PARIS:
^.ncunt ititfr Htflkru.
REVISED BY THOMAS 0. SUMMERS, D.D.
Nasfc&tlU, :
SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE,
1859.
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY A. A. STITT,
SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING!- HOUSE, NASHVILLE, TENN.
C0nt^nts;
Page
PREFACE V
INTRODUCTION 7
CHAPTER I.
PARIS TILE THE REIGN OE ERANCIS 1 13
CHAPTER II.
PARIS TILL THE DEATH OF HENRI QUATRE 50
CHAPTER III.
PARIS TILL THE SELF-ASSERTION OF LOUIS XlV.r. 81
CHAPTER IY.
PARIS TILL THE DEATH OF LOUIS XVI 121
CHAPTER Y.
PARIS TILL THE ACCESSION OF LOUIS NAPOLEON.. 144
CHAPTER VI.
PARIS AS IT EXISTS AT THE PRESENT DAT 168
(iii)
f nfm.
It is frequently said, He who has seen Paris,
has seen all Prance. This is of course a great
exaggeration. It is, however, true, that perhaps
no other nation has proportionally so great a
concentration of genius, talent, science, art, litera¬
ture, fashion, and' vice, in its metropolis, as
Prance has in -Paris."' It is truly a wonderful
city : its history is full. of interest. A reliable
and satisfactory description of the gay capital is
contained in the present volume, which we have
revised from a recent publication of the London
Religious Tract Society, and which we take great
pleasure in laying before the reader.
Wfyz 33bttor.
Nashville, Tenn., June 20, 1855.
(▼)
INTRODUCTION.
No reflecting mind can regard with indifference
that collective mass of human beings which calls
itself a "great metropolis." It is of comparatively
little consequence where that metropolis may be—
whether in Europe, Asia, or America: it is in¬
different whether it be more or less subject to the
influences which mould and determine the civil-
izatipn of society: under any conditions, a large
collection of human beings presents an aspect
grave, important, and even sublime. The com¬
bination of so many minds into a common assem¬
blage : the power, whether for evil or good, which
so condensed a mass may exert: the varieties of
human experience aiding to form its history:
together with the relation of the whole to the
past and the future, invest every capital with an
enormous importance. It is a multiplication of
forces : a world in miniature : the foundation of
ten thousand springs of influence. A metropolis
is, indeed, in many respects, a solemn, overwhelm¬
ing, and terrible idea!
Few cities of modern Europe exeite these sen¬
timents more strongly than Paris. None has
certainly contrived more effectually to become
" the cynosure of neighboring eyes." What a
multitude of thoughts are directed towards it, and
from what varying motives !
8
INTRODUCTION.
Paris ! The highway of civilized nations ! A
city which leads almost everywhere ! Though not
necessarily included in every continental route,
has not a visit to the capital of Prance come to
he regarded as an essential element in every
extensive tour? What inhabitant of southern
Europe comes northward—what Englishman
travels southward, without taking Paris in his"
way ? Look at the tours constantly published by
our transatlantic neighbors. Is Paris ever omit¬
ted ? That city has now become a station in the
overland route for India;, for what comparison
can there be between the billowy nausea of the
Bay of Biscay, and the railway and diligence to
Marseilles, with a day or two spent in Paris ?
Paris ! The metropolis of Europe !—at least, if
its own self-designation may be believed. We
wish at this moment to forget all Gallophobia;
and to entertain none of that unchristian hatred
which for years has swollen the minds of the
English against their neighbors, (balanced with
at least equal animosity on the other side,) and
we shall not stay to inquire if this epithet be al¬
together well founded. In many points it may
be accepted as true. The language of Prance is
doubtless a lingual passport throughout all Europe;
and the metropolitan character of Paris, in refer¬
ence to the continent, may be inferred from the
fact, that it is the only' city from which emanates
a European newspaper; that it is the only city
which dictates those arrangements of lace and
tulle, of skirts and sleeves, called fashions; and
that .it is the only city which, claims to have
INTRODUCTION.
9
direction oyer all European cookery, and which
has issued a code de cuisine for the world !
Paris ! The centre and home of military glory !
Who can think of it without remembering that,
at its dictation, Europe has been kept in a blaze
during long intervals of time ? Even within re¬
cent periods, who does not recall the movements
of the French Republic—the march of the army
which, under Napoleon, scaled, contrary to all
precedents of modern war, the frozen Alps: the
return of the " Desolator" from Egypt: the set¬
ting up or taking down by France of the conti¬
nental thrones: the'marching forth pf.the invading
troops for Russia : the marshalling on the Champ
de Mars of the army before which Europe was to
yield, speedily succeeded by the appearance of
another under which France lay prostrate: the
going forth of the hosts to subdue Algiers, or to
alarm and then replace the pope \ and especially
the movements, so sudden, so absolute, so terri¬
ble, which have placed the present emperor upon
his throne ? If the military schako, the glancing
cuirass, or the well-disciplined array, be striking
objects in any picture, to what capital do they add
more effect than to that of the ancient Charlemagne ?
Paris ! The theatre of revolutions ! Unhappy
city! whose institutions are so evanescent, and
whose blood is in its own eyes so valueless. There
the greatest .alterations of civil and social life
chase each other with the flying rapidity of an
April day. The history of modern Paris is
unique in varieties of tremendous events. Bastiles
levelled—palaces devastated—tombs ransacked—
10
INTRODUCTION.
property confiscated—monarchs beheaded—-in¬
scriptions erased—monuments of past glory sud¬
denly become objects of disgust and aversion—
thrones destroyed to-day, only to be reerected,
with new despotism, to-morrow—a population,
now tyrannical in its excesses, then servile abjects
beneath the foot of iron rule, sending forth the
scions of royal families to spread the tale of their
discontents and wrongs throughout Europe! Such
are the variations of this great social kaleidoscope.
Paris ! City of contradictions ! How remark¬
able for combinations which might, at first sight,
seem nothing less than impossible ! Most ancient;
yet most modern! Most polished; yet, in very
important respects, most unrefined ! Equalled in
the beauty of some of its scenes by no capital in
Europe; yet outdistanced by others, far inferior, in
substantial and real advantages ! The gayest of
cities this year—the gloomiest the next! Parading
everywhere a religion in which its population has
no faith! City of' the band-box and of the
guillotine; equally notorious for its tastes and its
barbarities—for its amenities and its blood.
A capital so distinguished may well attract the
attention even of the mere idler; but to every
lover of mankind, it presents points of more sub¬
stantial, though often sorrowful, attraction.
~VVe sometimes amuse ourselves by conceiving
what our ancestors in the past would think of the
scenes of the present day. We strongly wonder
what would be the impression of the inhabitants
of certain ancient cities, could they visit such a
metropolis as that of France. Could that old
INTRODUCTION.
11
Theodosian legend be realized, wbieh represents
the seven sleepers emerging to the- light of day
after a long period of suspended faculties, what
would they say to the streets, the avenues, the
triumphal monuments, the glittering fountains,
the gilded show which Paris everywhere presents
to the eye ? By the-side of the obelisk of Luxor,
which graces the Place de la Concorde, a Theban
might feel a momentary gush of fond recollec¬
tion as he thought of a-jperiod sixteen centuries
before the Christian era, and of' the great Sesos-
tris, in whose honor it was erected. But to his
ideas of massive and Cyclopean architecture, how
strange would be the painted' fronts. and the
masses of gay and glittering windows, for which
this modern city is so eminent! The Assyrian
would find memorials of the past in the huge
winged bull and other antiquities which adorn
the galleries of the Louvre, and might even look
with some sympathy on the masses of soldiery
gathered together in every public spot, though
not without some wonder at the altered fashion in
which they are attired; but what could he have
in common with the jocund mirth and careless
gayety which meets his eye at all points, and pre¬
sents so strong- a contrast to the sober gravity of
that antiquity which cried out in disgust at the
follies of a Sardanapalus ? The Athenian; though
he might see edifices constructed on a model not
altogether unfamiliar, would marvel much at their
appropriation; and, though he might observe not
a little which would remind him of his country¬
men's taste for Attic wit and the last intelligence,
12
INTRODUCTION.
Would perhaps wonder that so many were lively
and so few were wise, and might throw scorn on
the paucity of sages who had left their names in¬
scribed on the records of this mercurial people.
The Roman, whilst he recognized the code of
French laws as strongly resembling those of his
own imperial day, and encountered many vestiges
of Rome, in language, habits, and observances,
might wonder that a religion professing to be so
much in advance of his own as to erect itself upon
its ruins, should be distinguished by the same
parade, the same processions, the same ignorance,
the same powerlessness for good. And all would
wonder that men living so late in the world's his¬
tory, with such experience, with so many advan¬
tages of knowledge, and with appeals so directly
aimed at their consciences and hearts, should ap->
pear as regardless of their own moral dignity, and
as indifferent to their own true interests, as in the
days when men scarcely knew that they had souls
at all. Sad it is—unspeakably sad—that this last
appalling fact does not apply to Paris above all
the cities of the world, nor to cities alone among
all human localities. Yet who can deny that it
does apply to the metropolis of France with an
emphasis and energy exceeding every other capi¬
tal possessing the same means of enlightenment ?
Shall not the Christian see the day when, with
such m^ans of influence as it commands, Paris
shall be the centre of European Christianity; and
when nations shall consult together over the in¬
terests of religion, as their governments now do
on questions of political relations ?
Maris: indent aait Utecnt.
CHAPTER I.
paris tili^ the reign op francis i.
Before the commencement of the Christian
era, Paris was a collection of wretched huts, built
upon an island in the river Seine, and called, by
the Gauls who inhabited it, Loutonheze, that is,
" a dwelling in the midst of the waters." This
stronghold, well adapted in those barbarous days
for purposes of defence, was peopled in the time
of Julius Caesar by the Parisii, one of the sixty-
foiir tribes of the Gauls. By a slight modification,
its name was afterwards changed into Lutetia.
Its inhabitants were chiefly huntsmen and fisher¬
men. In this city Julius Caesar convened an
assembly of the Gallic people. Extant remains
attest that heathen temples, at least those of Ju¬
piter and Mercury, existed within it.. In the year
55 B.C., the Gauls burned their city, to prevent its
becoming a prey to, the Romans. The conflagration
was, however, in vain ; for speedily afterwards the
Romans took possession of the island, and gave it
the name of Lutetia Parisiorum. Towards the
(13)
14 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
year 860, Julian the Apostate, who called the city
"his dear Lutetia/' assigned to it laws and
privileges, and greatly enlarged its fortifications.
Many of the Roman emperors took up their
temporary residence here, whilst engaged in mili¬
tary operations against the northern barbarians.
Amongst others may be mentioned Constantine,
Constantius, Yalentinian, and Grratian, the last of
whom lost his throne in a battle fought in its vicinity.
The legend of St. Dionysius, or St. Denis,
though immeasurably too absurd for grave modern
belief, even amongst the most superstitious, de¬
mands to be related, since it affords a specimen
of the fables which the large credulity of the dark
ages voraciously devoured. The name of this
saint has been ignorantly identified with that of
Dionysius the Areopagite, the Athenian convert
of the apostle Paul. The real person (for a real
person there probably was, though the appendages
to his name are ridiculously fabulous) was probably
the first preacher of the gospel in this locality.
A chronicler of the ninth century relates that St.
Denis, after being beheaded on the hill of Mont-
martre, (which thence derives its name, Mont-
martyr,) took, his bleeding head into his hands,'
and walked with it to a place, afterwards called,
in his honor, St. Denis, accompanied by a choir
of angels. This is said to have been about the
year 250. Dagobert is reported to have erected
a temple on the spot. One of the worst effects
of Romanism is that, as on this occasion, it has
oftentimes brought real goodness into contempt,
and made virtue ridiculous.
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 15
The Roman government appears to have con¬
tinued in Gaul, though in a state of continually
increasing weakness, till towards the close of the
fifth century, when Clovis, the chief of a colony
of Pranks, settled at Tournay, defeated Syagrius,
governor of the Soissonnois, and made himself
master of Paris. In this campaign the following
well-known occurrence took place :—Among other
treasures taken in this foray from the church at
Itheims was a silver vase, which with the rest of
the booty was to be distributed among the soldiers
at Soissons. This sacred utensil was regarded
with peculiar favor by St. ftemy, Bishop of
Itheims, who earnestly besought Clovis to restore
it. Overcome by his solicitations, the young
warrior consented, on condition that he could ob¬
tain the concurrence of his soldiery. When,
however, he pleaded the request with his followers,
one of them, roused by the supposed injustice of
the demand, lifted his battle-axe, and shivered
the vessel in pieces, declaring that Clovis had no
right over the property of his warriors. For the
moment the chief took no notice of the transac¬
tion ; but when, subsequently, he was reviewing
his troops, he took occasion to find fault with this
same soldier for some neglect in the condition of
his weapons; and as the retainer stooped to pick
from the ground his rusted battle-axe, which
Clovis had contemptuously thrown down, the
king cleft him asunder with a blow, exclaiming,
" Thus didst thou to the vase of Soissons !"
The early history of Christianity in Paris is
extremely doubtful. Though St. Denis, to whom
16 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
we have already made reference, may have been
a real person, he appears to have effected by his
preaching very few conversions. Before the year
372, according to the testimony of Sulpicius
Severus, St. Martin had preached the gospel to
the Gauls; but at that time the most wide-spread
idolatry prevailed in the cities, and especially in
the country. "It is evident," says Dulaure,
" that to St. Martin more than to St. Denis he-
longs the honor of having converted the Gauls to
Christianity."*
Among the early bishops of Paris, mention is
made of Yictorinus, its sixteenth prelate, said to
have been the first who formed a Christian orga¬
nization within the city. A council was held at
Paris about A. D. 360 or 361, but nothing is
known respecting the details of its proceedings.
Another prelate of Paris bore the name of St.
Marcellus. His fame and renown survive to this
day in the somewhat altered name of Martel. A
large number of pagans are reported to have been
converted by his preaching, and special miracles
to have been performed by his intervention, such
as changing water, drawn from the Seine, into
wine and balsam. He is moreover reported to
have slain a dragon which infested the city—a
fable which Dulaure says " is always the emblem
of numerous conversions—the triumph of Chris¬
tianity over the demon, who is an enemy to
religion, and who is always represented under the
figure of a serpent."f Marcellus died A. D. 436.
* Histoire de Paris, etc., p. 31.
f D'ulaure's Paris, p. 31.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN- 17
A church, was erecte'd to his memory, which was
destroyed either by time or by the Normans, and
was rebuilt about the close of the eleventh century,
hut demolished in 1806.
On his. marriage with Olotilde, daughter of the
Arian king of Burgundy, Clovis nominally em¬
braced the Christian faith. Soon after, when
fighting at Cologne with the Germans,, he obtain¬
ed a signal victory, granted in answer, it was
believed, to his prayers.- From this time Clovis
attached himself to the orthodox party, and, in
return for his adherence to their opinions, received
from the clergy of Gaul the title of " Most Chris¬
tian King"—a designation still claimed by his
discrowned successors.
