeding onward, you pass through two parallel wooden galleries, lined on each side with shops, and enter the formerly-enchanting regions of the

JARDIN DU PALAIS DU TRIBUNAT.

The old garden of the _Palais Royal_, long famous for its shady walks, and for being the most fashionable public promenade in Paris, had, from its centrical situation, gradually attracted to its vicinity a considerable number of speculators, who there opened ready-furnished hotels, coffee-houses, and shops of various descriptions. The success of these different establishments awakened the cupidity of its wealthy proprietor, then Duke, of Chartres, who, conceiving that the ground might be made to yield a capital augmentation to his income, fixed on a plan for enclosing it by a magnificent range of buildings.

Notwithstanding the clamours of the Parisian public, who, from long habit, considered that they had a sort of prescriptive right to this favourite promenade, the axe was laid to the celebrated _arbre de Cracovie_ and other venerable trees, and their stately heads were soon levelled to the ground. Every one murmured as if these trees had been his own private property, and cut down against his will and pleasure. This will not appear extraordinary, when it is considered that, under their wide-spreading branches, which afforded a shelter impervious to the sun and rain, politicians by day, adjusted the balance of power, and arbiters of taste discussed the fashions of the moment; while, by night, they presented a canopy, beneath which were often arranged the clandestine bargains of opera-girls and other votaries of Venus.

After venting their spleen in vague conjectures, witty epigrams, and lampoons, the Parisians were silent. They presently found that they were, in general, not likely to be losers by this devastation. In 1782, the execution of the new plan was begun: in less than three years, the present inclosure was nearly completed, and the modern garden thrown open to the public, uniting to the advantages of the ancient one, a thousand others more refined and concentrated.

The form of this garden is a parallelogram, whose length is seven hundred and two feet by three hundred in breadth, taken at its greatest dimensions. It is bordered, on three of its sides, by new, uniform buildings, of light and elegant architecture. Rising to an elevation of forty-two feet, these buildings present two regular stories, exclusively of the _mansarde_, or attic story, decorated by festoons, bas-reliefs, and large Composite fluted pillars, bearing an entablature in whose frieze windows are pierced. Throughout its extent, the whole edifice is crowned by a balustrade, on the pedestals of which vases are placed at equal distances.

In the middle of the garden stood a most singular building, partly subterraneous, called a _Cirque_. This circus, which was first opened in 1789, with concerts, balls, &c. was also appropriated to more useful objects, and, in 1792, a _Lyceum of Arts_ was here established; but in 1797, it was consumed by fire, and its site is now occupied by a grass-plot. On the two long sides of the garden are planted three rows of horse-chesnut trees, not yet of sufficient growth to afford any shade; and what is new, is a few shrubs and flowers in inclosed compartments. The walks are of gravel, and kept in good order.

On the ground-floor, a covered gallery runs entirely round the garden. The shops, &c. on this floor, as well as the apartments of the _entresol_ above them, receive light by one hundred and eighty porticoes, which are open towards the garden, and used to have each a glass lantern, with reflectors, suspended in the middle of their arch. In lieu of these, some of a less brilliant description are now distributed on a more economical plan under the piazzas; but, at the close of day, the rivalship of the shopkeepers, in displaying their various commodities, creates a blaze of light which would strike a stranger as the effect of an illumination.

The fourth side of the garden towards the _Rue St. Honore_ is still occupied by a double gallery, constructed, as I have already mentioned, of wood, which has subsisted nearly in its present state ever since I first visited Paris in 1784. It was to have been replaced by a colonnade for the inclosure of the two courts. This colonnade was to have consisted of six rows of Doric pillars, supporting a spacious picture-gallery, (intended for the whole of the Orleans collection), which was to have constituted the fourth facade to the garden, and have formed a covered walk, communicating with the galleries of the other three sides.

These galleries, whose whole circumference measures upwards of a third of a mile, afford to the public, even in bad weather, a walk equally agreeable and convenient, embellished, on the one side, by the aspect of the garden, and, on the other, by the studied display of every thing that taste and fashion can invent to captivate the attention of passengers.

No place in Paris, however, exhibits such a contrast to its former attractions as this once-fashionable rendezvous. The change of its name from _Palais Royal_ to _Maison Egalite_ conveys not to the imagination a dissimilitude more glaring than is observable between the present frequenters of this favourite promenade, and those who were in the habit of flocking hither before the revolution.

At that period, the scene was enlivened by the most brilliant and most captivating company in the capital, both in point of exterior and manners. At this day, the medal is exactly reversed. In lieu of well-dressed or well-behaved persons of both sexes, this garden, including its purlieus, presents, morning and evening, nothing but hordes of stock-jobbers, money-brokers, gamblers, and adventurers of every description. The females who frequent it, correspond nearly to the character of the men; they are, for the greater part, of the most debauched and abandoned class: for a Lais of _bon ton_ seldom ventures to shew herself among this medley of miscreants.

In the crowd, may be occasionally remarked a few strangers attracted by curiosity, and other individuals of respectable appearance called hither on business, as well as some inoffensive newsmongers, resorting to the coffee-houses to read the papers. But, in general, the great majority, of the company, now seen here, is of a cast so extremely low, that no decent woman, whether married or single, thinks of appearing in a place where she would run a risk of being put out of countenance in passing alone, even in the daytime. In the evening, the company is of a still worse complexion; and the concourse becomes so great under the piazzas, particularly when the inclemency of the weather drives people out of the garden, that it is sometimes difficult to cross through the motley assemblage. At the conclusion of the performances in the neighbouring theatres, there is a vast accession of the inferior order of nymphs of the Cyprian corps; and then, amorous conversation and dalliance reach the summit of licentious freedom.

The greater part of the political commotions which have, at different times, convulsed Paris, took their rise in the _ci-devant Palais Royal_, or it has, in some shape, been their theatre. In this palace too originated the dreadful reverse of fortune which the queen experienced; and, indeed, when the cart in which her majesty was carried to the scaffold, passed before the gates of this edifice, she was unable to repress a sign of indignation.

All writers who have spoken of the inveterate hatred, which existed between the queen and M. d’Orleans, have ascribed it to despised love, whose pangs, as Shakspeare tells, us, are not patiently endured. Some insist that the duke, enamoured of the charms of the queen, hazarded a declaration, which her majesty not only received with disdain, but threatened to inform the king of in case of a renewal of his addresses. Others affirm that the queen, at one time, shewed that the duke was not indifferent to her, and that, on a hint being given to him to that effect, he replied: “Every one may be ambitious to please the queen, except myself. Our interests are too opposite for Love ever to unite them.” On this foundation is built the origin of the animosity which, in the end, brought both these great personages to the scaffold.

Whatever may have been the motive which gave rise to it, certain it is that they never omitted any opportunity of persecuting each other. The queen had no difficulty in pourtraying the duke as a man addicted to the most profligate excesses, and in alienating from him the mind of the king: he, on his side, found it as easy, by means of surreptitious publications, to represent her as a woman given to illicit enjoyments; so that, long before the revolution, the character both of the queen and the duke were well known to the public; and their example tended not a little to increase the general dissoluteness of morals. The debaucheries of the one served as a model to all the young rakes of fashion; while the levity of the other, was imitated by what were termed the _amiable_ women of the capital.

After his exile in 1788, the hatred of M. d’Orleans towards the queen roused that ambition which he inherited from his ancestors. In watching her private conduct, in order to expose her criminal weaknesses, he discovered a certain political project, which gave birth to the idea of his forming a plan of a widely-different nature. Hitherto he had given himself little trouble about State affairs; but, in conjunction with his confidential friends, he now began to calculate the means of profiting by the distress of his country.

The first shocks of the revolution had so electrified the greater part of the Parisians, that, in regard to the Duke of Orleans, they imperceptibly passed from profound contempt to blind infatuation. His palace became the rendezvous of all the malcontents of the court, and his garden the place of assembly of all the demagogues. His exile appeared a public calamity, and his recall was celebrated as a triumph. Had he possessed a vigour of intellect, and a daring equal to the situation of leader of a party, there is little doubt that he might have succeeded in his plan, and been declared regent. His immense income, amounting to upwards of three hundred thousand pounds sterling, was employed to gain partisans, and secure the attachment of the people.

After the taking of the Bastille, it is admitted that his party was sufficiently powerful to effect a revolution in his favour; but his pusillanimity prevailed over his ambition. The active vigilance of the queen thwarting his projects, he resolved to get rid of her; and in that intention was the irruption of the populace directed to Versailles. This fact seems proved: for, on some one complaining before him in 1792, that the revolution proceeded too slowly. “It would have been terminated long ago,” replied he, “had the queen been sacrificed on the 5th of October 1789.”

Two months before the fall of the throne, M. d’Orleans still reckoned to be able to attain his wishes; but he soon found himself egregiously mistaken. The factions, after mutually accusing each other of having him for their chief, ended by deserting him; and, after the death of the king, he became a stranger to repose, and, for the second time, an object of contempt. The necessity of keeping up the exaltation of the people, had exhausted his fortune, great as it was; and want of money daily detached different agents from his party. His plate, his pictures, his furniture, his books, his trinkets, his gems, all went to purchase the favour, and at length the protection, of the Maratists. Not having it in his power to satisfy their cupidity, he opened loans on all sides, and granted illusory mortgages. Having nothing more left to dispose of, he was reduced, as a last resource, to sell his body-linen. In this very bargain was he engaged, when he was apprehended and sent to Marseilles.

Although acquitted by the criminal tribunal, before which he was tried in the south of France, he was still detained there in prison. At first, he had shed tears, and given himself up to despair, but now hope once more revived his spirits, and he availed himself of the indulgence granted him, by giving way to his old habits of debauchery. On being brought to Paris after six months’ confinement, he flattered himself that he should experience the same lenity in the capital. The jailer of the _Conciergerie,_ not knowing whether M. d’Orleans would leave that prison to ascend the throne or the scaffold, treated him with particular respect; and he himself was impressed with the idea that he would soon resume an ascendency in public affairs. But, on his second trial, he was unanimously declared guilty of conspiring against the unity and indivisibility of the Republic, and condemned to die, though no proof whatever of his guilt was produced to the jury. One interrogatory put to him is deserving of notice. It was this: “Did you not one day say to a deputy: _What will you ask of me when I am king?_ And did not the deputy reply: _I will ask you for a pistol to blow out your brains?_”

Every one who was present at the condemnation of M. d’Orleans, and saw him led to the guillotine affirms that if he never shewed courage before, he did at least on that day. On hearing the sentence, he called out: “Let it be executed directly.” From the revolutionary tribunal he was conducted straight to the scaffold, where, notwithstanding the reproaches and imprecations which accompanied him all the way, he met his fate with unshaken firmness.

LETTER XIX.

_Paris, November 18, 1801._

But if the _ci-devant Palais Royal_ has been the mine of political explosions, so it still continues to be the epitome of all the trades in Paris. Under the arcades, on the ground-floor, here are, as formerly, shops of jewellers, haberdashers, artificial florists, milliners, perfumers, print-sellers, engravers, tailors, shoemakers, hatters, furriers, glovers, confectioners, provision-merchants, woollen-drapers, mercers, cutlers, toymen, money-changers, and booksellers, together with several coffee-houses, and lottery-offices, all in miscellaneous succession.

Among this enumeration, the jewellers’ shops are the most attractive in point of splendour. The name of the proprietor is displayed in large letters of artificial diamonds, in a conspicuous compartment facing the door. This is a sort of signature, whose brilliancy eclipses all other names, and really dazzles the eyes of the spectators. But at the same time it draws the attention both of the learned and the illiterate: I will venture to affirm that the name of one of these jewellers is more frequently spelt and pronounced than that of any great man recorded in history, either ancient or modern.

With respect to the price of the commodities exposed for sale in the _Palais du Tribunat_, it is much the same as in _Bond Street_, you pay one third at least for the idea of fashion annexed to the name of the place where you make the purchase, though the quality of the article may be nowise superior to what you might procure elsewhere. As in Bond Street too, the rents in this building are high, on which account the shopkeepers are, in some measure, obliged to charge higher than those in other parts of the town. Not but I must do them the justice to acknowledge that they make no scruple to avail themselves of every prejudice formerly entertained in favour of this grand emporium, in regard to taste, novelty, &c. by a still further increase of their prices. No small advantage to the shopkeepers established here is the chance custom, arising from such a variety of trades being collected together so conveniently, all within the same inclosure. A person resorting hither to procure one thing, is sure to be reminded of some other want, which, had not the article presented itself to his eye, would probably have escaped his recollection; and, indeed, such is the thirst of gain, that several tradesmen keep a small shop under these piazzas, independently of a large warehouse in another quarter of Paris.

Pamphlets and other ephemeral productions usually make their first appearance in the _Palais du Tribunat_; and strangers may rely on being plagued by a set of fellows who here hawk about prohibited publications, of the most immoral tendency, embellished with correspondent engravings; such as _Justine, ou les malheurs de la vertu, Les quarante manieres, &c._ They seldom, I am told, carry the publication about them, for fear of being unexpectedly apprehended, but keep it at some secret repository hard by, whence they fetch it in an instant. It is curious to see with what adroitness these vagrants elude the vigilance of the police, I had scarcely set my foot in this building before a Jew-looking fellow, coming close to me, whispered in my ear: “_Monsieur veut-il la vie polissonne de Madame——–?_” Madame who do you think? You will stare when I tell you to fill up the blank with the name of her who is now become the first female personage in France? I turned round with astonishment; but the ambulating book-vender had vanished, in consequence, as I conclude, of being observed by some _mouchard._ Thus, what little virtue may remain in the mind of youth is contaminated by precept, as well as example; and the rising generation is in a fair way of being even more corrupted than that which has preceded it.

“_AEtas parentum, pejor avis, tulit
Nos nequiores, mox daturos
Progeniem vitiosiorem._”

Besides the shops, are some auction-rooms, where you may find any article of wearing apparel or household furniture, from a lady’s wig _a la Caraculla_ to a bed _a la Grecque:_ here are as many puffers as in a mock auction in London; and should you be tempted to bid, by the apparent cheapness of the object put up for sale, it is fifty to one that you soon repent of your bargain. Not so with the _magazins de confiance a prix fixe_, where are displayed a variety of articles, marked at a fixed price, from which there is no abatement.

These establishments are extremely convenient, not only to ingenious mechanics, who have invented or improved a particular production of art, of which they wish to dispose, but also to purchasers. You walk in, and if any article strikes your fancy, you examine it at your ease; you consider the materials, the workmanship, and lastly the price, without being hurried by a loquacious shopkeeper into a purchase which you may shortly regret. A commission of from five to one half per cent, in graduated proportions, according to the value of the article, is charged to the seller, for warehouse-room and all other expenses.

Such is the arrangement of the ground-floor; the apartments on the first floor are at present occupied by _restaurateurs_, exhibitions of various kinds, billiard-tables, and _academies de jeu_, or public gaming-tables, where all the passions are let loose, and all the torments of hell assembled.

The second story is let out in lodgings, furnished or unfurnished, to persons of different descriptions, particularly to the priestesses of Venus. The rooms above, termed _mansardes_, in the French architectural dialect, are mostly inhabited by old batchelors, who prefer economy to show; or by artists, who subsist by the employment of their talents. These chambers are spacious, and though the ceilings are low, they receive a more uninterrupted circulation of fresh air, than the less exalted regions.

Over the _mansardes_, in the very roof, are nests of little rooms, or cock-lofts, resembling, I am told, the cells of a beehive. Journeymen shopkeepers, domestics, and distressed females are said to be the principal occupiers of these aerial abodes.

I had nearly forgot to mention a species of apartment little known in England: I mean the _entresol_, which is what we should denominate a low story, (though here not so considered), immediately above the ground-floor, and directly under the first-floor. In this building, some of the _entresols_ are inhabited by the shopkeepers below; some, by women of no equivocal calling, who throw out their lures to the idle youths sauntering under the arcades; and others again are now become _maisons de pret_, where pawnbrokers exercise their usurious dealings.

In the _Palais du Tribunat_, as you may remark, not an inch of space is lost; every hole and corner being turned to account: here and there, the cellars even: are converted into scenes of gaiety and diversion, where the master of the house entertains his customers with a succession of vocal and instrumental music, while they are taking such refreshments as he furnishes.

This speculation, which has, by all accounts, proved extremely profitable, was introduced in the early part of the revolution. Since that period, other speculations, engendered by the luxury of the times, have been set on foot within the precincts of this palace. Of two of these, now in full vigour and exercise, I must say a few words, as they are of a nature somewhat curious.

The one is a _cabinet de decrotteur_, where the art of blacking shoes is carried to a pitch of perfection hitherto unknown in this country.

Not many years ago, it was common, in Paris, to see counsellors, abbes, and military officers, as well as _petits-maitres_ of every denomination, full dressed, that is, with their hat under their arm, their sword by their side, and their hair in a bag, standing in the open street, with one leg cocked up on a stool, while a rough Savoyard or Auvergnat hastily cleaned their shoes with a coarse mixture of lamp-black and rancid oil. At the present day, the _decrotteurs_ or shoe-blacks still exercise their profession on the _Pont Neuf_ and in other quarters; but, as a refinement of the art, there is also opened, at each of the principal entrances of the _Palais du Tribunat_, a _cabinet de decrotteur_, or small apartment, where you are invited to take a chair, and presented with the daily papers.

The artist, with due care and expedition, first removes the dirt from your shoes or boots with a sponge occasionally moistened in water, and by means of several pencils, of different sizes, not unlike those of a limner, he then covers them with a jetty varnish, rivaling even japan in lustre. This operation he performs with a gravity and consequence that can scarcely fail to excite laughter. Yet, according to the trite proverb, it is not the customer who ought to indulge in mirth, but the _artist_. Although his price is much dearer than that demanded by the other professors of this art, his cabinet is seldom empty from morning to night; and, by a simple calculation, his pencil is found to produce more than that of some good painters of the modern French school.

At the first view of the matter, it should appear that the other speculation might have been hit on by any man with a nose to his face; but, on more mature consideration, one is induced to think that its author was a person of some learning, and well read in ancient history. He, no doubt, took the hint from VESPASIAN. As that emperor blushed not to make the urine of the citizens of Rome a source of revenue, so the learned projector in question rightly judged that, in a place of such resort as the _Palais du Tribunat_, he might, without shame or reproach, levy a small tax on the Parisians, by providing for their convenience in a way somewhat analogous. His penetration is not unhandsomely rewarded; for he derives an income of 12,000 francs, or L500 sterling, from his _cabinets d’aisance_.

Since political causes first occasioned the shuting up of the old _Theatre Francais_ in the _Faubourg St. Germain_, now reduced to a shell by fire, Melpomene and Thalia have taken up their abode in the south-west angle of the _Palais du Tribunat_, and in its north-west corner is another theatre, on a smaller scale, where Momus holds his court; so that be you seriously, sentimentally, or humorously disposed, you may, without quitting the shelter of the piazzas, satisfy your inclination. Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce all lie before you within the purlieus of this extraordinary edifice.

To sum up all the conveniences of the _Palais du Tribunat_, suffice it to say, that almost every want, natural or artificial, almost every appetite, gross or refined, might be gratified without passing its limits; for, while the extravagant voluptuary is indulging in all the splendour of Asiatic luxury, the parsimonious sensualist need not depart unsatisfied.

Placed in the middle of Paris, the _Palais du Tribunat_ has been aptly compared to a sink of vice, whose contagious effects would threaten society with the greatest evils, were not the scandalous scenes of the capital here concentrated into one focus. It has also been mentioned, by the same writer, Mercier, as particularly worthy of remark, that, since this building is become a grand theatre, where cupidity, gluttony, and licentiousness shew themselves under every form and excess, several other quarters of Paris are, in a manner, purified by the accumulation of vices which flourish in its centre.

Whether or not this assertion be strictly correct, I will not pretend to determine: but, certain it is that the _Palais du Tribunat_ is a vortex of dissipation where many a youth is ingulfed. The natural manner in which this may happen I shall endeavour briefly to explain, by way of conclusion to this letter.