About the middle of his reign, Clovis trans¬
ferred the seat.of his empire to Paris : in .which
city he caused to be erected a church in honor of
St. Peter and St. Paul. Another personage,
however, made her appearance during the reign
of this monarch, to whose memory this edifice
became subsequently dedicated. This was Ste.
Genevieve, whose miracles, as retailed by monas¬
tic tradition, exercised over the minds of the
ignorant multitude a powerful influence. Ste.
Genevieve, or Ste. Genovefa,' was a native, of
Nanterre, near Paris,, and was born about the
year 452. She has become associated with many
marvellous legends — though Koman -Catholics
themselves speak doubtfully of their pretensions
to authority. " The author of her life, St. Gcr-
manus," says Butler, in his " Lives -of the Saints,"
''<■ tells us, that the holy virgin [a nun, of course]
18 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
'begging one clay with, great importunity that she
might go to churcb, her mother struck her on
the face; hut in punishment lost her sight, which
she only recovered two months after hy washing
her eyes twice or thrice with water which her
daughter fetched from the well, and upon, which
she had made the sign of the cross. Hence the
people look upon the well of Nanterre as having
been blessed by the saint-' "* Ste. G-enevieve is
reported to have practiced great austerities, and
to have performed many pilgrimages : as a conse¬
quence, she was greatly honored by Clovis. "When
Attila, with 'his army of Huns, attempted a
descent, upon Paris, the inhabitants were greatly
terrified, and threatened to abandon the city.
But the prayers of the saint, it is alleged, proved
the means of diverting the course of the con¬
queror towards Orleans. Hence Ste. Genevieve
is regarded as the patron saint of Paris. The fol¬
lowing account, gravely related, though referring
to a period somewhat later than that of which we
now write; will indicate the nature of the claim
this saint is supposed to possess on the gratitude
of the inhabitants of the French metropolis:—■
" The city of Paris has frequently received sen¬
sible proofs of the Divine protection through her
intercession. The most famous instance is that
called the miracle Des Ardens, or of the burning
fever. In 1129, in the reign of Louis VI, a
pestilential fever, with a violent inward heat and
pains in the bowels, swept off in a khort time
* Butler's uLivcs of tlie Saints," Jan. 3
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 19
14,000 persons, nor could tlie art of physicians
afford any relief. Stephen, Bishop of Paris, with
the clergy and people, implored the Divine mercy
hy fasting and supplications. Yet the distemper
hegan not to abate till the shrine of Ste. Genevieve
Was carried in a solemn procession to the cathedrah
During that ceremony, many sick persons were
cured by touching the shrine, and, of all that then
lay ill of that distemper in the whole town, only
three died; the rest recovered, and ho others fell
ill. Pope Innocent II. coming into Paris the
year following, after having instituted a careful
scrutiny into the miracles, ordered an annual fes¬
tival in commemoration of them on the 26th of
November, which is still kept at Paris."*
The wonders of the dark ages are too far re¬
moved from the searching criticism of modern
times to enable tts to discover what amount of
truth, what of indiscriminating enthusiasm, or
what of pious fraud, may he .embodied in such
legends. It is certain that "■ the prayers of
saints," meaning hy that term real believers in
the Saviour, have power with God; but it is by
no means so certain that the heroes and heroines
of monastic adulation always deserved that spiritual
appellation.
The remains of Clovis and of Ste. Genevieve
were interred in the church of St. Peter and St.
Paul.
The barbarous descendants of Clovis held the
throne of France for nearly two centuries and a
* Butler's "Lives of tire Saints," Jan. 3.
20 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
half, amidst varying fortunes. Childebert first
took the title of "King of Paris." Among the
members of this race were "les vols fainccins,"
the siuggard.kings, so called from their incapa¬
city, produced by habits of ease and dissipation.
In the absence of all effective government on1
the part of the monarchs, their power was' al¬
most wholly usurped by the mayors of the Paris¬
ian municipality. One of these " maires," Pepin
d'Heristhal, kept his sovereign in a state of sub¬
jection so absolute as to render him almost a
prisoner in his own kingdom; and,•fortified by
the authority of Pope Zachary, seized, at the
king's decease, the throne itself, which he be-
queathed at his own death to his two sons, Pepin
le Bref and Carloman. The latter retired to a
cloister, and Pepin became sole king.
Thus ended 'the Merovingian, or long-haired
race, (so called from the custom of never cutting
the hair of its princes,) and thus commenced the
Carlovingian dynasty.
Pepin was succeeded, after the reign of Charles
Martel, by Charles, afterwards called Charle¬
magne, or Charles the Great. Prom his reign
the modern history of Prance commences. This
warlike and successful monarch greatly enlarged
the royal authority, and exercised all his military
prowess upon the Pagans, whom he often com¬
pelled, at the point of the sword, (sad implement
of conversion !) to embrace Christianity.
Under the successors of Charlemagne, Paris
became the appanage of successive nobles, who
derived from it the title of "Counts of Paris."
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 21
, In the year 841, the Normans, haying learned
that the monasteries were the depositories of
great riches, and having already, in the neigh¬
borhood of the coast of France,'tasted the sweets
to be gained by despoiling them, sailed up the
Seine, and attacked Paris, which --they pillaged.
These visits were many times repeated, between
the years 845 and 885. At the last period,'St.
Groslin, who was for a short time Bishop of Paris,
and who united the military and ecclesiastical
functions in his own person, greatly increased the
fortifications of the city. This measure inspired
so much'confidence, that the inhabitants of the
monasteries, and the clergy of the churches
around, sent to Paris all their most precious pos¬
sessions—among which, not the least valuable in
their estimation were the bodies of their saints—
to be guarded in security within its walls. The
Normans besieged the city daring a period of
three months, and all the environs of the metro¬
polis were desolated by their outrages. At
length, Charles the Fat arrived at the base of
Montmartre, with an army for the relief of the
city; but, terrified by the Norman soldiers whom
he saw opposed to his own, he made a stipulation
with the barbarians that th'ey should retire upon
the receipt of 14,000 marks of silver. Immedi¬
ate relief was thus gained; but such an adjust¬
ment was the very process calculated to entice the
enemy to return, which they did in 890. This,
however, was their last visit.
But though Paris was now relieved from Nor-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
man invasion, it became exposed to a new foe in
the person of Qtho II., who, in the course of a
Avar with Lothaire, King of France, advanced in
978, with sixteen thousand soldiers, to the very
walls of the city. In his triumphant exultation,
he struck his own lance against the gates, and,
after exposing all the environs to fire and desola¬
tion, caused his rude army to chant a dissonant
Hallelujah on the summit of Montmartre. But
his bravado was brief. He was attacked by
Lothaire, in alliance with Hugh Capet and
Henry, Duke of Burgundy, and suffered a most
disastrous defeat.
Till this time, the relics of saints, with the
other valuable property which had been en¬
trusted to' the city of Paris, remained in safety
within its walls. But the terror inspired by the
barbarian invaders having now passed away, the
depositors- demanded their goods, and especially
their sacred possessions. The Bishop of Paris,
however, did not regard honesty as part of his
creed; and he appears to have impiously thought
that a regard for the duties of the first table
would atone for the utter violation of those of the
second. Under various pretexts, therefore, most
of these relics were withheld from their rightful
owners. Judged of by his own principles, the
bishop's conduct was atrocious. What can be
more hateful to the Holy One. than wickedness
which calls itself devotion '( " I hate robbery for
burnt-offering."
TbL dishonest retention of property deemed
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 23
sacred Iby the dark ignorance of the times, led to
considerable changes in the physical aspect of the
city of Paris. As such remains could not, with¬
out the appearance of considerable indevotion, be
kept indiscriminately huddled together in one
place, it was necessary to build churches to con¬
tain them; and the division of the sacred spoils
was made in a manner worthy of the spiritual
ignorance which characterized the period. "The
cathedral held fast the shrine of St. Marcel, the
body of. St. Severin, St. Justin de Louvres, St.
Lucain de Moisy, a part of the relics of St. Cloud,
and perhaps those of St. Denis. The church of
St. Germain-le-Vieux, an ancient baptistery, situ¬
ated in the city, refused to give up the body.of
St'. Germain, unless it were allowed to retain an
arm of that saint. It is supposed that the chapel
St. 'Leufroi, built towards the middle of the
Place Grand-Chdtelet, possessed a part or the
whole of the relic bearing its name, and which
belonged to the monastery of St. ■Croix-de-Leu-
froi, in the diocess of Evreux. The church St.
Magloire, Rue St. Denis, at first a simple bratory
dedicated to St. George, and placed in a ceme¬
tery, was the property of the- monks of St. Bar¬
tholomew, in the city. These monks, finding
their church too small for them, transported their
precious relics into the oratory of St. George, and
there constructed a monastery, which afterwards
became so considerable, that it received the title
of an abbey. The chapel JSfotre-Danie-des-jBois,
endowed by Louis the Stammerer, and enriched
by the relics of St. Opportunus, was reconstructed
24 PiVRIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
upon a more extensive plan, and received the
title of collegiate."*
At the'close of this second or Carlovingian dy¬
nasty, Paris possessed a palace of justice, begun
by Charlemagne. The gradual enlargement of
the city caused it to be divided, for municipal
purposes, into four parts, called quarticrs—a name
still retained-4n the subdivisions of the metro¬
polis. Louis the Fat rebuilt the Louvre, then a
castle, first commenced by King Dagobert.
A specimen has been already given of. the su¬
perstitions of the early inhabitants. of Paris.
Among other doctrines which exercised consider¬
able sway over the popular belief was that-of pur¬
gatory, always a favorite one of the Church of
Pome, since it drew pnoney in abundance into
her coffers. • Large sums were expended by be¬
reaved families to procure the prayers of the
priests. Indeed, so great was the number of
similar applications, that it was found impossible
to perform tlje purchased number of masses. This
was indeed no real loss to the deluded buyers, as
we know that intercession cannot avail for the
dead ; but the fraud of taking money for services
which it was impossible to perform, became in
the end atrocious. The general councils pro¬
tested against the robbery, but were unable to
secure its discontinuance. The traffic became at
length most disgraceful. The masses for which
payment had been .made were often farmed out
to other churches, to be performed for a greatly
~x" Dulaure's History ef Paris, p. C I.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
25
diminished- sum, and - the wliole procedure
amounted to an extensive scheme of spiritual
overreaching. What Church has ever equalled
that of Rome in making merchandise of souls?
At this period, the • social condition of Paris
was most calamitous. Out of twenty-three years,
fourteen were those of grievous famine. At some
seasons, the extremity of distress drove the mul¬
titudes to eat human flesh for subsistence. When
to the horrors of famine the historian adds those
of frequents massacres; pestilence, and conflagra¬
tion, the picture" presented is .one of fearful
gloom.
In the ^ear'987, a new dynasty opened upon
France in the person of Hugh,Capet, of whom
we have already made mention as an ally of Lo-
thaire. ■ On the death of Louis V., he was elected
king by his fellow-nobles, passing over the next
■ heir of a line which had' grown effete and in¬
capable. By the' elevation of Hugh Capet, France
became subject to a confederation of magnates,
among whom the feudal lord was the ruling
prince. It was, therefore, a reign of aristocracy.
In subsequent times, Hugh Capet, who is said
never to have put the crown upon his head,* was
considered as having held. the throne by a kind
of divine fight—a sentiment'which,his successors
were not slow in putting forth as the foundation
of their royal authority.
During the' Capetian dynasty, Paris became
greatly extended; and was acknowledged, which
* Sismondi's " France and the Feudal System."
26 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
it never had been till then, as the capital of the
kingdom. It derived the most important cele¬
brity from its schools, which were centres of in¬
telligence, not only to the surrounding kingdom,
but to a large part of Europe, whose inhabitants
came from all parts to sit at the feet of its theo¬
logians and professors. Among the most distin¬
guished of these were Peter Lombard and Abe-
lard. The latter was a man of great abilities,
celebrated for his eloquence and dialectics. Hav¬
ing first established a school at Mqlun, he re¬
moved thence to Corbeil, and afterwards to Paris.
No professor had ever obtained so much distinc¬
tion : Abelard being regarded as the otfly man of
his day .who was able to comprehend and teach
the fashionable doctrines of Aristotle. But his
moral worth was by no means equal to his fame;
and, celebrated though he became, his end was
degradation and disgrace. Such is the almost
invariable rule when high taleiits are allied to
defective principle.
The university appliances of that day were,
however, far from abundant. Abelard, like other
professors of his time, frequently delivered his
lectures in the open air, whilst his pupils sat on
straw around him. . The usual studies of the
period were grammar, rhetoric, arithmetic, geo¬
metry, astronomy, and music. To accommodate
the increased number of students who now flocked
to Paris, a new quarticr was established on the
left bank of the Seine, mainly devoted to their
accommodation, and called' Le pays Latin—the
Latin country; or the Sorbonne, from Robert
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 27
Sorbon, whose schools were situated in that dis¬
trict. Yet, though the accommodation^ was far
from ample, the march of the luxury and tempta¬
tion which ruin so many souls had already begun.
" 0 seducing and corrupting city I" says an au¬
thor of the time, "what snares hast thou for
youth, and what sins thou leadest them to com¬
mit I" Philip I. (A. D. 1060) established a pro-
vostship to watch oyer the municipal regulations
of Paris. Under Louis VI., commonly called
Le Gros—the Pat—(A. D. 1108) nnpiy new
churches started up; and the same monarch built,
at the termination of the existing bridges, two
fortresses, called Le Grand and Le Petit GhCite-
let; and a wall, which the French call an enceinte,
was now made to surround Paris for the first time.
Louis VII. (surnamed Le Jeune—the Young—
A. D. 1137) founded the first organized college
in the metropolis; and in this reign was built the
Temple, as a residence for the Knights Templars.
This gloomy and elevated structure became after¬
wards memorable for events to be related in the
course of this volume.
We now arrive at the age of Philippe Auguste,
(A. I). 1180,) called at his birth, with the flat¬
tery which seems to belong to the ancien- regime,
le Dieu-donni—the gift of God; and possessed
of a character which, but that it had a counter¬
part in the person of Jqhn of England, would
have appeared to be almost the crown of infamy.
Though his reign was distinguished by the war¬
like excitement of the Crusades, and by serious
differences with the pope, the city of Paris owes
28 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
. to it great increase of dimensions, and some ot its
most important embellishments. Philip erected
two hospitals, three colleges, and seven churches;
increased the Louvre, and fortified it by a bower
on the banks of the Seine. In his reign the two
principal streets of Paris were paved with stone,
some traces of which have been occasionally dis¬
covered, though at a depth of between seven and
eight feet below the existing surface. At this
time, also, the city was considerably extended,
and fortified by walls" and towers : whilst a great
chain, drawn across the Seine, prevented any hos¬
tile approach by means of the river. In the
course of this reign the Bishop of Paris, Maurice
de Sully, commenced, upon the site of ah older
fabric, the erection of the great cathedral church
of Notre Dame, which it took two centuries to
complete.