A young Frenchman, a perfect stranger in Paris, arrives there from the country, and, wishing to equip himself in the fashion, hastens to the _Palais du Tribunat_, where he finds wearing apparel of every description on the _ground-floor_: prompted by a keen appetite, he dines at a _restaurateur’s_ on the _first-floor_: after dinner, urged by mere curiosity, perhaps, if not decoyed by some sharper on the look-out for novices, he visits a public gaming-table on the same story. Fortune not smiling on him, he retires; but, at that very moment, he meets, on the landing-place, a captivating damsel, who, like Virgil’s Galatea, flies to be pursued; and the inexperienced youth, after ascending another flight of stairs, is, on the _second-floor_, ushered into a brothel. Cloyed or disgusted there, he is again induced to try the humour of the fickle goddess, and repairs once more to the gaming-table, till, having lost all his money, he is under the necessity of descending to the _entresol_ to pawn his watch, before he can even procure a lodging in a _garret_ above.

What other city in Europe can boast of such an assemblage of accommodation? Here, under the same roof, a man is, in the space of a few minutes, as perfectly equipped from top to toe, as if he had all the first tradesmen in London at his command; and shortly after, without setting his foot into the street, he is as completely stripped, as if he had fallen into the hands of a gang of robbers.

To cleanse this Augaean stable, would, no doubt, be a Herculean labour. For that purpose, Merlin (of Douay), when Minister of the police, proposed to the Directory to convert the whole of the buildings of the _ci-devant Palais Royal_ into barracks. This was certainly striking at the root of the evil; but, probably, so bold a project was rejected, lest its execution, in those critical times, should excite the profligate Parisians to insurrection.

LETTER XX.

_Paris, November 20, 1801._

One of the private entertainments here in great vogue, and which is understood to mark a certain pre-eminence in the _savoir-vivre_ of the present day, is a nocturnal repast distinguished by the insignificant denomination of a

THE.

A stranger might, in all probability, be led to suppose that he was invited to a tea-drinking party, when he receives a note couched in the following terms:

_”Madame R—— prie Monsieur B——— de lui faire l’honneur de venir au the quelle doit donner le 5 de ce mois.”_

Considering in that light a similar invitation which I received, I was just on the point of sending an apology, when I was informed that a _the_ was nothing more or less than a sort of rout, followed by substantial refreshments, and generally commencing after the evening’s performance was ended at the principal theatres.

On coming out of the opera-house then the other night, I repaired to the lady’s residence in question, and arriving there about twelve o’clock, found that I had stumbled on the proper hour. As usual, there were cards, but for those only disposed to play; for, as this lady happened not to be under the necessity of recurring to the _bouillotte_ as a financial resource, she gave herself little or no concern about the card-tables. Being herself a very agreeable, sprightly woman, she had invited a number of persons of both sexes of her own character, so that the conversation was kept up with infinite vivacity till past one o’clock, when tea and coffee were introduced. These were immediately followed by jellies, sandwiches, pates, and a variety of savoury viands, in the style of a cold supper, together with different sorts of wines and liqueurs. In the opinion of some of the Parisian sybarites, however, no _the_ can be complete without the addition of an article, which is here conceived to be a perfect imitation of fashionable English cheer. This is hot punch.

It was impossible for me to refuse the cheerful and engaging _dame du logis_ to taste her _ponche_, and, in compliment to me as an Englishman, she presented me with a glass containing at least a treble allowance. Not being overfond of punch, I would willingly have relinquished the honour of drinking her health in so large a portion, apprehending that this beverage might, in quality, resemble that of the same name which I had tasted here a few evenings ago in one of the principal coffeehouses. The latter, in fact, was a composition of new rum, which reminded me of the trash of that kind distilled in New England, acidulated with rotten lemons, sweetened with capillaire, and increased by a _quantum sufficit_ of warm water. My hostess’s punch, on the contrary, was made of the best ingredients, agreeably to the true standard; in a word, it was proper lady’s punch, that is, hot, sweet, sour, and strong. It was distributed in tea-pots, of beautiful porcelaine, which, independently of keeping it longer warm, were extremely convenient for pouring it out without spilling. Thus concluded the entertainment.

About half past two o’clock the party broke up, and I returned home, sincerely regretting the change in the mode of life of the Parisians.

Before the revolution, the fashionable hour of dinner in Paris was three o’clock, or at latest four: public places then began early; the curtain at the grand French opera drew up at a quarter past five. At the present day, the workman dines at two; the tradesman, at three; the clerk in a public office, at four; the rich upstart, the money-broker, the stock-jobber, the contractor, at five; the banker, the legislator, the counsellor of state, at six; and the ministers, in general, at seven, nay not unfrequently at eight.

Formerly, when the performance at the opera, and the other principal theatres, was ended at nine o’clock, or a quarter past, people of fashion supped at ten or half after; and a man who went much into public, and kept good company, might retire peaceably to rest by midnight. In three-fourths of the houses in Paris, there is now no such meal as supper, except on the occasion of a ball, when it is generally a mere scramble. This, I presume, is one reason why substantial breakfasts are so much in fashion.

“_Dejeuners froids et chauds_,” is an inscription which now generally figures on the exterior of a Parisian coffeehouse, beside that of “_The a l’Anglaise, Cafe a la creme, Limonade, &c_.” Solids are here the taste of the times. Two ladies, who very gallantly invited themselves to breakfast at my apartments the other morning, were ready to turn the house out of the window, when they found that I presented to them nothing more than tea, coffee, and chocolate. I was instantly obliged to provide cold fowl, ham, oysters, white wine, &c. I marvel not at the strength and vigour of these French belles. In appetite, they would cope with an English ploughman, who had just turned up an acre of wholesome land on an empty stomach.

Now, though a _the_ may be considered as a substitute for a supper, it cannot, in point of agreeableness, be compared to a _petit souper_. If a man must sup, and I am no advocate for regular suppers, these were the suppers to my fancy. A select number of persons, well assorted, assembled at ten o’clock, after the opera was concluded, and spent a couple of hours in a rational manner. Sometimes a _petit souper_ consisted of a simple _tete-a-tete_, sometimes of a _partie quarree_, or the number was varied at pleasure. But still, in a _petit souper_, not only much gaiety commonly prevailed, but also a certain _epanchement de coeur_, which animated the conversation to such a degree as to render a party of this description the _acme_ of social intercourse, “the feast of reason and the flow of soul.”

Under the old _regime_, not a man was there in office, from the _ministre d’etat_ to the _commis_, who did not think of making himself amends for the fatigues of the morning by a _petit souper_: these _petits soupers_, however, were, in latter times, carried to an excessive pitch of luxurious extravagance. But for refinements attempted in luxury, though, I confess, of a somewhat dissolute nature, our countryman eclipsed all the French _bons vivans_ in originality of conception.

Being in possession of an ample fortune, and willing to enjoy it according to his fancy, he purchased in Paris a magnificent house, but constructed on a small scale, where every thing that the most refined luxury could suggest was assembled. The following is the account given by one of his friends, who had been an eye-witness to his manner of living.

“Mr. B—- had made it a rule to gratify his five senses to the highest degree of enjoyment of which they were susceptible. An exquisite table, perfumed apartments, the charms of music and painting; in a word, every thing most enchanting that nature, assisted by art, could produce, successively flattered his sight, his taste, his smell, his hearing, and his feeling.

“In a superb saloon, whither he conducted me,” says this gentleman, “were six young beauties, dressed in an extraordinary manner, whose persons, at first sight, did not appear unknown to me: it struck me that I had seen their faces more than once, and I was accordingly going to address them, when Mr. B—-, smiling at my mistake, explained to me the cause of it.” “I have, in my amours,” said he, “a particular fancy. The choicest beauty of Circassia would have ho merit in my eyes, did she not resemble the portrait of some woman, celebrated in past ages: and while lovers set great value on a miniature which faithfully exhibits the features of their mistress, I esteem mine only in proportion to their resemblance to ancient portraits.

“Conformably to this idea,” continued Mr. B—-, “I have caused the intendant of my pleasures to travel all over Europe, with select portraits, or engravings, copied from the originals. He has succeeded in his researches, as you see, since you have conceived that you recognized these ladies on whom you have never before set your eyes; but whose likenesses you may, undoubtedly, have met with. Their dress must have contributed to your mistake: they all wear the attire of the personage they represent; for I wish their whole person to be picturesque. By these means, I have travelled back several centuries, and am in possession of beauties whom time had placed at a great distance.”

“Supper was served up. Mr. B—- seated himself between Mary, queen of Scots, and Anne Bullein. I placed myself opposite to him,” concludes the gentleman, “having beside me Ninon de l’Enclos, and Gabrielle d’Estrees. We also had the company of the fair Rosamond and Nell Gwynn; but at the head of the table was a vacant elbow-chair, surmounted by a canopy, and destined for Cleopatra, who was coming from Egypt, and of whose arrival Mr. B—- was in hourly expectation.”

LETTER XXI.

_Paris, November 21, 1801._

Often as we have heard of the extraordinary number of places of public entertainment in Paris, few, if any, persons in England have an idea of its being so considerable as it is, even at the present moment. But, in 1799, at the very time when we were told over and over again in Parliament, that France was unable to raise the necessary supplies for carrying on the war, and would, as a matter of course, be compelled not only to relinquish her further projects of aggrandisement, but to return to her ancient territorial limits; at that critical period, there existed in Paris, and its environs, no less than seventy

PUBLIC PLACES OF VARIOUS DESCRIPTIONS.

Under the old _regime_, nothing like this number was ever known. Such an almost incredible variety of amusements is really a phenomenon, in the midst of a war, unexampled in its consumption of blood and treasure, It proves that, whatever may have been the public distress, there was at least a great _show_ of private opulence. Indeed I have been informed that, at the period alluded to, a spirit of indifference, prodigality, and dissipation, seemed to pervade every class of society. Whether placed at the bottom or the top of Fortune’s wheel, a thirst of gain and want of economy were alike conspicuous among all ranks of people. Those who strained every nerve to obtain riches, squandered them with equal profusion.

No human beings on earth can be more fond of diversion than the Parisians. Like the Romans of old, they are content if they have but _panem et circenses_, which a Frenchman would render by _spectacles et de quoi manger_. However divided its inhabitants may be on political subjects, on the score of amusement at least the Republic is one and indivisible. In times of the greatest scarcity, many a person went dinnerless to the theatre, eating whatever scrap he could procure, and consoling himself by the idea of being amused for the evening, and at the same time saving at home the expense of fire and candle.

The following list of public places, which I have transcribed for your satisfaction, was communicated to me by a person of veracity; and, as far as it goes, its correctness has been confirmed by my own observation. Although it falls short of the number existing here two years ago, it will enable you to judge of the ardour still prevalent among the Parisians, for “running at the ring of pleasure.” Few of these places are shut up, except for the winter; and new ones succeed almost daily to those which are finally closed. However, for the sake of perspicuity, I shall annex the letter S to such as are intended chiefly for summer amusement.

1. _Theatre des Arts, Rue de la Loi_.

2. _——- Francais, Rue de la Loi._

3. _——- Feydeau, Rue Feydeau._

4. _——- Louvois, Rue de Louvois._

5. _——- Favart,_ now _Opera Buffa._

6. _——- de la Porte St. Martin._

7. _——- de la Societe Olympique_ (late _Opera Buffa.)_

8. _——- du Vaudeville, Rue de Chartres._

9. _——- Montansier, Palais du Tribunat._

10. _——- de l’Ambigu Comique, Boulevard du Temple._

11. _——- de la Gaiete, Boulevard du Temple._

12. _——- des Jeunes Artistes, Boulevard St. Martin._

13. _——- des Jeunes Eleves, Rue de Thionville._

14. _——- des Delassemens Comiques, Boulevard du Temple._

15. _——- sans Pretension, Boulevard du Temple._

16. _——- du Marais, Rue Culture Ste. Catherine._

17. _——- de la Cite, vis-a-vis le Palais de Justice._

18. _——- des Victoires, Rue du Bacq._

19. _——- de Moliere, Rue St. Martin._

20. _——- de l’Estrapade._

21. _——- de Mareux, Rue St. Antoine._

22. _——- des Aveugles, Rue St. Denis._

23. _——- de la Rue St. Jean de Beauvais._

24. _Bal masque de l’Opera, Rue de la Loi._

25. _———- de l’Opera Buffa, Rue de la Victoire._

26. _Bal du Sallon des Etrangers, Rue Grange Bateliere._

27. _— de l’Hotel de Salm, Rue de Lille, Faubourg St. Germain._

28. _— de la Rue Michaudiere._

29. _Soirees amusantes de l’Hotel Longueville, Place du Carrousel._

30. _Veillees de la Cite, vis-a-vis le Palais de Justice._

31. _Phantasmagorie de Robertson, Cour des Capucines._

32. _Concert de Feydeau._

33. _Ranelagh au bois de Boulogne._

34. _Tivoli, Rue de Clichy_, S.

35. _Frascati, Rue de la Loi_, S.

36. _Idalie_, S.

37. _Hameau de Chantilly, aux Champs Elysees._

38. _Paphos, Boulevard du Temple._

39. _Vauxhall d’hiver._

40. _——– d’ete_, S.

41. _——– a Mousseaux_, S.

42. _——– a St. Cloud_, S.

43. _——– au Petit Trianon_, S.

44. _Jardin de l’hotel Biron, Rue de Varenne_, S.

45. _—— Thelusson, Chaussee d’Antin_, S.

40. _—— Marboeuf, Grille de Chaillot_, S.

47. _—— de l’hotel d’Orsay_, S.

48. _Fetes champetres de Bagatelle_, S.

49. _La Muette, a l’entree du Bois de Boulogne_, S.

50. _Colisee, au Parc des Sablons_, S.

51. _Amphitheatre d’equitation de Franconi, aux Capucines._

52. _Panorama, meme lieu._

53. _Exhibition de Curtius, Boulevard du Temple._

54. _Experiences Physiques, au Palais du Tribunat._

55. _La Chaumiere, aux Nouveaux Boulevards._

56. _Cabinet de demonstration de Physiologie et de Pathologie, au Palais du Tribunat, No. 38, au premier._

Although, previously to the revolution, the taste for dramatic amusements had imperceptibly spread, Paris could then boast of no more than three principal theatres, exclusively of _l’Opera Buffa_ introduced in 1788. These were _l’Opera les Francais_, and _les Italiens_, which, with six inferior ones, called _petits spectacles_, brought the whole of the theatres to ten in number. The subaltern houses were incessantly checked in their career by the privileges granted to the _Comedie Francaise_, which company alone enjoyed the right to play first-rate productions: it also possessed that of censorship, and sometimes exercised it in the most despotic manner. Authors, ever in dispute with the comedians, who dictated the law to them, solicited, but in vain, the opening of a second French theatre. The revolution took place, and the unlimited number of theatres was presently decreed. A great many new ones were opened; but the attraction of novelty dispersing the amateurs, the number of spectators did not always equal the expectation of the managers; and the profits, divided among so many competitors, ceased to be sufficiently productive for the support of every establishment of this description. The consequence was, that several of them were soon reduced to a state of bankruptcy.

Three theatres of the first and second rank have been destroyed by fire within these two years, yet upwards of twenty are at present open, almost every night, exclusively of several associations of self-denominated _artistes-amateurs._

Amidst this false glare of dramatic wealth, theatres of the first rank have imperceptibly declined, and at last fallen. It comes not within my province or intention to seek the causes of this in the defects of their management; but the fact is notorious. The _Theatres Favart_ and _Feydeau_, at each of which French comic operas were chiefly represented, have at length been obliged to unite the strength of their talents, and the disgrace which they have experienced, has not affected any of those inferior playhouses where subaltern performers establish their success on an assemblage of scenes more coarse, and language more unpolished.

At the present moment, the government appear to have taken this decline of the principal theatres into serious consideration. It is, I understand, alike to be apprehended, that they may concern themselves too little or too much in their welfare. Hitherto the persons charged with the difficult task of upholding the falling theatres of the first rank, have had the good sense to confine their measures to conciliation; but, of late, it has been rumoured that the stage is to be subjected to its former restrictions. The benefit resulting to the art itself and to the public, from a rivalship of theatres, is once more called in question: and some people even go so far as to assert that, with the exception of a few abuses, the direction of the _Gentils-hommes de la chambre_ was extremely good: thence it should seem that the only difficulty is to find these lords of the bed-chamber, if there be any still in being, in order to restore to them their dramatic sceptre.[1]

Doubtless, the liberty introduced by the revolution has been, in many respects, abused, and in too many, perhaps, relative to places of public amusement. But must it, on that account, be entirely lost to the stage, and falling into a contrary excess, must recourse be had to arbitrary measures, which might also be abused by those to whose execution they were intrusted? The unlimited number of theatres may be a proper subject for the interference of the government: but as to the liberty of the theatres, included in the number that may be fixed on to represent pieces of every description, such only excepted as may be hurtful to morals, seems to be a salutary and incontestable principle. This it is that, by disengaging the French comic opera from the narrow sphere to which it was confined, has, in a great measure, effected a musical revolution, at which all persons of taste must rejoice, by introducing on that stage the harmonic riches of

Italy. This too it is that has produced, on theatres of the second and third rank, pieces which are neither deficient in regularity, connexion, representation, nor decoration. The effect of such a principle was long wanted here before the revolution, when the independent spirit of dramatic authors was fettered by the procrastinations of a set of privileged comedians, who discouraged them by ungracious refusals, or disgusted them by unjust preferences. Hence, the old adage in France that, when an author had composed a good piece, he had performed but half his task; this was true, as the more difficult half, namely, the getting it read and represented, still remained to be accomplished.

As for the multiplicity of playhouses, it certainly belongs to the government to limit their number, not by privileges which might be granted through favour, or obtained, perhaps, for money. The taste of the public for theatrical diversions being known, the population should first be considered, as it is that which furnishes both money and spectators. It would be easy to ascertain the proportion between the population of the capital and the number of theatres which it ought to comprise. Public places should be free as to the species of amusement, but limited in their number, so as not to exceed the proportion which the population can bear. The houses would then be constantly well attended, and the proprietors, actors, authors, and all those concerned in their success, secure against the consequences of failure, and the true interest of the art be likewise promoted. In a word, neither absolute independence, nor exclusive privilege should prevail; but a middle course be adopted, in order to fix the fate of those great scenic establishments, which, by forming so essential a part of public diversion, have a proportionate influence on the morals of the nation.

I have been led, by degrees, into these observations, not only from a review of the decline of some of the principal playhouses here, but also from a conviction that their general principle is applicable to every other capital in Europe. What, for example, can be more absurd than, in the dog-days, when room and air are particularly requisite, that the lovers of dramatic amusement in the British metropolis are to be crammed into a little theatre in the Haymarket, and stewed year after year, as in a sweating-room at a bagnio, because half a century ago an exclusive privilege was inconsiderately granted?

The playhouses here, in general, have been well attended this winter, particularly the principal ones; but, in Paris, every rank has not exactly its theatre as at a ball. From the _spectacles_ on the _Boulevards_ to those of the first and second rank, there is a mixture of company. Formerly, the lower classes confined themselves solely to the former; at present, they visit the latter. An increase of wages has enabled the workman to gratify his inclination for the indulgence of a species of luxury; and, by a sort of instinct, he now and then takes a peep at those scenes of which he before entertained, from hearsay, but an imperfect idea.