Many of the portes, or gates, (their names still
survive in more modern structures,) owe their
origin to this age. Among-these are Porte St.
Denis, Porte St. Martin, La Tour de Tournelle,
La Tour de Nesle, Porte St. Honor£, etc.
Among the burial-places of Paris was one en¬
titled Le Oimetiere dcs Innocents, which, during
this reign, was enclosed within walls. At a sub¬
sequent period it became surrounded by long gal¬
leries, called Charn iers, (charnel-houses,) in which
the more wealthy portion of the community was
interred. These galleries, which were paved and
surrounded by tombs and monumental inscrip¬
tions, were also occupied by narrow apartments in
which various shopkeepers sold their wares; and
PARIS; ANCIENT AND MODERN. 29
became, in the course of time, a favorite resort
of the idle and dissipated. Death, instead of be¬
ing an object of solemn contemplation, as it well
may be to all who rightly regard it, was at that
time a subject of bitter mockery and frolic to the
Parisians; and on the walls of this charnel-house
was placed a painting of the Dance of Death,
where "the king of terrors" was portrayed under
the form of a skeleton, (as in the well-known
picture of Holbein,) intruding into the most un¬
suspecting companies, and leading off his victims.
But this did not suffice: a stage was moreover
erected, on which a tragi-eomedy of a similar kind
was regularly performed, and. drew.gre^t crowds.
Incredible as it may seem, this exhibition con¬
tinued during six centuries, in the course of which
thirty generations passed away to the great reali¬
ties they had ridiculed. At. length, when the
catacombs of Paris were opened, in 1785, the
bones of the dead were removed from the Cime-
tiere des Innocents, to furnish the subterranean
abysses; and the awful game of the "Dance of
Death" was at an end.
Among the inscriptions placed in the galleries
above mentioned, one was the following : " Here
lies Yollande-BaUy, who died in the year 1511,
in the eighty-eighth year of' her age, and the
forty-second of her widowhood; during which
time were seen, or might have been seen, before
she died, two hundred and ninety-three children,
her descendants."
The reigti of Philippe Auguste witnessed the
first construction, in Paris, of public fountains :
30 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
to supply which two great aqueducts were built,
conveying water from the heights above the city.
The next reign but one, that of Louis IX.,
called the Saint, (A. D. 1248,) witnessed a great
increase of public edifices, prompted by charity,
or dictated by superstitious devotion. A modern
writer thus speaks of the transformations which
time has effected in these buildings :
" We are so ready to beat into dust the chefs
d'ce-uvre of the arts, that the greater part exist
no longer. The convent of Augustines, which
served during six centuries for the assemblies
of the clergy, of the parliament, and of the order
of the Holy G-host, is now—a fowl-market. The
convent of Ave-Marias—a barrack. The convent
of Jacobins, in the Rue St. Jacques, is—a prison.
The convent of Cordeliers is—the hall of dissec¬
tion for the Schoohof Medicine. The hospital of
Filles-Dieu is—a passage. The college of Cluqy
has been—first, the workshop of a painter; then,
a paper magazine; then, nothing. The convent
of the Chartreuse, adorned by so many treasures,
where Le Sueur painted his chefs d'ocunr—the
avenue of the Luxembourg. The Sorbonne—
that temple of theology, whence went forth the
decisions so terrible to popes and kings, and where
Richelieu wished to be interred, is—the manufac¬
tory for bachelors of arts, the chief university
scene of the Academy of Paris. Happily, of all
the creations, the loss of which is so much to be
regretted, there remains oiie, which the hand of
desolation has not yet attacked: 'it Is the chief
work of Eudcs de Montrcuril, which was extern-
PARIS*. ANCIENT AND MODERN. 31
porized in eight years, and by the side of which
our own age will perhaps put Notre Dame de
Lorette: it is La Sainte Chap die—that jewel of
architecture, so pure, so rich, so graceful. May
it remain .always unnoticed by archaeologists and
restorers, like the dwelling of Queen Blanche, of
which the precious ruins continue on- the hanks
of the Bibvre,* near to the Gobelins."f
During the reign' of St. Louis no fewer than
twelve monasteries were founded within the walls
of Paris. Many schools-were constituted hy the
successors of Louis IX. Philip IV. established
the college of Navarre) now the Polytechnic
School.
It may interest the reader to mark the occur¬
rence of the first outbreak of sedition, in a city
which has been since remarkable for so many of
them. It took place in the reign of Philippe le
Bel, (A. D. 1293,) and was occasioned by the
tyranny of that monarch—a tyranny of which his
suppression of the Templars (part of whose wealth
went to-the erection of Notre Dame) was only a
specimen. In a popular tumult the king was
driven from his palace, and compellbd to retreat,
surrounded *by his body-guard, • from street to
street, till he was at length forced to take refuge
in the Temple, from which its inmates had been
driven away. After having been for some time
besieged in that fortress, he proved victorious
over his populace. By way of reprisal, he then
* A stream running through,part of the city,
-j- Histoire de Pains, par M. Lavall6e: 1845.
32 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
caused a considerable number of the citizens to
be banged at the principal gates of tbe citj.
It .was during tbis reign (A. X). 1802) that tbe
states-general; (a convocation which must not be
confounded with tbe parliament,) composed of
clergy, nobles, and representative deputies, were
first convened. Their occasional sittings con¬
tinued till A. D. 1789.
After-this period Paris remained generally quiet
and free from insurrections; till tbe untoward
issues, to France, of tbe battles of Cre§y and
Poitiers, ending with tbe imprisonment of Jobn,
the French king, stimulated tbe citizens to
attempt a revolution. At tbis 'time Paris was
put into a position of defence, not only against
external foes, but against those who endeavored
to seduce its own. citizens into tbe approbation of.
tyranny at home. At tbe entrance of each street
was placed a large iron chain, which was drawn
across at the approach of night; and when an
enemy appeared, the spot was additionally de¬
fended by beams, large stones, casks, etc. These
preparations ushered in a long dynasty of barri¬
cades, which have 'continued even till the present
day. New walls of fortification alsa were at this
time added to the exterior defences of the city.
These proceedings were adopted under the super¬
intendence of Stephen Martel, then provost of
the shopkeepers of Paris, a man of heroic and
determined character, whose aim was to displace
the existing dynasty, and to set upon the throne
Charles, king of Navarre,, called by his royalist
enemies, "Le Mauvais." The kingdom was at
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. ' 83
this time ruled" by the dauphin, afterwards Charles
V., who, with his nobles, was compelled, however
reluctantly, to give way before the-insurrectionary
storm. The ensign of the revolutionary party
was a hood of two colors, blue and red, these
being the heraldic designations of the c-ity.
In the course of this ementtwo favorites-of
the dauphin were put to death by a mob led on
by Martel, which had attacked the royal palace.
Their bodies were thrown down into the court, to
the delight of the tumultuary throng. Terrified
by this outrage, the danphin fell at the feet of
Martel, and begged his own life. Martel gave to"
him his hood; then drawing him to the window,
and exhibiting him to the populace, he required
the monarch in the name of the people to declare
• his approbation of the death of the "traitors."
This incident was imitated in the Tuileries under
Louis XVI. The dauphin contrived to escape
from the city; to which he soon returned with an
army, and made himself master of his capital.
In the issue, Martel, who had become an object
of suspicion to his fellow-citizens, was assassinated,
and peace was restored by "the triumph of the
royalists. To curb the rebels, additional fortifica¬
tions were made, and the old Hostile St. Antoine
erected." With what scenes of tyranny, on the
'one hand, and suffering on the other, did that
well-known nam.e become afterwards associated!
Charles V., who, after these tumults, became dis¬
gusted tvith. the population of Paris, built on the
outside of the city a large and handsome palace
2
84 • PARIS ANCIENT. AND MODERN.
called 1'Hotel de St. Paul. It closely adjoined
the Bastile.
Paris had now tasted blood—the blood of in¬
surrectionary violence. Prom that time to the
present it has never ceased, at varying intervals,
to recur to the horrible repast.
At the beginning of the reign of Charles VI.,
(A.D. 1380,) another fit of revolutionary madness
seized on the turbulent Parisians. In all ages of
their history, indeed, blood seems to have been in
their eyes, like- silver in the days of Solomon, a
thing "little accounted of;" and their indifference
to death, though partly attributable to the natural
courage with which they are largely endowed, is
much more referable to the imperfect estimate
they form of man's immortality and responsibility;
in a word, to the absence of the religious element
as a formative principle of their national charac¬
ter. On the 8th of October, 1380, a mob of
Parisians of the lowest class united themselves
with the municipality of the city, and demanded
a remission of certain offensive taxes. They broke
into the Hotel de Yille, (the erection of which
began in 1349,) seized a quantity of leaden mal¬
lets deposited there, broke open the prisons, and
attacked the palaces. For a moment the imposts
were remitted; but when the danger seerfied past,
they were renewed as before. The period was'
one of the most complicated disaster. The in¬
sanity of the monarch—the differences existing
among the nobles—the factions of the Burgun-
dians and Armagnacs, which ended in a general
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 35
massacre — the assassination of the Duke of
Orleans—the ravages of famine and pestilence,
which reduced the population to half its number
—and, in the midst of all, the advance of the
•English, and the results of the battle of Agin-
court, are items in this sad miscellany of calamity.
In 1121, the English held possession of the capi¬
tal of France. They maintained it till 1436,
during which time all public acts were performed
in the name of Henry (England's Henry Y.) as
king of France and Englahd; whilst English sol¬
diers garrisoned the Bastile and the Louvre. A
sufficient proof of the disorganized and unguarded
state of the metropolis may be found in the fact,
that in the year 1437 a number of wolves entered
the city by the river, and destroyed many of the
inhabitants.. Houses were also pulled down,
merely for the sake of the wood vjvith which they
were constructed. Yet some churches and col¬
leges arose during even this disturbed period.
In the next reign, that of Charles VII., (1422,)
the heroism of Jeanne d'Arc brought back, for
a brief moment, the fortunes of France. The
desertion of the Duke of Burgundy from the
English side turned the scale with more effect.
Paris was almost the first of the French cities to
release itself from the hated foreign yoke. In
1437, after having been banished from it for
seventeen years, the king again entered the city;
but so" ruined and desolate was the aspect of his
metropolis, that tears filled his eyes as he sur¬
veyed it, and he soon forsook it entirely. For a
considerable period afterwards, the French mon-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
archs oeased to live in the eapital, and settled
themselves in more peaceful residences on the
banks of. the Loire. Paris, however, speedily
rallied after these disasters; and in the course of
the next reign, that of Louis XI., (1461,) became
again prosperous, having then 150,000 inhabit¬
ants. Comines describes it at this period as a
city surrounded by the most pleasant and well-
planted suburbs which I ever saw; and it is in¬
credible the quantity of merchandise that is
brought into it." Louis XI. flattered the citizens,
held frequent conferences with them, and often
adopted their apparel. Though in most of his
transactions a deceitful and cold-blooded tyrant,
his influence was always exerted, favorably for the
prosperity of the city.
Charles VIII. and Louis XII. did little for
Paris. Yet during these reigns several public
buildings arose for its convenience and adorn¬
ment. Among these may be specified the Pont
Notre Dame : VHotel de Tremouille : VHotel de
VilIeT at this time, completed: the old Louvre,
which was intended to supply the loss of a palace
originally built by Philippe Auguste, but since
destroyed; and La Fontaine des Innocents. In
the year 1470, Paris set up its first printing-press
in the Sorbonne.. The same period witnessed the
establishment of the Post-office, though for some
time it was employed only in the service of the
government.
In the reign of Louis XII., (1498,) some ad¬
vances were made towards improving the pave¬
ments of Paris. By pavement, however, must be
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 37
understood, not modern flat stones, but round
ones, by which tbe .streets were covered, with, a
channel running down the .middle. In former
times the inhabitants, had left their pigs to wallow
in the public ways; but after the death of the
eldest son of Louis■ le Gros, who had been killed
in consequence of one of these pigs getting under
his horses' feet, such a practice had been inter¬
dicted to the public, though it was still allowed
to the monks of St. Antoine, upon condition that
the number of pigs did not exceed twelve, and
that the unclean animals wore bells. * The laxity
with which this rule was observed rendered the
streets still a nuisance, and as the number of the
police was small and ineffective, the public
thoroughfares were scenes of continual plunder.
As appropriate to the close of this chapter, we
may represent the general' appearance presented
by Paris in the fifteenth century. From the
germ which had vegetated in the bosom of the
river Seine, the capital had now grown abundantly,
till its walls comprehended a city occupying
nearly two-thirds of its present area. At this
time it might be regarded as existing in three
divisions. 1. The city proper, (La Cit6,) the
most ancient part of the metropolis, filling up the
island in the midst of the river, and appropriately
compared to a vessel with its bow towards the
west, and its stern towards the east, moored to
the mainland by five cables, (its bridges.)" This
part of Paris contained the old streets and original
buildings of the ancient metropolis, La Sainte
Ghapelle, VHotel Lieu, the cloisters of Notre
38 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Dame, St. Denis-du-Pas,- etc. 2. The Univer¬
sity, (lepays Latin,') extending along the southern
bank of the river, with its forty-two colleges and
its striking hotels, as, for instance, those of Nevers,
of Cluny, of Borne, and of Bheiins. At this time
a Eoman building, entitled the Baths of Julian,
was to he seen in this vicinity. On this side
also were the abbey of the Bernardins: Ste.
Genevieve, (not. the modern building,) erected
on an eminence: the Sorbonne, something be¬
tween a monastery and a college : the abbeys of
the Maturins, of St. Benedict, of the Cordeliers
and the Augustins. Many churches of imposing-
appearance also occupied this district, among
which that of St. Severin was conspicuous. There
is perhaps no part of Paris which the antiquarian
takes greater delight in visiting than this left
bank of the river. 3. The ornamental city, (la
Ville',) which nearly filled up the area encompassed'
by the present Boulevards. Among the buildings
conspicuous here were the hotels of Joiuj, Scus,^
Borbcau, and La Reine: the abbey of the Ce-'
lestins: the Hotel de St. Pol, (in which the king
of France could entertain twenty-two princes:)
the Louvre : with a variety of palaces too numer¬
ous to mention, as also suburban residences of
every variety.
Amidst this collective mass of houses and pub¬
lic edifices the river flowed from east to west in
almost a straight line, except where the knot of
islands adjoining la Cite interrupted for a moment
its course. The defences on the side of the river
were four, called the four towers of Paris. On
PARIS : ANCIENT A^jTD MODERN.
30
the east, tlie tower of Billy, (destroyed by light¬
ning in 153G,) on one side of the river, and la
Tournelle on the other; and on the west, the
Tour de Bo is on the north bank, answering to
the tower of Nesle on the south.