If you wish to see a new or favourite piece, you must not neglect to secure a seat in proper time; for, on such occasions, the house is full long before the rising of the curtain. As to taking places in the manner we do in England, there is no such arrangement to be made, except, indeed, you choose to take a whole box, which is expensive. In that case you pay for it at the time you engage it, and it is kept locked the whole evening, or till you and your party, make your appearance.[2]

At all the _spectacles_ in Paris, you are literally kept on the outside of the house till you have received a ticket, in exchange for your money, through an aperture in the exterior wall. Within a few paces of the door of the principal theatres are two receiver’s offices, which are no sooner open, than candidates for admission begin to form long ranks, extending from the portico into the very street, and advance to them two abreast in regular succession. A steady sentinel, posted at the aperture, repeats your wishes to the receiver, and in a mild, conciliating manner, facilitates their accomplishment. Other sentinels are stationed for the preservation of order, under the immediate eye of the officer, who sees that every one takes his turn to obtain tickets: however, it is not uncommon, for forestallers to procure a certain number of them, especially at the representation of a new or favourite piece, and offer them privately at a usurious price which many persons are glad to pay rather than fall into the rear of the ranks.

The method I always take to avoid this unpleasant necessity, I will recommend to you as a very simple one, which may, perhaps, prevent you from many a theatrical disappointment. Having previously informed myself what _spectacle_ is best worth seeing, while I am at dinner I send my _valet de place_, or if I cannot conveniently spare him, I desire him to dispatch a _commissionnaire_ for the number of tickets wanted, so that when I arrive at the theatre, I have only to walk in, and place myself to the best advantage.

It is very wisely imagined not to establish the receiver’s offices in the inside of the house, as in our theatres. By this plan, however great may be the crowd, the entrance is always unobstructed, and those violent struggles and pressures, which among us have cost the lives of many, are effectually prevented. You will observe that no half-price is taken at any theatre in Paris; but in different parts of the house, there are offices, called _bureaux de supplement_, where, if you want to pass from one part of it to another, you exchange your counter-mark on paying the difference.

Nothing can be better regulated than the present police, both interior and exterior, of the theatres in Paris. The eye is not shocked, as was formerly the case, by the presence of black-whiskered grenadiers, occupying different parts of the house, and, by the inflexible sternness of their countenance, awing the spectators into a suppression of their feelings. No fusileer, with a fixed bayonet and piece loaded with ball, now dictates to the auditors of the pit that such a seat must hold so many persons, though several among them might, probably, be as broad-bottomed as Dutchmen. If you find yourself incommoded by heat or pressure, you are at liberty to declare it without fear of giving offence. The criticism of a man of taste is no longer silenced by the arbitrary control of a military despot, who, for an exclamation or gesture, not exactly coinciding with his own prepossessions, pointed him out to his myrmidons, and transferred him at once to prison. You may now laugh with Moleire, or weep with Racine, without having your mirth or sensibility thus unseasonably checked in its expansion.

The existence of this despotism has been denied; but facts are stubborn things, and I will relate to you an instance in which I saw it most wantonly exercised. Some years ago I was present at the _Theatre Francais_, when, in one of Corneille’s pieces, Mademoiselle Raucourt, the tragic actress, was particularly negligent in the delivery of a passage, which, to do justice to the author, required the nicest discrimination. An amateur in the _parterre_ reproved her, in a very gentle manner, for a wrong emphasis. Being at this time a favourite of the queen, she was, it seems, superior to admonition, and persisted in her misplaced shrieks, till it became evident that she set the audience at defiance: other persons then joined the former in expressing their disapprobation. Instantly the _major_ singled out the leading critic: two grenadiers forced their way to the place where he was seated, and conveyed him to prison for having had the audacity to reprove an actress in favour at court. From such improper exercise of authority, the following verse had become a proverb:

_”II est bien des sifflets, mais nous avons la garde.”_

Many there are, I know, who approved of this manner of bridling the fickle Parisians, on the ground that they were so used to the curb that they could no longer dispense with it. A guard on the outside of a theatre is unquestionably necessary, and proper for the preservation of order; but that the public should not be at liberty to approve or condemn such a passage, or such an actor, is at once to stifle the expression of that general opinion which alone can produce good performers. The interior police of the theatre being at present almost entirely in the hands of the public themselves, it is, on that account, more justly observed and duly respected.

Considering the natural impetuosity of their character, one is surprised at the patient tranquillity with which the French range themselves in their places. Seldom do they interrupt the performance by loud conversation, but exchange their thoughts in a whisper. When one sees them applaud with rapture a tender scene, which breathes sentiments of humanity or compassion, speaks home to every feeling heart, and inspires the most agreeable sensations, one is tempted to question whether the Parisians of the present day belong to the identical race that could, at one time, display the ferocity of tigers, and, at another, the tameness of lambs, while their nearest relations and best friends were daily bleeding on the scaffold?

By the existing regulations, many of which are worthy of being adopted in London, no theatre can be opened in Paris without the permission of the police, who depute proper persons to ascertain that the house is solidly built, the passages and outlets unincumbered and commodious, and that it is provided with reservoirs of water, and an adequate number of fire-engines.

Every public place that may be open, is to be shut up immediately, if, for one single day, the proprietors neglect to keep the reservoirs full of water, the engines in proper order, and the firemen ready.

No persons can be admitted behind the scenes, except those employed in the service of the theatre. Nor is the number of tickets distributed to exceed that of the persons the house can conveniently hold.

No coachman, under any pretext whatever, can quit the reins of his horses, while the persons he has driven, are getting out of or into their carriage. Indeed, the necessity of his doing so is obviated by porters stationed at the door of the theatres, and appointed by the police. They are distinguished by a brass plate, on which their permission and the name of the theatre are engraved.

At all the theatres in Paris, there is an exterior guard, which is at the disposal of the _civil_ officer, stationed there for the preservation of order. This guard cannot enter the inside of the theatre but in case of the safety of the public being exposed, and at the express requisition of the said officer, who can never introduce the armed force into the house, till after he has, in a loud voice, apprized the audience of his intention.

Every citizen is bound to obey, _provisionally_, the officer of police. In consequence, every person invited by the officer of police, or summoned by him, to quit the house, is immediately to repair to the police-office of the theatre, in order to give such explanations as may be required of him. The said officer may either transfer him to the competent tribunal, or set him at liberty, according to circumstances.

Proper places are appointed for carriages to wait at. When the play is ended, no carriage in waiting can move till the first crowd coming out of the house has disappeared. The commanding officer of the guard on duty decides the moment when carriages may be called.

No carriage can move quicker than a foot-pace, and but on a single rank, till it has got clear of the streets in the vicinity of the theatre. Nor can it arrive thither but by the streets appointed for that purpose.

Two hours before the rising of the curtain, sentinels are placed in sufficient number to facilitate the execution of these orders, and to prevent any obstruction in the different avenues of the theatre.

Indeed, obstruction is now seldom seen; I have more than once had the curiosity to count, and cause to be counted, all the _private_ carriages in waiting at the grand French opera, on a night when the boxes were filled with the most fashionable company. Neither I nor my _valet de place_ could ever reckon more than from forty to fifty; whereas, formerly, it was not uncommon to see here between two and three hundred; and the noise of so many equipages rattling through the streets, from each of the principal theatres, sufficiently indicated that the performance was ended.

By the number of advertisements in the _petites affiches_ or daily advertiser of Paris, offering a reward for articles lost, no doubt can exist of there being a vast number of pickpockets in this gay capital; and a stranger must naturally draw such an inference from observing where the pockets are placed in men’s clothes: in the coat, it is in the inside of the facing, parallel to the breast: in the waistcoat, it is also in the inside, but lower down, so that when a Frenchman wants to take out his money, he must go through the ceremony of unbuttoning first his surtout, if he wears one in winter, then his coat, and lastly his waistcoat. In this respect, the ladies have the advantage; for, as I have already mentioned, they wear no pockets.

[Footnote 1: During the old _regime_, the theatres were under the control of the _Gentils-hommes de la chambre_, but at the establishment of the directorial government, they were placed in the power of the Minister of the Interior, in whose department they have since continued. Of late, however, it is asserted, that they are each to be under the direction of a Prefect of the Palace.]

[Footnote 2: Independently of the boxes reserved for the officers of the staff of the city of Paris, and those at the head of the police, who have individually free admission to all the _spectacles_ on producing their ivory ticket, there is also a box at each theatre appropriated to the Minister of Public Instruction.]

LETTER XXII.

_Paris, November 23, 1801._

Yesterday being the day appointed for the opening of the session of the Legislative Body, I was invited by a member to accompany him thither, in order to witness their proceedings. No one can be admitted without a ticket; and by the last constitution it is decreed, that not more than two hundred strangers are to be present at the sittings. The gallery allotted for the accommodation of the public, is small, even in proportion to that number, and, in general, extremely crowded. My friend, aware of this circumstance, did me the favour to introduce me into the body of the hall, where I was seated very conveniently, both for seeing and hearing, near the _tribune_, to the left of the President.

This hall was built for the Council of Five Hundred, on the site of the grand apartments of the _Palais Bourbon_. Since the accession of the consular government, it has been appropriated to the sittings of the Legislative Body, on which account the palace has taken their name, and over the principal entrance is inscribed, in embossed characters of gilt bronze:

PALAIS DU CORPS LEGISLATIF.

The palace stands on the south bank of the Seine, facing the _Pont de la Concorde_. It was begun, in 1722, for Louise-Francoise de Bourbon, a legitimated daughter of Lewis XIV. GIRARDINI, an Italian architect, planned the original building, the construction of which was afterwards superintended by LASSURANCE and GABRIEL. The Prince de Conde having acquired it by purchase, he caused it to be considerably augmented and embellished, at different times, under the direction of BARRAU, CARPENTIER and BELISARD.

Had the _Pont de la Concorde_ subsisted previously to the erection of the _Palais Bourbon_, the principal entrance would, probably, have been placed towards the river; but it faces the north, and is preceded by a paltry square, now called _Place du Corps Legislatif_.

In the centre of a peristyle, of the Corinthian order, is the grand gateway, crowned by a sort of triumphal arch, which is connected, by a double colonnade, to two handsome pavilions. The lateral buildings of the outer court, which is two hundred and eighty feet in length, are decorated with the same order, and a second court of two hundred and forty feet, includes part of the original palace, which is constructed in the Italian style.

The principal entrances to the right and left lead to two halls; the one dedicated to _Peace_; the other, to _Victory_. On the one side, is a communication to the apartments of the old palace; on the other, are two spacious rooms. The room to the left, inscribed to _Liberty_, is intended for petitioners, &c.; that to the right, inscribed to _Equality_, is appropriated to conferences. Between the halls of Liberty and Equality, is the hall of the sittings of the Legislative Body.

The form of this hall is semicircular; the benches, rising gradually one above the other, as in a Roman amphitheatre, are provided with backs, and well adapted both for ease and convenience. They are intersected by passages, which afford to the members the facility of reaching or quitting their places, without disturbance or confusion. Every seat is distinguished by a number, so that a deputy can never be at a loss to find his place. In the centre, is an elevated rostrum, with a seat for the President, directly under which is the _tribune_, also elevated, for the orator addressing the assembly. The tribune is decorated by a bas-relief, in white marble, representing France writing her constitution, and Fame proclaiming it. The table for the four secretaries is placed facing the tribune, beneath which the _huissiers_ take their station. The desk and seat of the President, formed of solid mahogany, are ornamented with _or moulu_. The folding doors, which open into the hall, to the right and left of the President’s chair, are also of solid mahogany, embellished in the same manner. Their frames are of white marble, richly sculptured. Independently of these doors, there are others, serving as a communication to the upper-seats, by means of two elegant stone stair-cases.

In six niches, three on each side of the tribune, are so many statues of Greek and Roman legislators. On the right, are Lycurgus, Solon, and Demosthenes: on the left, Brutus, Cato, and Cicero. The inside of the hall is in stucco, and the upper part is decorated by a colonnade of the Ionic order. The light proceeds from a cupola, glazed in the centre, and the remainder of which is divided into small compartments, each ornamented by an emblematical figure. The floor is paved with marble, also in compartments, embellished with allegorical attributes.

Having made you acquainted with the hall of the sittings, I think it may not be uninteresting to give you an account of the forms observed in opening the session.

When I arrived, with my friend, at the Palace of the Legislative Body, most of the members were already assembled in the apartments of their library. At noon, they thence repaired to the hall, preceded by the _huissiers_, messengers of state, and secretaries.

The opening of the session was announced by the report of artillery.

The oldest member, in point of years, took the President’s chair, provisionally.

The four youngest members of the assembly were called to the table to discharge the office of secretaries, also provisionally.

The provisional President then declared, that the members of the Legislative Body were assembled by virtue of Article XXXIII of the constitution, for the session of the year X; that, being provisionally organized, the sitting was opened; and that their names were going to be called over, for the purpose of ascertaining the number of members present, and for forming definitive arrangements, by the nomination of a president and four secretaries.

The names were then called over alphabetically, and, after they were all gone through, they were recalled.

This ceremony being terminated, four committees, each composed of four members, whose names were drawn by lot by the President, proceeded, in presence of the assembly, to scrutinize the ballot.

It thence resulted, that the number of members present was two hundred and twenty-eight;

That Citizen DUPUIS was elected President by a majority of votes;

That Citizens DUBOSC, BORD, ESTAQUE, and CLAVIER were individually elected, by a similar majority, to officiate as secretaries.

In consequence. Citizen DUPUIS was proclaimed President, and took the chair. He then moved the following resolution, which was agreed to:

“The Legislative Body declares, that it is definitely constituted, and decrees that the present declaration shall be carried to the Conservative Senate, to the Tribunate, and to the Consuls of the Republic, by a messenger of State.”

The President next addressed the assembly in these words:

“Citizens Legislators,

“After twelve years of a painful and glorious struggle against all Europe, in order to insure the triumph of the liberty of man and that of nations, the moment is at length arrived when Peace is on the point of crowning the efforts of the French people, and securing the Republic on a foundation never to be shaken. For this peace, which will unite by the bonds of friendship two great nations, already connected by esteem, we are indebted to the valour and wisdom of the heroic pacificator, to the wise administration of the government, to the bravery of our invincible armies, to the good understanding subsisting between all the constituted authorities, and, above all, to that spirit of moderation which has known how to fix limits to victory itself. The name of peace, so dear to the friend of human nature, ought to impose silence on all malignant passions, cordially unite all the children of the same country, and be the signal of happiness to the present generation, as well as to our posterity.

“How gratifying is it to us, Citizens Legislators, after having passed through the storms of a long revolution, to have at length brought safely into port the sacred bark of the Republic, and to begin this session by the proclamation of peace to the world, as those who preceded us opened theirs by the proclamation of the Rights of Man and that of the Republic! To crown this great work, nothing more remains for us but to make those laws so long expected, which are to complete social organization, and regulate the interests of citizens. This code, already prepared by men of consummate prudence, will, I hope, be soon submitted to your examination and sanction; and the present session will be the most glorious epoch of our Republic: for there is nothing more glorious to man than to insure the happiness of his fellow-creatures, and scatter beforehand the first seeds of the liberty of the world.”

“_L’impression! L’impression!_” was the cry that instantly proceeded from bench to bench on the close of this speech, which was delivered in a manner that did honour to the President’s feelings. But, though you have it, as it were, at second-hand, and cannot be struck by Citizen DUPUIS’ manner, I hope you will deem the matter sufficiently interesting to justify its insertion in this letter.

Three orators, deputed by the government, were next announced, and introduced in form. They were habited in their dress of Counsellors of State, that is, a scarlet coat, richly embroidered in shaded silks of the same colour, over which they wore a tricoloured silk sash.

One of them, having ascended the tribune, and obtained leave to speak, read an extract from the registers of the Council of State, dated the 24th of Brumaire, purporting that the First Consul had nominated the Counsellors of State, REGNIER, BERENGER, and DUMAS to repair to the present sitting. Citizen REGNIER then addressed the assembly in the name of the government. He read his speech from a paper which he held in his hand. It began by announcing the signature of the preliminaries of peace with England, and informed the Legislative Body that measures had been taken by the government for regulating the various branches of the interior administration and of its intention to submit to them the civil code. It was replete with language of a conciliating nature, and concluded with a wish that the most unalterable harmony might subsist between the first authorities of the State, and strengthen in the mind of the people the confidence which they already testified.

From the tenour of this speech, I think it may be inferred that the government is apprehensive of a difference of opinion respecting the civil code; not so much in this place, for, by the constitution, the lips of the deputies are sealed, but in the Tribunate, where a warm discussion may be expected.

The President made a short and apt reply to the orators of the government, who then retired with the same ceremony with which they had entered. Both these speeches were ordered to be printed.

The Conservative Senate addressed to the Legislative Body, by a message read by the President, the different acts emanated from its authority since the last session. Ordered to be inserted in the Journals. A few letters were also read by the President from different members, excusing themselves for non-attendance on account of indisposition. Several authors having addressed a copy of their works to the Legislative Body, these presents were accepted, and ordered to be placed in their library.

The administrative commission of the Legislative Body announced that the ambassador of the Cisalpine Republic had sent a present of three hundred medals, struck on occasion of the peace and of the _forum Bonaparte_, which medals were distributed to the members.

The assembly the broke up, the next sitting being appointed for the following day at noon.

Lord Cornwallis and suite sat in the box allotted to Foreign Ministers, facing the President, as did the Marquis de Lucchesini, the Prussian ambassador, and some others. A small box is likewise appropriated to reporters, who take down the proceedings. The members were all habited in their appointed dress, which consists of a dark blue coat embroidered with gold, blue pantaloons and white waistcoat, also embroidered, a tricoloured silk sash, worn above the coat, and ornamented with a rich gold fringe. They wore a plain cocked hat, with the national cockade, and short boots. This meeting of legislators, all in the same dress, undoubtedly presents a more imposing spectacle than such a variegated assemblage as is sometimes to be seen in our House of Commons.

By the present constitution, you will see that no new law can be promulgated, unless decreed by the Legislative Body.

The votes in this assembly being taken by ballot, and the laws being enacted without any discussion, on the part of its members, on the plans debated before it by the orators of the Tribunate and of the government, it necessarily follows that the sittings present far less interest to strangers, than would result from an animated delivery of the opinion of a few leading orators.

Before I take leave of this palace, I must introduce you into the suite of rooms formerly distinguished by the appellation of _petits appartemens du Palais Bourbon_, and which, before the revolution, constituted one of the curiosities of Paris.

In the distribution of these, BELISARD assembled all the charms of modern elegance. The vestibule, coloured in French gray, contains, in the intervals between the doors, figures of Bacchantes, and, in the ceiling, wreaths of roses and other ornaments painted in imitation of relief. The eating-room, which comes next, is decorated so as to represent a verdant bower, the paintings are under mirrors, and tin-plate, cut out in the Chinese manner, seems to shew light through the foliage. In two niches, made in the arbour-work, in the form of porticoes, which Cupids are crowning with garlands, are placed two statues from the antique, the one representing Venus _pudica_, and the other, Venus _callypyga_, or _aux belles fesses_: mirrors, placed in the niches, reflect beauties which the eye could not discover.

The drawing room, another enchanting place, is of a circular form, surrounded with Ionic pillars. In the intercolumniations, are arches lined with mirrors, and ornamented with the most tasteful hangings. Under each arch is a sopha. The ceiling represents caryatides supporting a circular gallery, between which are different subjects, such as the Toilet of Venus, the Departure of Adonis, &c. Every thing here is gallant and rich; but mark the secret wonder. You pull a string; the ceiling rises like a cloud, and exhibits to view an extensive sky, with which it becomes confounded. The music of an invisible orchestra, placed above the ceiling, used to be heard through the opening, and produced a charming effect, when entertainments were given in these apartments.

This is not all. You pull another string; and, by means of concealed machinery, the aperture of the three casements suddenly becomes occupied by pannels of mirrors, so that you may here instantly turn day into night. The bed-chamber, the _boudoir_, the study, &c., are all decorated in a style equally elegant and tasteful.

LETTER XXIII.

_Paris, November 25, 1801._

Of all the public edifices in this capital, I know of none whose interior astonishes so much, at first sight, and so justly claims admiration, especially from those who have a knowledge of architecture or mechanics, as the

HALLE AU BLE.

This building is destined for the reception of corn and flour: it was begun in 1762, on the site of the ancient _Hotel de Soissons_, which was purchased by the city of Paris. In the space of three years, the hall and the circumjacent houses were finished, under the direction of the architect, CAMUS DE MEZIERE.