The principal streets of the metropolis may be
briefly described. From north to south, right
across the Seine, and through the island called la
Cite, ran two parallel line's of streets, called by
different names in various parts of their almost
straight course, but which will be rendered suf¬
ficiently distinct to the reader by the designations
belonging to a portion of them—the Rue St. Denis,
and the Rue St. 'Martin. At right angles to
these were other principal lines of street, one on
the north bank of the river, and one on the south,
which in 'a similar manner may be recognized by
the names of Rue St. Honor6 and Rue St. Ger¬
main. These lines of street still characterize
modern Paris as distinctly as they did the Paris
of the fifteenth century. In its vicinity were the
abbey of St. Antoine : the church-studded heights
of Montmartre : the faubourg St. Honore : Mont-
faucon, etc.
A collection of verses, entitled "The Cries of
Paris," written by an author of the middle ages,*
presents a lively picture of the metropolis about
this time.
" Each day, from morning till evening, the
criers traversed the .'city of Paris, and ceased not
to bawl. In the early morning was heard the cry
— ■ '
* William of Ville-Neuve.
40 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
of those who invited the Parisians to the hath;
they called out that the baths were hot, and that
they must make haste. If any person had died
during the night, a man, clothed in black, with
a little bell in his hand, made the streets resound
with his mournful cries, aud said, ' Pray for the
departed/ Sometimes the cry was, {Le ban du
roi / which was an order given to the Parisians
to prepare .to march to war. The criers of eatables,
fowls, pulse, fruits, were the most numerous.
Among salt-water fishes figured the fresh herring,
the salt herring, the eel, the whiting, fresh or salted,
and a sea-bird called the alete. . . . They
cried also fowls, especially goslings and pigeons.
They offered, moreover, fresh and salt meat, eggs,
and honey. Pulse consisted of garlic, and a sauce
of garlic called aillie, a puree of peas hot, fricas¬
seed peas, cress, hot beans, and beans measured
out with a porringer: onions, chervil, purslain,
beet, leeks, turnips, anise, eschalots of Etampes.
The fruits cried in the streets of Paris were not
those in favor at the present day. . . . Our
ancestors were not epicures. The dearest drinks
consisted of wines, sold at thirty-two deniers
(about three sous) per pint, or rather per quart,
and the cheapest at six deniers-. They cried also'
vinegar and mustard-vinegar, verjuice and nut-
oil. Tarts and confectionery were also cried in
the streets: hot pies, cakes, galcttcs, echauden,
custards, wafers, bean-cakes, tarts, and siminaux,
a kind of confectionery. Work-people also offered,
with cries, their help for repairing-torn garments,
such as petticoats, capes, surcoats, mantles, pelisses:
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 41
some bought old garments and old shoes, or re¬
paired them : others cried ' hats.' Some offered
to repair tubs, bowls, or to polish tin pots: some
sold trellis-work of brass' wire, wicks of candles,
rush wicks for lamps, old iron, fresh rushes, (for
carpeting floors,) soap from abroad. . . . The
price of many objects offered for sale was a morsel
of bread. Millers were heard inquiring if there
were any corn to grind. Scholars, monks, nuns,
prisoners, and blind persons,, were heard in
every quarter: their cry is observable—'Alms,
alms I' "*
To complete the picture of Paris in the fifteenth
century, a few other miscellaneous particulars
may be added.
The relative valtte of various articles is curious.
In the fourteenth century, twelve bushels of
wheat were purchasable for fifteen sous. A shirt
eost nearly the same sum. A hogshead of wine
(sold at six livres) was not worth half the price
of a horse. A fat pig was worth twice as much
as a calf, and six times as much as a sheep. No
trade was, at the same period, more important
than that of the armorer. Under this general
name was included a knowledge of smithery, cut¬
lery, and the trades of carver, gilder, and gold¬
smith. As wooden dishes and spoons were in
great request, the turner's trade was also con¬
spicuous. Butchers were forbidden to buy pigs
of barbel's and oil-merchants, or to sell meat on
the evenings of fast-days. Bakers sold bread by
* Dulaure, Hist, de Paris^ p. 224.
42 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
the ell, (as in Cambridgeshire they sell butter by
the yard.) Remnants of this usage, indeed, are
observable in France in the present day. Candles
being much used in Romish devotion, as' they
still are, the office of the candle-maker was lucra¬
tive, and at dusk the streets resounded with the
cry of "Chanclelle, chandelier' Furriers were
also in much request, as furs were extensively
worn, varying in value according to the rank of
the wearer. Grloves were enormously expensive,
and were only used by the gentry. If a tailor
produced a garment which did not fit his customer,
he was liable to beypufiished by the forfeiture of
the value of the cloth. Restaurants—called
oycrs, from oie, a goose, because they traded prin¬
cipally in that bird cooked—were forbidden by
law to roast old geese, or to warm up, ■rechavjfer,
cold meat twice. Books were held in great value,
and were often richly illuminated and adorned
with precious stones: those who were employed
in preparing them were released from the duty
of serving on the ciyic guard.
Illustrations of the penal laws of France about
the same period are scarcely less interesting.
The penalties are often very equivocally adjusted.
To throw a stone maliciously, and to miss, involved
a penalty of six deniers : to hit, involved more—
three sous : to spit in the face was five sous to
shed blood, one livre: to continue the quarrel
when the provost had interposed, ten livres;
while the highest penalty was levied on the crime
of throwing water from the window upon a town-
councillor. If a man used an insulting expression
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 43
to a woman, the fine was five sons: if the case
were the reverse, the woman was compelled on
the next Sunday to march in public, bearing a
fifty pounds' weight. Swearing was severely
punished, sometimes by ducking, sometimes by
imprisonment, and sometimes by slitting the
offending lip; or, if the offence was repeated a
certain number of times, by cutting the tongue
out of the mouth altogether.
Among the superstitious practices of the period,
magic held a prominent place. It was really cul¬
tivated by many—falsely attributed to many more.
A remarkable custom appears, about this time, to
have been very prevalent in Paris, though by no
means confined to that city, or even to Prance.
When one person wished to injure another whom
he could not easily approach — as, for instance,
when an inferior bore hatred to some tyrannical
superior, he made, in earth or wax, an object as
closely resembling as possible the object of his
hatred. lie next procured a priest who should
administer baptism to this effigy, according to the
forms of the Church, adding also the chrism. This
done, certain magical rites were performed over
the figure, after which it was regarded as a per¬
fect representation of the intended individual;
and it was believed that the fortunes of the. real
man would Correspond with those of his effigy.
The figure was then, wounded, mutilated, and re¬
presentatively tortured in every possible manner,
in the hope that .the injuries suffered by it would
be transferred to the represented person. Great
need was there that the devotees of those days
44 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
should learn tlie gospel doctrine of forgiving ene¬
mies. Yet it is almost forgotten in far more in¬
telligent days.
There is one magnificent building of Paris,
which, from the uncertainty that belongs tt> the
period of its history, has only yet received a pass¬
ing notice, but which We must mention with
greater emphasis before we conclude this chapter.
It is the cathedral church of Notre Dame, situated
in the midst of the island called la Cite. Its
origin is lost in antiquity; but though its com¬
mencement is uncertain^ it -is known that the
building was not completed till the fourteenth
century. Though this celebrated structure must
yield the palm to other ecclesiastical buildings, it
is, and not without reason, the boast of Parisians.
Some of its most distinguished features have,
however, now disappeared. Its entrance was
once reached by a flight of eleven steps, rising
above the ground. The accumulated deposit of
centuries has long since buried this staircase; and
in 1748, the soil, instead of being below the en¬
trance, was fourteen steps above it: it was then
lowered as it is at present. Originally a series of
statues ornamented the. niches of the three prin¬
cipal entrances, and twenty-eight statues of the
principal kings of France, from Childebert to
Philippe Auguste, decorated the first story of the
front. These were imitated on canvas at the time
of the marriage of Louis Napoleon. The interior
was also crowded with figures, among which was
a colossal one of St. Christopher: the high altar,
which was once covered with reliquaries, has been
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN.
45
long replaced by a modern structure. Tbe changes
wbicb the building has everywhere undergone
have largely detracted from its original beauty.
Yet still it stands, a hoary specimen of the archi¬
tectural taste of past ages; and -though, owing to
the transformations it has suffered, the effect of
the interior considerably disappoints the expecta¬
tions excited by its venerable and imposing western
fagade, it is easy to conceive how grand must have
been the original structure.
Some singular and remarkable customs signalize
the history of this edifice. On the day of Pen¬
tecost, for instance, a practice prevailed, not con¬
fined to this cathedral,. of letting loose, during
"the performance of service, pigeons and other
birds, and of throwing about flowers and lighted
tow over the heads of the worshippers. These
things were profanely meant as emblems of the
favor or anger of God, and signified the various
operations of the Holy Spirit. On the day of
Itogation, the clergy bore about the figure of a
gre^t dragon, made of osier-work, into the enor¬
mous jaws of which the people threw fruits and
confectionery. The dragon was believed to be
representative of' that from which St. Marcel de¬
livered Paris. Two other feasts, celebrated within
the same cathedral, were of a disgraceful charac¬
ter. The feast of sub-deacons, which was named
in derision the feast of drunken deacons, was
held on the 2Gth of December, (St. Stephen's
day.) A " Bishop of Pools," corresponding with
the "Abbot of Unreason" in Scotland, was elected
from among the deacons and sub-deacons, and
4G PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
the ceremony consisted in investing him with the
paraphernalia of the real dignitary, whilst the
remaining proceedings were the most absolute
mockery of things then regarded as sacred. The
pretended bishop uttered a formulary of blessing,
which was nothing less than a malediction. The
" Feast of Fools" followed, and was held at the
commencement of the new year, during several
successive days. The "Bishop of Fools" was
led by the clergy, amidst the loud - and disso¬
nant sound of bells, etc., to the choir of the
church, and seated upon the episcopal throne.
High mass was then performed, the clergy being
dressed in every kind of ridiculous costume : some
as harlequins—some as women—some bearing the
most hideous and absurd masks. This festival
also, like the other one, consisted in making
mockery, for the time being, of all sacred things.
Some danced : others played at dice : some ate and
some drank in the choir itself, and presented their
repasts to the priest while in the act of officiat¬
ing : others offered incense in old shoes. All
kinds of outrage, obscenity, and abandoned vice
followed this disgraceful ceremony. The practice
was derived from the orgies of heathenism—from
which Borne has borrowed so many religious prac¬
tices. Let those who are in danger of falling in
love with the devotion of a mediaeval age never
forget to inquire what was its true and practical
character. " It was not," says Eudes de Sully,
referring to this subject, " the laymen alone who
figured in them, but, what is horrible to relate,
these scandalous scenes, these turpitudes, were
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 47
committed by ecclesiastics in tbe cburcli itself, at
tbe foot of the altars, whilst the mass was being
celebrated and the praises of Grod being sung."
These practices were not entirely abolished, not¬
withstanding the prohibitions of numerous coun¬
cils, till the fifteenth century.
Some notion of the Parisian morality at this
period may be learned from portions of extant
sermons preached at this day in the churches of
the metropolis. " I ask of you," says one popular
preacher, addressing a city auditory, " have you
not the character of the devil ? This character
is one of fraud, which is called' in French harat—■
deception. Wine-merchants !. do you not sell
wines of your own growth for those of Orleans or
Anjou ? Linen-drapers I do you not sell for Rouen
cloth that which is made at Beauvais? You sell
damp cloth for dry cloth : the. buyer thinks he has
two yards, and he gets but one. And you, my
lady shopkeepers, buy at long measure and sell at
short; and when you weigh your goods, you press
your fingers upon the basin of the scales to make
it descend. Gentlemen money-changers! is it
not you who clip the crowns ?" In this fashion
the preacher characterizes'all classes and profes¬
sions. Another divine speaks of the Parisians as
addicted to games of chance, to cards and dice;
as extremely given to profane swearing; and
paints the morals of the university and its envi¬
rons in very dark colors indeed. These reproaches,
and many others, are frequently repeated. Nor
arc the Roman Catholic clergy of the day spared.
48 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
They are accused of simony: of holding plural¬
ities : of ignorance: of luxury: of licentiousness
They are declared to receive money for masses
which they do not perform: to traffic in the sa¬
craments of the Church, and to spend its money
in falconry, hunting, and debauchery. These
accusations are too coincident with the circum¬
stances of the age to be regarded as merely empty
censure. Corresponding charges are brought by
the same preachers aga,inst monasteries and nun¬
neries.
Up to the year 14-58, the studies of the Uni¬
versity of Paris embraced chiefly subjects which
have long since ceased to linger in the memories
of even the least educated. Greek was not taught
in it, indeed, until the year 1548. That water is
the parent of all precious stones : that the blood
of the he-goat can dissolve the diamond: that
planets preside over metals: that the scorpion
devours all her offspring save one, which in turn
devours its parent: that the basilisk kills by a
single look—these, and various other absurdities,
represent the general character of its scientific
teaching. Not less remarkable were the univer¬
sity privileges. A scholar was a noble, and might,
therefore, wear a sword. If, on -his journey, he
found the houses of public entertainment were
full, he might compel room for himself to be
made, by commanding some one to yield him his
place. He was subjec^o no tax, and could force
nuisances to be removed from the vicinity of his
studies. If he were a creditor, he had the first
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 19
. J
chance of payment. None conld seize his hooks,
or arrest him within the college; nor could his
father he proceeded against if he were visiting
his son : nay, even though the student were con¬
demned to die, he could plead exemption if he
was in repute as a scholar
50 paris : ancient and modern.
CHAPTER II.
paris till the death oe henri quatre.
The eventful reign of Francis I. (A.'D. 1515,)
who was distinguished for his love of the fine arts,
and for every kind of parade and display, tended
greatly to the improvement of his capital. The
dignity of his throne and the pomp of his court
were, in the eyes of this monarch, objects of the
highest importance. On his return from his cap¬
tivity at Madrid, when the transport of his joy
burst forth in the phrase, "I am a king once
more !" he set himself to embellish Paris. The
reconstruction of the abbey St. Victor, the in¬
stitution of the Royal College of France, the
rebuilding of the Hotel de Ville in the form in
which it now presents itself to the eye, with many
churches and hospitals, mark this period. Ex¬
tensive additions were also made to the Louvre.
During- the imprisonment of this monarch, the
fortifications of Paris were considerably strength¬
ened, and the Faubourg St. Germain restored.
But the morals of the court were infamous; and
the contagion of its evil example not only spread
among the nobles, but reached all classes of the
inhabitants. Every rank, whether plebeian or noble,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 51
had its familiar oath : dissoluteness reigned tri¬
umphant.
But the reign of Francis I. i$ rendered deeply
memorable by the progress of the Reformation in
France, and especially by the part which Paris
took in that religious struggle. About the time
of the celebrated Diet of Worms, which' formed
so conspicuous an incident in the life of Luther,
(1521,) the doctrines of the "reformed religion
made their first appearance at Meaux, and were
taught by William Farel and James Lefevre.