The circular form of this hall, the solidity of its construction, its insulated position, together with the noble simplicity of its decoration, perfectly accord with the intention and character of the object proposed. Twenty-five arches, all of equal size, serve each as an entrance. On the ground-floor are pillars of the Tuscan order, supporting vast granaries, the communication to which is by two stair-cases of well-executed design.

The court is covered by a cupola of one hundred and twenty feet in diameter, forming a perfect semicircle, whose centre, taken on a level with the cornice, is forty-four feet from the ground. The dome of the Pantheon at Rome, which is the largest known, exceeds that of the _Halle au Ble_ by thirteen feet only. This cupola is entirely composed of deal boards, a foot in breadth, an inch in thickness, and about four feet in length. It is divided into twenty-five lateral openings, which give as many rays of light diverging from the centre-opening, whose diameter is twenty-four feet. These openings are all glazed, and the wood-work of the dome is covered with sheets of tinned copper.

PHILIBERT DE L’ORME, architect to Henry II, was the original author of this new method of covering domes, though he never carried it into execution. As a homage for the discovery, MOLINOS and LEGRAND, the architects of the cupola, have there placed a medallion with his portrait. It is said that this experiment was deemed so hazardous, that the builder could find no person bold enough to strike away the shores, and was under the necessity of performing that task in person. To him it was not a fearful one; but the workmen, unacquainted with the principles of this manner of roofing buildings, were astonished at the stability of the dome, when the shores were removed.

No place in Paris could well be more convenient for giving a banquet than the _Halle au Ble_; twelve or fourteen hundred persons might here be accommodated at table; and little expense would be required for decoration, as nothing can be more elegant than the cupola itself.

Several periodical publications give a statement, more or less exact, of the quantity of flour lodged in this spacious repository, which is filled and emptied regularly every four or five days. But these statements present not the real consumption of Paris, since several bakers draw their supply directly from the farmers of the environs; and, besides, a great quantity of loaves are brought into the capital from some villages, famous for making bread, whose inhabitants come and retail them to the Parisians.

The annual consumption of bread-corn in this capital has, on an average, been computed at twenty-four millions of bushels. But it is not the consumption only that it is useful to know: the most material point to be ascertained, is the method of providing effectually for it; so that, from a succession of unfavourable harvests, or any other cause, the regular supplies may not experience even a momentary interruption. When it is considered that Paris contains eight or nine hundred thousand of the human race, it is evident that this branch of administration requires all the vigilance of the government.

Bread is now reckoned enormously dear, nineteen _sous_ for the loaf of four pounds; but, during the winter of 1794, the Parisians felt all the horrors of a real famine. Among other articles of the first necessity, bread was then so scarce, that long ranks of people were formed at the doors of the bakers’ shops, each waiting in turn to receive a scanty portion of two ounces.

The consumption of flour here is considerably increased by the immense number of dogs, cats, monkies, parrots, and other birds, kept by persons of every class, and fed chiefly on bread and biscuit.

No poor devil that has not in his miserable lodging a dog to keep him company: not being able to find a friend among his own species, he seeks one in the brute creation. A pauper of this description, who shared his daily bread with his faithful companion, being urged to part with an animal that cost him so much to maintain: “Part with him!” rejoined he; “who then shall I get to love me?”

Near the _Halle au Ble_, stands a large fluted pillar of the Doric order, which formerly belonged to the _Hotel de Soissons_, and served as an observatory to Catherine de Medicis. In the inside, is a winding stair-case, leading to the top, whither that diabolical woman used frequently to ascend, accompanied by astrologers, and there perform several mysterious ceremonies, in order to discover futurity in the stars. She wore on her stomach a skin of parchment, strewn with figures, letters, and characters of different colours; which skin she was persuaded had the virtue of insuring her from any attempt against her person.

Much about that period, 1572, there were reckoned, in Paris alone, no less than thirty thousand astrologers. At the present day, the ambulating magicians frequent the _Old Boulevards_, and there tell fortunes for three or four _sous_; while those persons that value science according to the price set on it, disdaining these two-penny conjurers, repair to fortune-tellers of a superior class, who take from three to six francs, and more, when the opportunity offers. The TROPHONIUS of Paris is Citizen Martin, who lives at N deg. 1773 _Rue d’Anjou_: the PHEMONOE is Madame Villeneuve, _Rue de l’Antechrist_.

Formerly, none but courtesans here drew the cards; now, almost every female, without exception, has recourse to them. Many a fine lady even conceives herself to be sufficiently mistress of the art to tell her own fortune; and some think they are so skilled in reading futurity in the cards, that they dare not venture to draw them for themselves, for fear of discovering some untoward event.

This rage of astrology and fortune-telling is a disease which peculiarly affects weak intellects, ruled by ignorance, or afflicted by adversity. In the future, such persons seek a mitigation of the present; and the illusive enjoyments of the mind make them almost forget the real sufferings of the body. According to Pope,

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast, Man never _is_, but always _to be_ blest.”

At the foot of the above pillar, the only one of the sort in Paris, is erected a handsome fountain, which furnishes water from the Seine. At two-thirds of its height is a dial of a singular kind, which marks the precise hour at every period of the day, and in all seasons. It is the invention of Father Pingre, who was a regular canon of St. Genevieve, and member of the _ci-devant_ Academy of Sciences.

While we are in this quarter, let us avail ourselves of the moment; and, proceeding from the _Halle au Ble_ along the _Rue Oblin_, examine the

CHURCH OF SAINT EUSTACHE.

This church, which is one of the most spacious in Paris, is situated at the north extremity of the _Rue des Prouvaires_, facing the _Rue du Jour_. It was begun in 1532, but not finished till the year 1642.

Notwithstanding the richness of its architecture, it presents not an appearance uniformly handsome, on account of the ill-combined mixture of the Greek and Gothic styles: besides, the pillars are so numerous in it, that it is necessary to be placed in the nave to view it to the best advantage.

The new portal of _St. Eustache_, which was constructed in 1754, is formed of two orders, the Doric and the Ionic, the one above the other. At each extremity of this portal, rise two insulated towers, receding from all the projection of the inferior order, and decorated by Corinthian columns with pilasters, on an attic serving as a socle. These two towers were to have been crowned by a balustrade; one alone has been finished.

Several celebrated personages have been interred in this church. Among them, I shall particularize one only; but that one will long live in the memory of every convivial British seaman. Who has not heard the lay which records the defeat of Tourville? Yes–

He who “on the main triumphant rode
To meet the gallant Russel in combat o’er the deep;” Who “led his noble troops of heroes bold To sink the English admiral and his fleet.”

Though considered by his countrymen, as one of the most eminent seamen that France ever produced, and enjoying at the time of his death the dignity of Marshal, together with that of Vice-admiral of the kingdom, Tourville never had an epitaph. He died on the 28th of May 1701, aged 59.

Some of the monuments which existed here have been transferred to the Museum in the _Rue des Petits Augustins_, where may be seen the sarcophagus of Colbert, Minister to Lewis XIV, and the medallion of Cureau de la Chambre, physician to that king, and also his physiognomist, whom he is said to have constantly consulted in the selection of his ministers. Among the papers of that physician there still exists, in an unpublished correspondence with Lewis XIV, this curious memorandum: “Should I die before his majesty, he would run a great risk of making, in future, many a bad choice.”

It is impossible to enter one of these sanctuaries without reflecting on the rapid progress of irreligion among a people who, six months before, were, on their knees, adoring the effigies which, at that period, they were eager to mutilate and destroy. Iron crows and sledge-hammers were almost in a state of requisition. In the beginning, it was a contest who should first aim a blow at the nose of the Virgin Mary, or break the leg of her son. In one day, contracts were entered into with masons for defacing images which for centuries, had been partly concealed under the dusty webs of generations of spiders.

As for the statues within reach of swords and pikes, it was a continual scene of amusement to the licentious to knock off the ear of one angel, and scratch the face of another. Not an epitaph was left to retrace the patriotic deeds of an upright statesman, or the more brilliant exploits of a heroic warrior; not a memento, to record conjugal affection, filial piety, or grateful friendship. The iconoclasts proceeded not with the impetuous fury of fanatics, but with the extravagant foolery of atheistical buffoons.

All the gold and silver ornaments disappeared: a great part of them were dissolved in the crucibles of the mint, after having been presented as a homage to the Convention, some of whose members danced the _carmagnole_ with those who presented them at their bar, loaded on the back of mules and asses, bedecked with all the emblems of catholic worship; while several of the rubies, emeralds, &c. which had formerly decorated the glory, beaming round the head of a Christ, were afterwards seen glittering on the finger of the revolutionary committee-men.

Chaumette, an attorney, was the man who proclaimed atheism, and his example had many imitators. It seemed the wish of that impious being to exile God himself from nature. He it was who imagined those orgies, termed the festivals of reason. One of the most remarkable of these festivals was celebrated in this very church of _St. Eustache_.

Although Mademoiselle Maillard, the singing heroine of the French opera, figured more than once as the goddess of reason, that divinity was generally personified by some shameless female, who, if not a notorious prostitute, was frequently little better. Her throne occupied the place of the altar; her supporters were chiefly drunken soldiers, smoking their pipe; and before her, were a set of half-naked vagabonds, singing and dancing the _carmagnole_.

“In this church,” says an eye-witness, “the interior of the choir represented a landscape, decorated with cottages and clumps of trees. In the distance were mysterious bowers, to which narrow paths led, through declivities formed of masses of artificial rock.

“The inside of the church presented the spectacle of a large public-house. Round the choir were arranged tables, loaded with bottles, sausages, pies, pates, and other viands. On the altars of the lateral chapels, sacrifices were made to luxury and gluttony; and the consecrated stones bore the disgusting marks of beastly intemperance.

“Guests crowded in at all doors: whoever came partook of this festival: children thrust their hands into the dishes, and helped themselves out of the bottles, as a sign of liberty; while the speedy consequences of this freedom became a matter of amusement to grown persons in a similar state of ebriety. What a deplorable picture of the people, who blindly obeyed the will of a few factious leaders!