They speedily excited the attention of the Sor-
bonne, which had been invited by Luther to
examine one of his treatises—" The Captivity of
Babylon." In reply, .the academicians had de¬
clared the doctrines of Luther insolent and blas¬
phemous : had compared the author to Mohammed,
and demanded that he should be compelled to
retract his arch-heresies. Such an assembly,
therefore, was prepared to listen with the utmost-
sympathy to the complaints preferred by the
clergy of Meaux, and contrived to gain the par¬
liament of Paris on .their side, though that body
was usually averse to listen to the demands of
ecclesiastics. Francis was at this time in capti¬
vity ; the regent of the kingdom during his ab¬
sence being Louisa of Savoy, the cpxeen-mother.
It was determined, with the concurrence of the
court, the university, the parliament, and the
Pope, to proceed against Protestantism with the
utmost rigor. Among other victims to this fiery
zeal was Louis de Brequin, a nobleman of unspot¬
ted reputation—a rare thing in those days. He
52
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
had been compelled, by the perusal of the word
of God, to renounce his former opinions. Before
the imprisonment of Francis, he had been twice
denounced to the parliament. But a deference
to the supposed royal wishes in the first instance,
and the king's express interposition in the second,
had secured his release. A third time he was
accused. Francis was then in Lisbon. The sister
of the king, Marguerite of Yalois, though favor¬
able to the Reformation, had no power to befriend
him, and the regent had no desire to* interpose.
The tidings reached the monarch in Spain, and
he ordered all proceedings to cease till he should
return to his own dominions.
At this crisis, Erasmus—who, according to a
historian of the times, wished to rest neuter
between the gospel and popery, and to swim be¬
tween them"*—strongly advised Brecjuin to mo¬
derate his convictions, or at least to conceal them.
In vain ! " Bo you know what I have gained ?"
said Erasmus to a friend: " I have doubled his
courage." With a heroism worthy of. the cause
of truth and righteousness, Brequin showed that
the doctrines put forth by the Sorbonne were con¬
trary to God's word, and therefore heretical. The
agitation that ensued was.excessive; and the king
increased .it by ordering the Sorbonne either to
admit Brequin's censures, or to defend from the
Bible the doctrines which that body,set forth.
At this time, an image of the Virgin, situated
* QuotedSn De Felice's Histoirc des -Protectants do
France, second edit., Paris, 1851.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 53
in a public place in Paris, was niutilated by un¬
known hands. The Sorbonne availed themselves
of this occurrence to declare that a vast conspi¬
racy existed, having for its object the subversion
of religion and of the public peace; and that
such were the natural consequences of the doc¬
trine of Brequin. Brequin was therefore, in the
king's absence, ordered to be strangled and burned
on the Place de Gi-eve. This sentence took effect
on the 10th November, 1529. Brequin was
escorted by a guard of five hundred men to his
place of execution. ' "You would have said,"
wrote Erasmus, who witnessed his death, " that
he was pursuing his studies in his library, or that
he was engaged in sacred studies in some temple.
When the excutioner, with -a hoarse voice, read
his sentence to him, he did not change counte¬
nance. He descended, from the tumbril with a
firm step. This was not the stupidity of a har¬
dened criminal: it was the serenity, the peace of
a good conscience." The monks in attendance
drowned in. clamor the voice of Brequin, when
he wished to -speak to the people. Dr. Merlin,
the grand penitentiary, declared aloud, before
the assembled multitude, that a more Christian
death had not been witnessed for the last hundred
years
At one period of his reign, Francis appeared
favorable to the doctrines of the Reformation.
But this inclination was of brief continuance;
and after having m'ct the pope (Clement VII.)
at Marseilles, on the occasion of the marriage of
the French prince (afterwards Henry II.) with
A
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN-
Catherine de Medici, (the pontiff's niece,) he be¬
came thoroughly inflamed with zeal against the
propagators of the reformed doctrines. A year
afterwards, certain placards hostile to Romanism,
its clergy, and-its sacraments, having bgen posted
on the public thoroughfares of Paris, and even
attached to the gates of the castle of Blois, where
the king then was, the circumstance aroused the
anger and zeal of the monarch, who immediately
repaired to Paris to punish the offenders. The
mob of the city, instigated by the monks and
other ecclesiastics, believed in the existence of a
vast conspiracy against Eomanism, and raised the
cry, " Death to all heretics !" Orders were given
to seize all Lutherans. Bartholomew Milon, a
Lutheran and a paralytic, Lad his house invaded
by the lieutenant-general, who, approaching his
bed, commanded him to rise. "Alas, sir," was
the reply, " it requires a greater master than you
to make me obey." He was carried away, to be
imprisoned with a multitude of other reformers.
Blood flowed like water.
To strike terror into the minds of those who
dared to question the received doctrines of the •
Roman Catholic Church, a public procession was
ordered, in which nothing was omitted which
might give cdat to the Romanist faith, and operate
as a warning on those who should dare to oppose
it. The following account of this ceremonial is
taken from a chronicle of the period, by Simon
Fontaine, a doctor of the Sorbonne :—
" The roofs of the houses were covered with
men, small and great, and one would have thought
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 55
that the streets were paved with, human heads.
Never had so many relics been carried in proces¬
sion through Paris. , The reliquary of the Sainte
Ghupelle was brought out for the first time.
Priests carried the head of St. Louis, a piece of
the true cross, the real crown of thorns, a real
nail, and the true head of the lance which
had pierced the body of the Lord. The body
of Ste. Genevieve, the patroness of Paris, was
carried by the corporation of butchers, who had
prepared themselves for .this holy office by a fast
of several days}' and every one attempted to touch
this precious relic with the tip of the finger, or
his handkerchief, or his cap. Cardinals, arch-
. bishops, and bishops figured in their appropriate
places. Then came the Ling, bare-headed, with
a burning torch of wax in -his hand : behind him
marched the princes, chevaliers, counsellors of
parliament, companies of trades and societies.
Along the houses stood citizens with lighted
torches, kneeling as the host passed by them.
After mass, the king dined at the archbishop's
palace, with his son, the queen, and the princes
of the blood-royal. ' When the banquet was
ended, he called around him the clergy, the am¬
bassadors, the lords, the presidents, of the courts
of justice, all the notables; and being seated on
a throne, declared that he would not forgive the
crime of heresy even in his own children, and
that if he knew that one of the limbs of his body
were infected with it, he would amputate it with
his own hands."*
* De Felice's Protestants," p. 47.
55 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
On this day six Protestants were burned in
different parts of Paris. To enhance still more
their tortures, they were fastened to an instru¬
ment called estrapade, which, after they had for
some time suffered the torments of the flames,
lifted them into the air, again to lower them into
the fire. Francis himself witnessed some of these
executions. By a subsequent edict the king for¬
bade his subjects to give any aid to reformers,
under pain of being themselves burned alive.
The strong remonstrances, however, of the Pro¬
testants of Germany, who threatened to form an
alliance with Austria, compelled him in a subse¬
quent edict to promise an interval of six months
to persons suspected of heresy, that they might
have an opportunity of recanting. But this was
only a pretence. Margaret of Yalois retired to
Beam, drawing around her court those who had
escaped from persecution. This princess, the
grandmother of Henri Quatre, died in 1549.
It was from this persecution that the celebrated
Calvin fled to Switzerland, whence he addressed
his "Institutes" to Francis I. Many others also
who held the reformed faith left their native coun¬
try. In the year 15 GO, a great number of Pro¬
testants perished. The records of the Parisian
criminal law show that, in one day alone, the 2d
of October, fifty inhabitants of Meaux were con¬
signed to different punishments, and fourteen
were burned. Such were the fruits of the Inqui¬
sition, which Francis set up in Paris under the
name of La CJaonhre Ardeute.
"During thirty-seven years, from 1523 till 1560,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 57
the Protestants suffered, without resistance, the
most horrible persecutions which the sacerdotal
spirit could devise : many thousands of the French
were, in this interval, condemned to the punish¬
ment of the stake. In the end, the Protestants
were not burned alive, but were loaded with in¬
sults and with offensive treatment: the populace,
excited by the preachers, pillaged them, burned
their houses, and frequently massacred their in¬
habitants/'*
One great instigator of all these proceedings
was Claude, Duke of Guise, second son of the
Duke of Lorraine, a great favorite of Francis.
Yet, notwithstanding all terrors, the Protestant
religion made a rapid advance in France, where
the best educated men favored it, through dis¬
gust at the errors and enormities of the ecclesias¬
tical body. The general intelligence of the re¬
formers presented a remarkable contrast to the
ignorance of the opposite party. . Even the Duke
of Guise could not spell his mother-tongue.
Among others who suffered at this period was
Pierre Chapot, who was engaged at Paris as a
corrector of the press, and who employed his in¬
tervals of labor in selling religious books. He
was cited before the Ghambre Ardente, where he
disputed with the doctors of theology, who, when
he produced quotations from the Bible, only met
him by appeals to tradition. At length Chapot,
with a mild and benignant air, turning to them,
besought them to confine themselves to proofs
* Delaure, p. 278
58 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
from the Scriptures. The theologians left the
apartment in indignation. Chapot then appealed
to his judges : " You see, sirs," said he, " that
these people only answer me by cries and men¬
aces : there is, therefore, no need to represent
before you the justice of my cause." Kneel¬
ing in their presence, with his hands joined toge¬
ther, he then offered a prayer to God, beseeching
him to conduct them to a just judgment. Some
of the judges relented. But a majority con¬
demned him to have his tongue cut out, and then
to be burned alive. After his death, which was a
courageous testimony to the truth, tlfc doctors of
the Sorbonne complained to the Chambre Ardcnte
that they were sacrificing the orthodox faith in
thus permitting heretics to dispute. Accordingly,
the parliament decreed that in every case those
who were condemned should have their tongues
cut out.
On his death-bed, Francis I. was filled with re¬
morse for having listened to the evil counsels of
the house of Lorraine, and for having adopted
measures *• cruelly destructive to the interests of '
his country: he recommended, accordingly, his
son to detach himself from these advisers, and to
pursue a more moderate course. Henry II. heard
the advice, but he was too entirely under the in¬
fluence of the Cardinal de Lorraine and the
Guises to regard it. The Chambre Ardcnte pur-
Sued its victims with even increased eagerness.
In 1519 some splendid fetes were held on the
occasion of the queen's coronation, and four Lu¬
therans were brought forth to add to the amuse-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 59
ment of the court by their death. One of these
was a poor tailor, who had been imprisoned for
working on prohibited days. As his position in
life was mean, it was presumed that his ignorance
was great, and he was brought before the king
and his court-that he might undergo an interro¬
gation, which it was imagined would cause some
amusement. But the tailor acquitted himself
with a presence of mind totally unexpected.
Among those who questioned him was Diana of
Poitiers, a guilty favorite of the king. The re¬
ply of the poor Lutheran was the following : "Be
content, madam, with having infected Prance by
your evil example, without infusing your venom
and pollution into', a matter so sacred as the true
religion of the Lord Jesus Christ." This rejoin¬
der was more than the monarch could endure.
He ordered the bold confessor to be burned alive,
and the stake to be set up opposite to his own
window. In the agonies of death, the martyr
fixed his eyes upon the king with so firm and
penetrating a gaze, mingled at the same time with
so much patient serenity, as to overcome all the
monarch's self-possession, and to compel him to
withdraw from the scen<3. During many nights
the king was haunted by the image of his victim,
and he swore that he would never more be pre¬
sent "at a similar scene. His repentance went no
farther.*
The persecution proceeded. Prance was bathed
in the blood of Lutherans. The Pope fulmin-
* Felice.
60 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
ated : the king seconded his thunders-: the eccle¬
siastics took up the echo. But the parliament
grew languid; and the reestablishment of the
Inquisition in all its force could never be com¬
pleted.
The spirit of the French ecclesiastics at this
period was strikingly shown by an event which
took place in 1557, in the Rue St. Jacques. It
was at a crisis in French history: when, after the
battle of St. Quentin, the Spaniards were hourly
expected to make their appearance before the
gates of Paris-. A number of Protestants had
secretly assembled for divine worship in a private
house at the back of the Sorbonne. Many gen¬
tlemen and legal practitioners were among the
number, as well as several ladies of high rank,
some even attached to the court itself. The
meeting was discovered. The Sorbonnists deter¬
mined not to disturb the worship, but lo await
the departure of the. worshippers; and in the
meantime collected a great heap of stones, with
which to assail thein when their devotions were
ended. The meeting broke up about midnight.
As the worshippers opened the dooT and were
about to separate,, they were assailed by a terrible
shower of stones, and by the loudest impreca¬
tions. The alarm spread through the neighbor¬
hood, and, under the impression that the Span¬
iards caused the disturbance, summonses " to
arms" were heard in all directions. The street
was soon filled with armed men, who were insti¬
gated to wreak their heated passions on the help¬
less heretics. Favored by the darkness of the
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 61
night, most of the Lutheran gentlemen contrived
to escape, though surrounded by enemies and
amidst volleys of stones. One, however, was
killed : he was Crushed and maimed out of all re¬
semblance to the human form.
But the women and children were still left be¬
hind. In vain were their tears, their supplica¬
tions, their despair. All egress was prohibited.
They were assailed with obscenities and loaded
with reproaches : their -garments were torn, their
hair dishevelled. At length a hundred and
twenty of them, at least/were shut up in the
prison of the Chatelet. Accusations of immorality,
similar to those which were levelled at the primi¬
tive Christians, were brought against them. The
Duke of Lorraine demanded the condemnation of
all. But the parliament delayed and temporized.
Seven victims perished. Calvin and Farel pro¬
tested throughout Europe at the outrage. So
strong was the intercession offered, and so great
need had Henry at the moment of some Protestant
alliances, that, after, a long delay, an act of grace
was passed, by which the prisoners were set free.
The enmity of the Roman Catholics was not, how¬
ever, shown only towards public assemblies-. The
press was put under interdict, and all works pro¬
hibited which had not received the approbation
of the Sorbonne. Religious discussion was also
forbidden. Bomanism always seeks darkness and
spiritual stagnation.
In 1559, the reformers, meeting secretly at
Paris, formed themselves into a confederated
church. Among the doctrines they avowed were,
62 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Ci God and his word : the Trinity : the fall of man
and his state of condemnation : the decree of God
towards the elect: the free rcdenrption of Jesus
Christ, very God and very man; and the recep¬
tion of grace by the faith imparted by the Holy
Spirit," etc. The terms of the constitution were
drawn np by Calvin.
About this time one of the most frequented
promenades in Paris was the Pre-aax-Clercs, near
the present "Faubourg St. Germain, then the
favorite resort of the students of the" university.
The students, a great number of whom had em¬
braced the reformed religion, had been in the
habit of meeting in this spot. The monks of the
abbey of St. Victor at length forbade the use of
the place; but the determined young men carried
the day at the point of the sword. As the doc¬
trines of the Reformation spread, great multitudes
used to assemble here, singing Marot's psalms on
summer evenings. Among these were several
nobles. Even the amusements of Paris became
neglected for this now fashionable resort. But
the Cardinal Lorraine could not behold such pro¬
gress of the truth with indifference. He prompted
the king to summon suddenly a lit de justice—
bed of justice, (so called from a kind of sofa occu¬
pied by the king in the ceremonial,) in the course
of which he uttered the most vehement reproaches
against all the Reformers, and arrested in the
midst of the assembly all who had been bold
enough to plead their cause. An exterminating
warfare now began,, with the firm resolution that
not a Protestant should be left in the kingdom of
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 63
France. But Providence interposed. There is
"a Clod that judgeth in the earth." The death
of Henry II., who was killed at a public joust in
the Faubourg St. Antoine, by a splinter which
penetrated his left eye, suspended the execution
of his wicked resolve. Well might the Chancellor
Olivier say to the Cardinal Lorraine, who came
to see him on his death-bed, "Ah ! cardinal, you
force us all to be damned."
Under Henry II. the alterations of the old
Louvre were completed : the fontaine des Inno¬
cents, one of the first placed within the walls of
Paris, was erected: while some colleges and
hospitals were added to the public buildings of
the city. Among the rest was the establishment
called Hospice des En fans trouves, which was
originally situated near the Forte St. Victor.
The accession of Erancis II. to the throne, by
the death of his father, (Henry II.,) did not ren¬
der the position of the Protestants of France more
secure. The king was entirely under the dominion
of his wife, Mary, afterwards Queen of Scots,
who, whatever were her personal attractions and
accomplishments, was wholly devoted to the am¬
bitious and exterminating views of her family,
the Cruises. It is of the utmost importance that
this fact should he remembered by those whom
the afflictions of this princess might soften into
sympathy. Her vicinity to the throne of England
was regarded with absolute dismay by all true
Protestants. The Gfuises, in effect, wielded,
throughout this whole reign, the most absolute
power, and the consequent sufferings of tbfe
64 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Reformers were extreme. Thousands fled from
France, which was thus drained of its best blood;
and the sacerdotal spirit of Romanism was every¬
where triumphant. About the year 1560, how¬
ever, the violence of the persecution had in some
measure exhausted itself, or, rather, it had changed
its form. The Protestants arrayed themselves,
in self-defence, as a political party, and, in the
strife which followed, much of the spirituality of
religion became sacrificed. During a long period
afterwards France was divided into two factions,
both contending under the name of God and
religion, though by no means for the same objects,
since the one party was struggling for religious
liberty, and the other for oppression. But the
appeal was now no longer directly to the court of
Heaven; and in the conflicts which followed, Pro¬
testantism was not altogether blameless. What
Roman Catholicism was, is attested by some of
the most frightful scenes which the page of his¬
tory has ever recorded.
We have already given the account of the first
Protestant congregation which assembled in the
city, of Paris. On the accession of Michel de
l'Hopital to the chancellorship in 1560, an abate¬
ment of outrages took place through his influence.
But the Guises were indignant at his interference,
and did their utmost to stimulate the passions.of
the clergy and of the people. Whilst a large
body of Protestants were met for worship within
a house in the Pr6-aux-Clcrcs, closely adjoining
the church of St. Medard, the clergy of that
establishment set the bells ringing. This brought
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. G5
a deputation of the Reformers to request that the
noise might' cease. A riot began, in the midst of
which ouc of the deputation was killed. The
Roman Catholic- church was besieged by a mob,
composed of a disorderly- multitude, who had
gathered around the- spot, and who were induced,
by a moment's sympathy with their trials, to take
the part of the Protestants. The priests of St.
Medard threw stones at their assailants from the
elevations of their buildings; and, when the mis¬
siles were exhausted, tore the images of the saints
from their niches, and hurled them on the heads
of the besiegers. So hot grew the contest, that
fifty of the defenders of the church were danger¬
ously wounded, and several were made prisoners.
At length the Protestant party declared that if
the bells did not cease to ring they would set fire
to the building. The Huguenots thus gained the
victory; but they gained it by means at variance
with the spirit of their religion. u The weapons
of out warfare are not carnal."
In consequence of this tumult, the whole blame
of which was unjustly laid to the charge of the
Reformers, many of their places of assembly were
burned and destroyed. But, being sustained by
powerful court aid, they speedily rebuilt these
"edifices. In 1562 the exercise of their religion
was legalized. Yet, soon after, their churches
Were again burned to the ground, under the direc¬
tion of the constable, Montmorency, and no Pro¬
testant durst show himself in the streets of Paris.
In 1568, a decree of the parliament commanded
them, that they might " avoid the murder which
3
GO PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
would be tbe result" of disobedience, to keep
strictly witbin their own bouses, and to leave it
to their servants to purchase for them all the
necessaries of life. Many details of persecution
might be added to the narrative we have already
given, did our space allow of expansion.
In the year 15G0, after the death of Francis,
Charles IX. ascended the throile of France, though,
as the king was only ten years old, the royal
powers were wielded by Catharine de Medici, the
queen-mother. Before the now triumphant in¬
fluence of the Guises the Chancellor de l'Hopital
was compelled at length to yield; and the regent,
after having vacillated, or seemed to vacillate, ber
tween the one party and the other, at last threw
her influence on the side of the Cardinal de Lor¬
raine. This reign, though marked by the utmost
court magnificence, was, to the people, prolific of
oppression and distress.
The site of the present Tuileries had been
purchased by Francis I. in 1548, "and upon it
Catharine began now to construct a palace; only
a small portion of which, however,-was completed
during her life. The Hotel de Soissons, the Col-
lerje des Je suites, and the Arsenal, were also works
of this period.
One great fearful event looms over this period
of French history, like a gigantic spectre—the
massacre of St. Bartholomew—a terrible crisis
connected with the memory of the Old Louvre,
which stood upon the spot now occupied by its
more modern namesake. Of this sullen and
desperate tragedy Catherine de Medici was the
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 67
presiding spirit. It had its origin in her dark
and subtle Italian spirit, and affords a signal
proof of the depth of depravity into which even
the female character, when unrestrained by Divine
grace, can sink. We may pause a moment to
recall the facts of this fearful event.
During the previous reigns, the influence of
Catherine had been curbed and confined by
neglect. In her humiliation she had dropped
expressions which the Huguenots regarded as
favorable to their cause, and they entertained the
hope that on her accession to power she would
prove herself another Esther. But these mani¬
festos of "the queen had been mere dissimulation,
learned in perfection at the feet of Machiavel.
"I understand nothing of their doctrine," said
she : u the only thing which moved to speak them
fair was more the natural compassion of a woman
than any desire to ascertain whether their doc¬
trine was true or false." She had calculated her
position with the utmost coolness and the most
selfish treachery; and concluding that the Pro¬
testant cause was the least powerful, and that she
could only maintain her position by an alliance
with the Boman Catholic leaders, she resolved
to strike a blow which should annihilate the
Huguenots at once. But Catherine was backed
by advisers, with whom intolerance was both a
principle and a passion: The Cardinal de Lor¬
raine, and his -nephew, Henri de Guise, Albert
de Gondi, the marechal de Tavannes, the Duke
of Anjou, and others, were, next to the queen
herself, and certainly much more than the king,
G8 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
the real instigators of this dreadful catastrophe.
The occasion chosen was that of the marriage of
Henry, king of Navarre, (Henri Quatre,) with
Margaret, the sister of Charles. The Huguenots
were invited to the entertainment, and all possi¬
ble means were employed, both to collect them in
Paris, and to quiet any suspicion which might
arise in their minds. The king, who had now
arrived at manhood, paid special attention to
Coligny, the leader of the Huguenot party.
We will not recite the particulars of this bloody
deed. Indeed, who is not already acquainted
with the harrowing details of the fearful history ?
The whispers of treachery which caused some of
the Huguenot party to leave the court—the at¬
tempted assassination of Admiral Me Coligny—
the visit of the king and his mother to the bed¬
side of that venerable man—the collecting of the
Protestants, under pretence of caring for their
safety, into the immediate vicinity of the Louvre
—the secret conclaves of the Komanists—the
marking of the dwellings of the Huguenots with
white -crosses—the planting of armed bands,
already trained for their work, about the palace—
the signal sounded, before the time agreed on,
from the steeple of the church of St. Germain
V Auxerrois—the sudden illumination of the
neighborhood — the murder of Coligny at the
house, No. 20, of the Hue Bethisy (still stand¬
ing)—the hurling of his dead body from the win¬
dow—the furious and indiscriminate slaughter
of every one who did not bear the white scarf
round his left arm, and the white cross in his
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 69
hat—the bands of murderers rushing through the
streets—the noise of the falling bodies of the dead
or dying, as they were -hurled from the windows
—the piercing cries of affright—the figures of
half-dressed Huguenots, as they offered, marks to
the arquebusses of the Roman Catholics—the
courts and roads filled with the slain, afterwards
hastily gathered in heaps, and shot into the river
—the puddles of blood in the streets—the pil¬
lage, the execrations, the license which every¬
where prevailed—the part taken by the king,
who, from one of the windows of his lodging,
encouraged the soldiers, and even fired himself
on the retreating fugitives—the resumption, next
day, and the day after, of the same bloody work;
and the repetition, in the provincial towns, of
the scenes performed in Paris with so terrible an
effect—all constitute, perhaps, the most tremen¬
dous event which the page of history has ever
recorded; whilst the joy with which the news of
the massacre was received at the court of Rome,
covers the " infallible" Church with the deepest
infamy.
We have said that the window from which the
body of Coligny was thrown is yet extant. The
house was till lately occupied by a linen-draper,
not having been sacrificed in the extensive altera¬
tions caused by the Rue de Rivoli. Charles IX.
is said to have fired from the Hotel-du-Petit-
Bourbon, a palace older than that which now
bears a similar name, and which is connected
with many considerable events in modern Prench
history.
TO PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Though at the commencement of the reign 6f
Charles IX. Paris expanded considerably, the
disorganization which, during twenty-eight years,
racked France through its whole empire, pre¬
vented any further increase of it.
Under the princes of the house of Yalois, the
inhabitants of the metropolis were distinguished
by the utmost luxury, both in dress and habits
of life. These, royal enactments in vain attempted
to restrain. This period was also distinguished
by the prevalence of sorcery, divination, and be¬
lief in enchantments. Catherine de Medici was
inordinately addicted to these arts, and did not
scruple, if traditional tales tell true, to add to
them the frequent practice of secret poisonings.
There was nothing in her character to render the
last charge incredible. The Boman Catholic
clergy were at the same time remarkable for their
superstition and ignorance, good education being
almost exclusively confined to the Huguenot
leaders. It is related that Francis I., having
been wounded in his face, wore his beard long in
order to conceal the scar. The fashion became
universal, and courtiers of all classes, even eccle¬
siastics, adopted it. But the chapters and the
parliament denounced this prevailing mocle, and
the former refused to allow long beards to be seen
in those officiating at divine service; and even
royal authority was sometimes employed to enforce
their decisions. Still, chapter's and parliaments
combined could not stop this "immodest fashion,"
as they were pleased to designate it, and long
beards -continued to prevail till the accession of-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 71
Louis XIII., in honor of whose beardless youth
the chin began to be shorn, and only the mous¬
tache was worn.
The reign of Henry III. (A.D. 1571) witnessed
the formation of the League—a great Catholic
confederation against heresy; for, notwithstand¬
ing the horrors of St. Bartholomew, the Hugue¬
nots were not yet extirpated.' Its first movements
are said to have been determined on in an assem¬
bly of citizens, doctors, and monks, convened in
the College Fortel, No. 27, Hue cles Sept Votes.
Paris became, once more, through the agitations
caused by this body, a scene of turbulence and
disorder. As Henry of Navarre was'now, in con¬
sequence of the king's being childless, the pre¬
sumptive heir to the throne, a vigorous combina¬
tion endeavored to prevent his accession. The
Duke of G-uise lent himself to the attempt, and,
in opposition to the wishes of the monarch, en¬
tered Paris with all the eclat of a royal procession.
The people loaded him with flowers, kissed the
hem of his garments, and hailed him as their de¬
liverer. He visited the queen-mother in the old
Hotel d' Orleans, and took up his residence in the
Hotel de Clisson. Henry III. marched his Swiss
troops into the city, and caused them to be posted
in the squares and public thoroughfares. The
citizens flew to arms, and constructed barricades
in every quarter, even within a short distance of
the royal palace. All was excitement and con¬
sternation ; and when certain nobles on the part
of the king advanced to address the populace,
they were fired on by the insurgents. Henry
72 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
"with difficulty escaped from his palace, leaving
the Duke of Guise for the moment triumphant.
The king, like some of his successors in simi¬
lar circumstances, directed his flight towards
St. Cloud and Bambouillet. How much of
modern French history is hut an echo of the
past!
Paris was now, during six years, in a state of
democratical government. But the revolution
was of brief duration; and the assassination of
the Duke of Guise in the royal castle of Blois,
whither he had gone to force further concessions
from the king, plunged the inhabitants into sor¬
row and despair. So excited was the populace
by this event, that nothing was witnessed during
a considerable time but religious rites in honor
of the duke, and of the cardinal, who had been
put to death at the same time. The priests were
even called out of their beds in the middle of the
night to aid in processions to their memory. The
Sorbonne, backed by Philip II. of Spain and the
pope, declared that the king had forfeited his
throne: the emblems of royalty were mutilated
and destroyed in all public buildings; and the
tombs which Henry had placed in the church of
St. Paul over some of his favorites were demol¬
ished. In retaliation, the king, amidst the exe¬
crations of the populace, committed some of the
most prominent of the insurgent party to the
Bastile. Alarmed and terrified by the anger of
the people, Henry at length entered into alliance
with Henry of Navarre and the Huguenots. In
the meantime a provisional government was
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 73
formed at Paris, which sat at the Hotel du Petit-
Muse.
The two kings now laid siege to Paris. Henry
IIL's head-quarters were on the heights of St.
Cloud. " It is a great pity," said the monarch,
" to ruin so fine a city; yet I must bring the
rebels who are in it to reason. It is the heart of
the League, and it,is necessary to strike the heart.
Paris is a great city, but it is too great and too full
of caprice : it requires to be bled for its own sake,
as well as that of all France, for the frenzy of
which it is the cause. A few days more, and
people will neither see its houses nor its walls, but
only the place where it has been!" But this
boast was as premature as it was revengeful. A
Dominican monk, named Jacques Clement, under
pretext of making communications to the king,
obtained admission to his dressing-chamber, and
assassinated him with a poniard which he had
concealed in his sleeve. As the murderer was
instantly despatched by the royal attendants,* the
secret antecedents of the deed were never known.
After lingering for a few hours, the monarch
died, having named Henry, King of Navarre, his
successor. Thus ended the reign of the house of
Valoisj in the death of a monarch who was an
object of pity and contempt.
The intelligence of the assassination of the king
was received in his capital with demonstrations of
the utmost joy. The Duchess of Montpensier,
who had stimulated the insurgents by every means
in her power, was loud in her expressions of satis¬
faction at the tidings. She exclaimed to the
74
paris : ancient and modern.
narrator : "All! ray friend, but is it indeed true ?