“In other churches, balls were given; and, by way of shutting the door in the face of modesty, these were continued during the night, in order that, amidst the confusion of nocturnal revelry, those desires which had been kindled during the day, might be freely gratified under the veil of darkness.

“The processions which accompanied these orgies, were no less attended with every species of atheistical frenzy. After feasting their eyes with the sacrifice of human victims, the Jacobin faction, or their satellites, followed the car of their impure goddess: next came, in another car, a moving orchestra, composed of blind musicians, a too faithful image of that Reason which was the object of their adoration.”

The state of France, at that period, proves that religion being detached from social order, there remained a frightful void, Which nothing could have filled up but its subsequent restoration. Without religion, men become enemies to each other, criminals by principle, and bold violators of the laws; force is the only curb that can restrain them. The inevitable consequence is, that anarchy and rapine desolate the face of the earth, and reduce it to a heap of misfortune and ruin.

LETTER XXIV.

_Paris, November 27, 1801._

When we travel back in idea for the last ten years, and pass in review the internal commotions which have distracted France during that period, and the external struggle she has had to maintain for the security of her independence, we cannot refuse our admiration to the constancy which the French have manifested in forming institutions for the diffusion of knowledge, and repositories of objects tending to the advancement of the arts and sciences. In this respect, if we except the blood-thirsty reign of Robespierre, no clash of political interests, no change in the form or administration of the government, has relaxed their ardour, or slackened their perseverance. Whatever set of men have been in power, the arts and sciences have experienced almost uninterrupted protection.

In the opinion of the French themselves, the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES, in the CENTRAL MUSEUM OF THE ARTS, may claim pre-eminence over every other repository of sculpture; but many persons may, probably, feel a satisfaction more pure and unadulterated in viewing the

MUSEUM OF FRENCH MONUMENTS.

Here, neither do insignia of triumph call to mind the afflicting scenes of war, nor do emblems of conquest strike the eye of the travelled visiter, and damp his enjoyment by blending with it bitter recollections. Vandalism is the only enemy from whose attacks the monuments, here assembled, have been rescued.

This Museum, which has, in fact, been formed out of the wrecks of the revolutionary storm, merits particular attention. Although it was not open to the public, for the first time, till the 15th of Fructidor, year III (2nd of September 1795), its origin may be dated from 1790, when the Constituent Assembly, having decreed the possessions of the Clergy to be national property, charged the _Committee of Alienation_ to exert their vigilance for the preservation of all the monuments of the arts, spread throughout the wide extent of the ecclesiastical domains.

The philanthropic LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, (the last Duke of the family), as President of that committee, fixed on a number of artists and literati to select such monuments as the committee were anxious to preserve. The municipality of Paris, being specially entrusted, by the National Assembly, with the execution of this decree, also nominated several literati and artists of acknowledged merit to co-operate with the former in their researches and labours. Of this association was formed a commission, called _Commission des Monumens_. From that epoch, proper places were sought for the reception of the treasures which it was wished to save from destruction. The _Committee of Alienation_ appointed the _ci-devant_ monastery of the _Petits Augustins_ for the monuments of sculpture and pictures, and those of the _Capucins, Grands Jesuites,_ and _Cordeliers_, for the books and manuscripts.

By these means, the monuments in the suppressed convents and churches were, by degrees, collected in this monastery, which is situated in the _Rue des Petits Augustins_, so named after that order of monks, whose church here was founded, in 1613, by Marguerite de Valois, first wife of Henry IV.

At the same period, ALEXANDRE LENOIR was appointed, by the Constituent Assembly, director of this establishment. As I shall have frequent occasion to mention the name of that estimable artist, I shall here content myself with observing, that the choice did honour to their judgment.

In the mean time, under pretext of destroying every emblem of feudality, the most celebrated master-pieces were consigned to ruin; but the commission before-mentioned opportunely published instructions respecting the means of preserving the valuable articles which they purposed to assemble.

The National Convention also gave indisputable proof of its regard for the arts, by issuing several decrees in their favour. Its _Committee of Public Instruction_ created a commission, composed of distinguished literati and artists of every class, for the purpose of keeping a watchful eye over the preservation of the monuments of the arts. The considerable number of memoirs, reports, and addresses, diffused through the departments by this learned and scientific association, enlightened the people, and arrested the arm of those modern Vandals who took a pleasure in mutilating the most admired statues, tearing or defacing the most valuable pictures, and melting casts of bronze of the most exquisite beauty.

Among the numerous reports to which these acts of blind ignorance gave birth, three published by GREGOIRE, ex-bishop of Blois, claim particular distinction no less on account of the taste and zeal which they exhibit for the advancement of literature and the fine arts, than for the invective with which they abound against the madness of irreligious barbarism. This last stroke, aptly applied, was the means of recovering many articles of value, and of preserving the monuments still remaining in the provinces.

In these eventful times, LENOIR, the Conservator of the rising museum, collected, through his own indefatigable exertions, a considerable number of mausolea, statues, bas-reliefs, and busts of every age and description. No sooner did a moment of tranquillity appear to be reestablished in this country, than he proposed to the government to place all these monuments in historical and chronological order, by classing them, according to the age in which they had been executed, in particular halls or apartments, and giving to each of these apartments the precise character peculiar to each century. This plan which, in its aggregate, united the history of the art and that of France, by means of her monuments, met with general approbation, and was accordingly adopted by the members of the government.

Thus, throughout this Museum, the architectural decorations of the different apartments are of the age to which the monuments of Sculpture, contained in each, belongs; and the light penetrates through windows of stained glass, from the designs of RAPHAEL, PRIMATICCIO, ALBERT DURER, LE SUEUR, &c., the production of the particular century corresponding to that of the sculpture.

Come then, let us visit this Museum, and endeavour to discriminate the objects which may be most interesting both to the artist and historian. We first enter the

ANTI-CHAMBER.

This apartment presents itself to our inquisitive looks, as a Hall of Introduction, which may not be unaptly compared to the preface of a grand work. Here we behold a crowd of monuments, arranged methodically, so as to prepare our eyes for tracing the different ages through which we have to travel.

We first remark those altars, worn by the hand of Time, on which the trading Gauls of the ancient _Lutetia_, now Paris, sacrificed to the gods in the time of Tiberius. Jupiter, Mars, Vulcan, Mercury, Venus, Pan, Castor and Pollux, and the religious ceremonies here sculptured, are sufficient to attest that the Parisians were then idolaters, and followed the religion of the Romans, to whom they were become tributary. The Inscriptions on each of these monuments, which are five in number, leave no doubt as to their authenticity, and the epoch of their erection.

These altars, five in number, are charged with bas-reliefs, and the first of them is inscribed with the following words in Latin.

TIB. CAESARE.
AVG. IOVI OPTVMO
MAXSVMO (_aram_) M.
NAVTAE. PARISIACI
PUBLICE POSIERVNT.

_Tiberius Caesar, having accepted or taken the name of Augustus, the navigators (Nautae) belonging to the city of Paris, publicly consecrated this altar to Jupiter the most great and most good._

In 1711, these monuments were dug up from the choir of the cathedral of _Notre-Dame_, out of the foundations of the ancient church of Paris, constructed by Childebert, on the ruins of a temple, formerly dedicated to Isis, which he caused to be demolished. Near them we see the great goddess of the Germans figure under the name of Nehalennia, in honour of whom that people had erected a great number of monuments, some of which were discovered in the year 1646, when the sea retired from the island of Walcheren.

Capitals, charged with bas-reliefs, taken from a subterraneous basilic, built by Pepin, have likewise been collected, and follow those which I have just mentioned. Next comes the tomb of CLOVIS, which exhibits that prince lying at length; he is humbling himself before the Almighty, and seems to be asking him forgiveness for his crimes. We likewise see those of CHILDEBERT and of the cruel CHILPERIC. The intaglio, relieved by inlaid pieces of Mosaic, of queen FREDEGOND, has escaped the accidents of twelve centuries. Just Heaven! what powers have disappeared from the face of the earth since that period! And to what reflections does not this image, still existing of that impious woman, give birth in the mind of the philosopher! CHARLEMAGNE, who was buried at Aix-la-Chapelle, seated on a throne of gold, appears here, in a haughty attitude, with his sword in his hand, still to be giving laws to the world!

As might naturally be supposed, most of these figures have suffered much by the rude attacks of Time; but in spite of his indelible impression, the unpolished hand of the sculptor is still distinguishable, and betrays the degraded state of the arts during the darkness of the middle ages. Let us pass into the

HALL OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY.

Here we shall remark arches in the Gothic style, supported by thick pillars, according to the architecture of that period. Ornaments, in the form of _culs-de-lampe_, terminate the centre of the arches, which are painted in azure-blue, and charged with stars. When temples were begun to be sheltered or covered, nations painted the inside of the roof in this manner, in order to keep in view the image of the celestial canopy to which they directed all their affections, and to preserve the memory of the ancient custom of offering up sacrifices to the divinity in the open air.

Here the statue of LEWIS IX, surnamed the Saint, is placed near that of PHILIP, one of his sons, and of CHARLES, his brother, king of Sicily, branded in history, by having, through his oppression, driven his subjects into revolt, and caused the massacre of the French in that island in 1277; a massacre well known by the name of the _Sicilian vespers_.

It seems that it was the fashion, in those days, for kings themselves to be bearers at funerals. We are told by St. Foix, that the body of LEWIS, another son of the Saint, who died in 1662, aged 26, and whose cenotaph is here, was first carried to St. Denis, and thence to the abbey of Royaumont, where it was interred. “The greatest lords of the kingdom,” says he, “alternately bore the coffin on their shoulders, and Henry III; king of England, carried it himself for a considerable time, as feudatory of the crown.”

PHILIP III, too, above-mentioned, having brought to Paris the remains of his father from Tunis in Africa, carried them barefooted, on his shoulders, to St. Denis. Wherever he rested by the way, towers were erected in commemoration of this act of filial piety; but these have been destroyed since the revolution.

The casements of this hall, in the form of ogives, are ornamented