Is this wretch, this rascal, this tyrant, indeed
dead ? How delighted I am ! Only one thing
troubles me: it is that the king did not know,
b'efore he died, that it was I who caused his
death." She then went through the streets, call¬
ing out, " Hood news, my friends : good news :
the tyrant is dead : Henry of Yalois is no more."
At the same time, the Duchess of Nemours
harangued the populace in the church of the Cor¬
deliers, -heaping all kinds of reproaches upon the
deceased sovereign.
The siege of Paris was now raised. Though
Henry of Navarre was the lineal heir to the throne,
he was not acknowledged as such by the League.
The forces which could be brought against the
capital were therefore greatly diminished by the
retirement of the Roman Catholics from his ranks.
But before Henry retired into Normandy, several
small actions took place in the metropolis. In
one instance, Sully and the Duke d'Aumont fell
upon a crowd of Parisians, and within a very
small area killed more than four hundred persons.
This caused the former to exclaim : " I am weary
of murdering those who have no power to defend
themselves." On this occasion numerous houses
were pillaged, and the fortune "of Sully was not a
little increased by the spoil. The Cardinal of
Bourbon was proclaimed by the Leaguers King
of France, under the title of Charles X., but in
the year 1589 he died a prisoner at Fontenoy.
After some delay, Henry of Navarre, having
gained the battles of Arques and Ivry, determined
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 70
to inarcli his army upon Paris. The capital was
at this crisis extremely ill prepared for such an
attack. It wanted both provisions and ammuni¬
tion ; yet it held out against the Protestant forces.
HJhe Sorbonne issued a decree, prohibiting all Ro¬
man Catholics from receiving Henry as their sove¬
reign, even should he become a Romanist—an
event which was greatly dreaded by his opponents.
Even the absolution of the pope himself was de¬
clared, by this proclamation, to possess no force
in entitling Henry to the allegiance of the people.
On the evening on which this decree was pub¬
lished, Henry's army attacked the southern fau¬
bourgs of Paris, and burned all the mills in the
vicinity. The city was blockaded: Henry re¬
maining at Nantes, where he awaited assistance
from England. The Parisians, on the other hand,
employed the interval in strengthening their for¬
tifications and preparing for a vigorous resist¬
ance.
But Paris was soon to suffer all the agonies of
a. famine. The people, in their extremity, were
reduced to eat the grass which grew within their
walls, the bones of the dead, ground and formed
into a kind of paste, carrion, and all disgusting
materials. Though greatly pressed by his gene¬
rals to take the capital by storm, Ilenry resolutely
refused, resolving to spare his future subjects the
horrors of such an assault, and believing that the
causes were already in operation which would
secure to him ±he ultimate victory. One reason
of this magnanimity is held .by the best historians
to have heen the fear entertained by the prince
76 PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN.
that his followers would avenge themselves on the
Parisians for the dreadful massacre of St. Bartho¬
lomew. The pressure of the famine at length
compelled the besieged to send all useless persons
from the city. It was for some time debated in
Henry's councils whether these miserable crea¬
tures should he allowed to pass his lines. But
pity prevailed, and free egress was allowed to
them, the prince saying : " I am their father and
their king ; and cannot hear the recital of their
calamities without being pierced to the inmost
soul, and ardently desiring to bring them relief."*
In the same spirit, Henry said to the Cardinal
de Groudy, Bishop of Paris, who had been sent
to the royal camp to negotiate a peace : "I will
not dissemble, hut discover my sentiments to you
freely. I am willing to grant you peace : I de¬
sire it myself: I would give one finger to have a
battle, and two to have a general peace. I love
my city of Paris : I am jealous of her: I am
desirous of doing her service; and would grant
her more favors than she desires of me; hut I
will grant them voluntarily and not under threats."
During the continuance of this siege, the utmost
efforts were made by the ecclesiastical bodies to
keep up the ardor of the suffering people. Hot
only did they endeavor to stimulate the populace
by frequent processions, but they themselves car¬
ried arms of all kinds, and constantly practiced
military exercises. At length the approach of
the Dukes of Mayence and Parma» for the relief
* Perefixe, part ii.
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 77
of tlie city compelled Henry to raise the siege.
But the horrors through which they had passed
left an indelible impression on the minds of the
tortured people, unfavorable to the cause of Pro¬
testantism.
Four years now elapsed before Henry could
call himself master of his capital; and when he
succeeded in gaining it, fraud, not force, was the
instrument he employed. A grand conference
between the opposing parties was held at the vil¬
lage of Suresue, in March, 1593, which ended
with the abjuration of Protestantism by the king,
who had long seen that by no other means could
he become firmly seated upon his throne. In
truth, this monarch, who, with many distinguished
excellences, was a gross voluptuary, had never
been under the influence of spiritual religion, and
would probably have embraced Catholicism at a
much earlier period, but that he feared to lose
one party by gaining the other. Sully, his great,
aud, on mere human principles, his sagacious ad¬
viser, told him that whilst he, as a Protestant,
could not advise him to change his religion, such
a conversion would be in reality the king's best
policy. He remarked : " Such a course will leave
the fewest difficulties in this world; but," added
he, smiling, "I will not answer for another."
Laughing, in his turn, the king set himself to
obey this advice. It is surely an awful thing
when men thus treat the most sacred subjects
with such recklessness. " What is a man pro¬
fited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose
his own Soul ?"
78
PARIS : ANCIENT. AND MODERN.
Even yet, however, the partisans of the League
were not won. The chiefs of the party swore
together a most solemn oath, that they never
would consent to acknowledge Henry as the king
of France, and that monarch had recourse to
bribery in order to gain his entrance into Paris.
1,695,000 livres were promised to Brissac, the
governor, if he would admit the king within the
gates of the capital; and, during a very dark
night, the royal entrance was effected at the Porte
Veuve, which, together with the gates of St.
Denis and St. Honore, were purposely left un¬
guarded. Yet three times did the king retreat,
so perilous was the adyenture, before he could
make his way into the midst of the city itself.
At length, surrounded by a strong guard, who
welcomed him into his capital, and overpowered
by their cries the silence of the inhabitants, he
reached, not without danger from the arque-
busses of the Leaguers, the palace of the Louvre.
On the next morning he went in state to Notre
Dame, where a Te Deum was performed. A
period of tranquillity followed, which lasted till
the king's death.
The restoration of the desolated capital became,
at this juncture, a principal subject of attention.
The sovereign, whose aim was to extend, by a
liberal patronage, the manufacturing industry of
his subjects, established a tapestry fabriqne on
the Quai Billy: an institution since incorporated
with the Grobelins. Another of the principal
works of this reign was the completion of the
Pont Novf, an erection still giving to Paris, when
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 79
seen from the side of the river, a remarkable and
certainly picturesque appearance, as it unites the
lie de la Cite with the mainland on each side.
The heavy buttresses which strengthen it below,
and the stone recesses which distinguish it above,
(originally intended for shops, though no longer
so employed on the northern side,) rendered it,
at its first completion, an object of no little
attractiveness, and admiration. At the close of
this reign, however, the view of the bridge was
by no means so open as it now is. Near to its
northern side, but facing down the river, stood a
building of some size and elevation, called La
>Samaritaine, 01;, Pompe de la Samaritaine,
(from a group of figures representing our Lord
and the woman of Samaria,) constructed, at the
instance of a Flemish engineer, for the purpose
of forming an elevated reservoir, into which the
water of the river might be pumped, and from
which the city might be supplied. The Pont
Neuf, though its foundation had been laid in the
preceding reign, was built at the expense of Henri
Quatre : in memory of whom, his widow, after
his death, placed an equestrian monument on the
point of junction with the lie de la Cite—a statue
destroyed at the great revolution, and afterwards
replaced by the present figure, erected by Louis
XVIII.
In this reign, also, the gallery of the Louvre,
projected by Charles IX., was greatly advanced,
and the notion entertained of forming by its
means a communication with the Tuileries. It
was the design of this king, that the lower story
80 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
of this building should be devoted -to an " ex¬
position" of the manufactures of all nations : a
notion much opposed by Sully, who, with all his
political wisdom, had not reached the conclusions
of which the English Crystal Palace of 1851 was
the exponent. At the same period the palace of
the Tuileries was enlarged, and the two pavilions
at each end added to the original edifice. In
addition to these buildings, the^ Arsenal, the
Tribune de Commerce, the Convent of Jesuits in
the Rue St. Antoinc, the Convent of Copueltins,
(which stood on the spot now occupied by the
Hues Rivoli, Mont Thabor and Castiglione,) the
Place Royalc, now Place cle Yocges, and many
other erections, marked the magnificence of the
epoch. Paris for the first time .presented the
spectacle of straight and open streets, fitted for
the passage of carriages, which vehicles had been
first introduced by Catherine de Medici. The
Quais were likewise increased in numbers and
extent. As yet, however, the civil and social
state of the city was most disorganized. Parts
of the capital wrere infested by bandits, who robbed
the passers-by, even attacking magistrates them¬
selves, in open _day: the population was often
desolated by the plague; and the disordered state
of the finances produced frequent famine and
suffering. The extravagance of the court was ex¬
cessive, though the private tastes of the monarch
were simple. Presses arc related to have been
worn which cost fourteen thousand crowns, six
hundred of which were paid for the pattern alone.
Madame de Liancourt (La Belle Gabrielle) wore,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 81
on one occasion, a dress of black satin, so loaded
with jewels and ornaments, that she was unable
to sustain its weight; and the same lady possessed
an embroidered pocket-handkerchief, the cost of
which was nineteen hundred crowns, ready money.
These habits of luxury were copied by the citizens,
to the great waste of their resources. Notwith¬
standing the extravagance of the nobility, and
the loud boast .which they made of their unsullied
honor and of the purity of their blood, they did
not blush to perform the most disgraceful actions.
They borrowed from their inferiors sum of money,
which they refused to refund; and to throw a
creditor who demanded payment from the win¬
dow, or personally to chastise the legal officers
who came to arrest them, was deemed a mark of
exemplary spirit. Nor were the clergy superior
to the laity. Accusations of immorality, and of
the practice of magic, were rife against them:
non-residence was perpetual; and religion was
considered as identical with certain external
observances, whilst its living spirit was almost
utterly disregarded.
Many interesting customs mark this period of
French history. Hair-powder began to be worn
in this reign, and three nuns are recorded with
.wonder as having been seen in the streets of
Paris with their hair curled and powdered.
Watches, though of enormous size, and hanging
from the neck, were also beginning to be used.
Fabrics of silk and tapestry date likewise from
this period. The long beards, then in fashion,
were stiffened with wax, to render them as
82 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
prominent as possible. Masks, usually of black
velvet, were commonly employed. The practice
of duelling, which in the preceding reigns had
reached a fearful height, was, by a decree of
Henry IT., contrary to the advice of Sully,
punished by death, as an act of high treason.
We have already spoken of the introduction of
coaches into Paris, by Catherine de Medici. The
number of these vehicles was at first very small,
and the king cherished such an aversion to this
mode of transportation, that it is said he turned
pale whenever it was necessary for him to ride in
this manner.
It is somewhat remarkable that the monarch
met his death in one of these dreaded vehicles.
Iienry, though about to undertake an expedi¬
tion against the Spaniards, had reluctantly yielded
to the earnest desires of his second queen, Mary
de Medici, (he' had been divorced from Margaret
of Valois,) that she should be crowned in Paris,
and had consequently delayed leaving the capital
till the splendid ceremony should be completed.
On the day following, some business of state ren¬
dered a consultation with Sully desirable, and the
king set out in a coach to visit his minister, who
was then confined to his house by sickness.
When the royal carriage arrived in the Hue ilc la■
Fcrroncric, opposite to Ho. 3 Rue St. Hun ore,
it was stopped by two carts. At -this crisis, an
assassin, named Havaillac, leaped, upon the hind-
wheel of the coach, and singling out the king
from several nobles who occupied the vehicle with
him, stabbed him with a knife to the heart. The
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 83
king's attendants instantly drew tlie curtains of
the carriage, and ordered him to he driven hack
to the Louvre—the course of the vehicle being
marked by a stream of blood. The murderer, a
Jesuit, was seized on the spot, and, after a variety
of the most cruel tortures, was executed. But
the monarch was no more.
Amidst a multitude of personal vices, tending
to the demoralization of his courtiers, the name
of Henri Quatre will be advantageously remem¬
bered, from its connection with the edict of
Nantes, which gave freedom of worship to the
party of the Huguenots, and procured peace for
France, after the most harassing civil discords.
Unpopular as the king had been in Paris, during
the earlier part of his reigu, his death was received
with the strongest outburst of popular indignation
against the assassin. On the day of execution,
after Bavaillac had been pulled for an hour by
four strong horses, without being torn to pieces,
the populace, " rushing on in crowds, threw
themselves upon him, and with swords, knives,
sticks, and other weapons, struck, tore, and man¬
gled his limbs, and, violently forcing them from
the executioner, dragged them through the streets
with the utmost eagerness and rage, burning theiu
in different parts of the city."*
* Memoirs of Sully—Appendix.
84 paris : ancient and modern.
CHAPTER III.
paris till the self-assertion of louis xiv.
At the time of the death of Henri Quatre, the
Duke d'Epernon, who had been one of the late
king's companions at the moment of his cruel assas¬
sination, came, with the greatest expedition possible,
to the parliament of Paris, which at that time
held its sittings in the Convent dcs Grands Au-
ffustins, and putting his hand to his sword, uttered
these emphatic words :—u The sword is as jet in
its sheath, but it will be instantly drawn, unless
the queen receives the title which is already hers
by the rights of nature and justice." Though
this body had never till now appointed the regent
of the French dominions, they immediately
acceded to the demand—thereby establishing a
precedent for similar occasions in future.
The death of Henry struck a general consterna¬
tion into the minds of the Huguenots, who an¬
ticipated, not without reason, a renewal of the
fearful scenes of St. Bartholomew. In consequence
of this terror, many of them made a precipitate
retreat from Paris. Nor did they gather courage
from the declaration of Mary de Medici, that the
provisions of the edict of Nantes would be still
I>AR1S : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
85
respected. The character of the queen, who was
a sensualist, extremely bigoted, guided by favorites,
and placing' implicit credence in the predictions
of astrologers, was little calculated to excite their
confidence. As little could the reputation of
Louis XIII., who, besides being only nine years
old, was already distinguished by the utmost im¬
becility, tend to reassure them.
In the earlier part of the regency of Mary de
Medici, the government of the state was mainly
entrusted to a pampered Italian favorite, Concini.
The murmurs of dissatisfaction which attended
his administration were loud and formidable; and
it was no wonder; for. the prime minister regard¬
ed the king's subjects as his natural prey. To
silence the disaffected, Concini filled the capital
with gibbets, an ominous and significant emblem
of the punishment to be expected by those who
should dare to express their uneasiness. But
such measures, though they might repress riot,
could not secure prosperity. The utmost dis¬
organization was everywhere prevalent. Intrigues,
imprisonments, assassinations, abounded on all
sides. At length, one of the royal courtiers, with
the consent of the young monarch, attacked and
murdered Concini on the bridge of the Louvre.
Though the body of the late prime minister had
been hastily buried, it was dragged from its grav6
with every accompaniment of outrage, was torn
in pieces by the footmen and pages of the court,
ami portions of it were hung upon the gibbets,
which, like that of Hainan, had been originally
destined for a widely different purpose. At the
80 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
same time the wife of Concini was tried and he-
headed. During her trial she was interrogated
as to haying employed sorcery to influence the
mind of the queen-mother. Her reply was—
" The only sorcery I hare used, is the influence
which strong minds have over the weak/' -When
Louis XIII. heard of the death of Concini, he is
reported to have said to the noble who had caused
his assassination, "A thousand thanks to you:
from this hour I am a king 1" The queen-mother
was ordered, to leave the court, and to retire to
Blois. After some interval, she was again, how¬
ever, reconciled to her son.
After the death of Concini, his post was filled
by Albert de Luynes, an ambitious and despotic
tyrant, though not, like his predecessor, a foreigner.
By his influence the queen-mother was still kept
at a distance from Paris. She sought for advice
in the councils of Bichelieu, who had been trained
by Concini, and had subsequently transferred his
allegiance, with the cunning which formed part
of his nature, to Concini's successor, De Luynes.
Mary de Medici obtained the elevation of this
crafty but powerful man to the cardinalate. When
the patent was obtained, Eic-helieu, taking off his
red hat and laying it at the feet of the queen,
said, " Madam, this hat, for which I am indebted
to your majesty, will often remind me of the vow
I have taken to shed my blood in your service
words soon forgotten by the utterer, if indeed, as
may be fairly questioned, they were at any time
sincere.
Under the influence of liichelieu, an interview
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
87
took place between the king and bis mother.
The heartless words which passed between them
are upon record. " How jour maj esty has grown!"
said Mary. "Grown for your service, madam,''
was the rejoinder. But the reconciliation was as
short as it was hollow. A civil war ensued be¬
tween the parties, and Richelieu managed matters
for his own advantage and the consolidation of
his power. Indeed, both these royal personages
were the mere puppets of his pleasure. Nothing
gives a more definite notion of the daring and
determined character of this most able, though
most unprincipled man, than his own words:—
" When I have once formed my resolution, I
pursue it to the end: I upturn every thing, I
mow down every thing} and finally I cover over
all with my red cassock." Once placed on the
pinnacle of power, Richelieu did not hesitate to
use his authority against his royal benefactress,
whom he compelled to leave Paris, and to retire
to Cologne, where she was reduced to the greatest
poverty, and died miserably.
During the reign of Louis XIII. many religious
institutions were founded in the capital of France.
The Noviciat cles Jesuites, the Cannes Dechausses,
the Min imes de la Place Roy ale, the establish¬
ment of Sisters of Charitij, the Jacobins de la
R ae St. Ilonore, the Jacobins du Faubourg St.
Germains, the English Benedictines, the Orafoire,
(granted in 1802 to the Protestants of the Ge-
nevese confession,) the College of Jesuits or of
Clermont, with many others, owe their origin to
this period. The total number of religious houses
88 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
erected during this reign was sixty-nine : twenty
for men, and forty-nine for women. Among the
churches which arose during the same period
were those of St. Joseph, St. Roch, and Ste.
Marguerite. Many new hospitals had their origin
at the same date.
To the taste for magnificence, which constituted
a weakness of Mary de Medici, Paris owes one
of its most elegant palaces, constituting, in the
present day, a prime object of attraction to
the stranger visitant—the Luxembourg. The
designation is derived from a duke of that name,
from whom the estate was purchased by the
queen-mother, for her royal residence. It was
constructed on the model of the Pitti palace at
Florence, and was erecltfd after the designs of
Jncqxies des Brasses. Its history has been an
ejntome of the changes which have successively
befallen the capital of the kingdom. It has been
"Every thing by turns, and nothing long."
At first it was called after the name of its founder.
It then passed into the possession of Gaston de
France, duke of Orleans, and was called the
Palais d'Orleans. It next became the property
of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, whose marriage
with Lauzun, after she had seemed within reach
of the thrones of France, England, Spain, and
Austria, excited so much of the scandal of her
times. This event led to the protracted imprison-.
xnent of her husband. The palace next became
the possession of the Duchess of Montpensier, then
of the Duchess of Brunswick: at a later period of
PARIS*. ANCIENT AND MODERN. 89
tlie Quecn-dowager of Spain, and afterwards of
Lonis XVIII. Tlie orgies of tlie regency under
the Duke of Orleans were celebrated in it. The
Directory of the Devolution held its sittings in
its apartments. Napoleon resided in it for a
short time after his return from Italy. During
his consulate the senate occupied it, and after the
empire it contained the Chamber of Peers. Here
Louis Blanc addressed the Socialists, and the
Executive Commission harangued within its walls.
But amidst all the varieties of names inscribed
upon its entablatures, it has ever been called by
the people, who have chosen to follow their old
habitudes, the Palace of the Luxembourg.
This magnificent building consists of a centre,
with four pavilions. It presents three orders of
architecture: the. first floor being Tuscan; the
second Doric ; the third, Ionic. Some of the
apartments constructed for Mary de Medici still
survive the many varied changes of the building,
and present the remains of a magnificence, which,
though upon a somewhat small scale, and now of
antique fashion, yet excite the admiration of the
visitor. The bed-chamber of the queen is espe¬
cially remarkable. It is ornameuted with paintings
furnished by Rubens expressly for its adornment.
The same painter contributed also twenty-four
pictures, on a grand scale, in formation of a gallery
of art.' These paintings represented the historical
scenes connected with the marriage of Mary with
Henri Quatre; and, though disfigured by incom¬
patible allegories, are, as works of genius, of.high
value. They were removed in 1815 to the Louvre.
90 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
The gallery of the Luxembourg is still devoted to
pictures, though, at present, only to those of mo¬
dern artists.
At the time of its first erection, the Luxem¬
bourg was almost entirely surrounded by monas¬
teries and other religious houses, many of which
have now disappeared. The beautiful gardens
are at present to the south bank of the Seine
what the gardens of the Tuileries are to the
northern and more fashionable quarter. Nowhere
can the life of the common people of the capital
be studied to greater advantage than here. Nurses
and their proteges : lovers and their companions :
the grave and the gay: the bloom of youth and
the imbecility of age : the parade of soldiers and
the sports of infancy and childhood, find in these
gardens an appropriate esplanade. The extent of
them was, in 1792, diminished by a third; but
in 1795 the Convention gave orders for the for¬
mation of the grand avenue which now leads from
the palace to the observatory. A considerable
portion of the present trees were replanted in
1801, when great alterations and, improvements
were effected in the disposition of the whole.
Other advantageous changes were made in 1810
and 1811.
A statue of Henri Quatre, similar to, though
not identical with, that which now occupies the
middle of the Pont JSfcuf\ owed its erection also
to Mary of Medici. Its history was somewhai
singular. Ferdinand, Grand Duke of Tuscauy,
had ordered of Jean de Boidlongue, a disciple of
Michael An^clo, an equestrian statue of himself.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
91
But lie died before tbe work bad proceeded so far
as to place tbe rider upon bis horse, and tbe figure
of tbe animal in bronze was presented by Ferdi¬
nand's successor, Cosmo de Medici, to bis sister
Mary, whilst regent. It was embarked at Leg-
born, but tbe vessel wbicb conveyed it was
wrecked off tbe coast of Normandy. It remained
under water for a wbole year, at tbe end of wbich
time it was rescued from tbe waves, and a statue
of the late king was placed upon it. It was
destroyed during tbe great Revolution. Tbe
present statue was erected in its place in tbe year
1817.
.The reign of Louis XIII. witnessed the erec¬
tion of tbe Pont-au- Change, (to replace a preceding
bridge wbicb bad been destroyed by fire,) and
tbe bridges of St. Michael, Barbier, Marie, and
Tournelle. The quays also underwent great en¬
largement and increase.
To Richelieu, Paris is indebted' for tbe Palais
Royal, at first called Palais Cardinal, and intended
for bis own residence. On bis death be be¬
queathed it to tbe king, who gave it'the name it
still retains. But, on the solicitation of tbe family
of tbe deceased prelate, tbe former title was re¬
stored to tbe building, though tbe people never
adopted tbe revived designation. It was fitted
up by Richelieu with extraordinary magnificence
Among other adornments, it possessed a chapel,
of which all the vases, censers, chalices, etc.,
were of massive gold adorned with diamonds.
It bad, besides, ball-rooms and two theatres—■
strange accessories to the bouse of a cardinal.
92
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
In 1G35, Louis XIII., at the instance of his
physicians, Herouard and Guy do la Brosse,
founded the Bard in des Plantcss afterwards so
greatly increased and enlarged by the celebrated
Ruffon. It was originally called Jardin des
Plantcs Medicinales, and subsequently Jardin
clu Roi. After the Revolution it assumed its
present name. Its beautiful gardens were laid
out on the site of some disgusting premises, called
La voirie des bouchers—the butchers' stall. Though
these gardens bore the name of the king, they
were really indebted to Richelieu for their exist¬
ence under the royal patronage.
Many of the customs of this period were ex¬
tremely curious. Nothing was more characteristic
of the fashionables of the time than a plume of
feathers surmounting the head-dress : an ornament
by which Cardinal Richelieu, though a church¬
man, was often distinguished. The following is
the description of a well-dressed man :—u He was
clothed in a mantle of velvet or taffeta, thrown
loosely over his shoulder. He wore white boots,
with a large pair of spurs. He carried in one
hand a small switch, with which he constantly
lifted up his moustaches, which fell over the cor¬
ners of his mouth, and with the other hand he
smoothed the small pointed beard on his chin."
The language employed by these cavaliers was
distinguished by nothing so much as by their fre¬
quent use of the most blasphemous expressions,
and the boasts they made of high birth and des¬
perate exploits, especially in the way of duelling.
"A twinkle of the eye, a careless salute^ a coldness
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 93
of manner, the mere touch, of a mantle, was
euough to provoke a challenge to kill or to he
killed. Sometimes these men of refined honor
called out to the duel a person whom they did
fiot know, hut whom they mistook for some one
else; and though the error was found out, it did
not prevent them from fighting and being killed,
as if they had been real enemies." The origin
of the word petit-mctitre, afterwards adopted in
the English language, and descriptive of a pedantic
and vainglorious person, is to be discovered at this
period; as also the custom of smoking and taking
snuff among the men, and of wearing hoops
by the ladies of the court. In 1514 a patent was
obtained by Frangois Micaire for the "construction
of carriages on a better principle than heretofore;
' and towards the. close of the reign now under
review, writing was reduced to a more uniform
pattern by the efforts of Louis Barbedor, syndic
of the scribes of Paris, who invented engraved
" copy-books," (as they are now technically
called by school-boys,) both for the common and
Italian hands, to the great improvement of an
art which till then had been very capriciously ex¬
ercised.
Though Richelieu entirely destroyed the liberty
of the press, which had existed during the reign
of Henry IV., periodical publications made their
appearance at this epoch for the first time. Among
others, the Gazette—which was to Richelieu what
the Moniteur was afterwards to Napoleon, the
slavish organ of the wishes of the ruling powers—
94 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
and the French Mercury, a kind of annual regis¬
ter of public events, deserve mention.
The police regulations were still deplorable.
Street-robberies were not only common, but were
perpetrated even at noonday. One class of thieves,
who were expert at cutting away the purses which
were usually carried at the girdle, was designated
Coupe-bourses ; and another, which lived by pull¬
ing violently from the persons of passers-by the
mantles they wore, was honored by the name of
Tire-lains. These enormities-were especially per¬
petrated on the Pont-Neuf. So few were the
promenades then open to the public in a city now
remarkable for so many, that this bridge was to
the Paris of that day what the Champs Elysees
are to the capital of this. Shopkeepers, musicians,
quacks, and magicians, were thickly congregated
on the spot. Dentists there pulled out the teeth
of unhappy patients: jugglers exhibited their
tricks of legerdemain : monkeys danced, and pup¬
pets played; whilst the miscellaneous assemblage
constituted a rich harvest for the practiced thief.
Another object of great attraction to the Parisians
was the Fair St. G-ermain, which was held in nine
streets, covered in for the purpose, and lasted
during two months. It was devoted to all. the
varieties of amusement which the French designate
by the name of Spectacles, and combined the sale
of every kind of curiosity, with lotteries, games
of chance, etc. At night this fair was much fre¬
quented by t'he courtiers, who visited its scenes
of dissipation in disguise.
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 95
Though th» gardens of the Tuileries were al¬
ready existing, they did not present their modern
appearance. A street called Rue des Tuileries
separated the palace from-the ornamental garden,
which was not open to the public, but was reserved
only for the court. The king gave a certain por¬
tion of it to an adventurer named Renard, who
made it a depository of rare flowers, curiosities
of various kinds, and apartments for refreshment.
It was in 'these gardens that, in his early years,
Louis XIII. was accustomed to construct his
mimic fortresses, and to beat his drum. Was it
here also that he had been made to read French
history ? Wherever it was, the perusal of it gave
him such a distaste for literature, that after he
became a man he was never known to take up a
book. When, we remember, in addition to this
dislike for reading, his natural impediment of
speech, it can scarcely surprise us to be informed
that his royal utterances were always of one pat¬
tern. u I am come on this occasion. My chan¬
cellor will inform you of my intentions."
The ecclesiastics of this reign seemed to have
possessed, in general, few of the attributes of
Christian ministers. Following the example of
Richelieu, whose greed of gold was great, and
whose public conduct was scandalous, they were
more remarkable for their love of trifles and
dramatic exhibitions than for their' learning or
their piety. Their conduct was often also very
licentious. The judges, too, were grossly venal,
though not without honorable exceptions. Cor¬
responding complaints of corruption were made
90 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
against advocates and the inferior jofficers of the
law; and an author of the period accuses the
shopkeepers of being very unscrupulous in their
dealings. So absolute was the control exercised
by Richelieu over the affairs of the court, that
the confessors of the palace are said to have acted
as his spies upon the courtiers, and also to have
been the instruments of suggesting to those whom
they attended the course which would be most in
accordance with his wishes. This was especially
the case with the Jesuits. But the whole house¬
hold of the cardinal was regarded as liable to a
similar charge. The corruption of the court, too,
was abominable. Many of the first nobles, among
others the Gruses and the Prince of Conde, sold
their allegiance to the cpieen-mother, in the earlier
part of the regency, at high prices, and they had
speedily their imitators. Yet some failed in the
fulfilment of their bargain, even after having
received its price. The ignorance, too, which
distinguished the period was excessive. In 1015
there lived in Paris several persons who professed"
to be magicians. One of them, named Cmsar,
pretended that he could cause hail and thunder
at his pleasure; and a dog, which he had traine.d
to carry letters and bring back the replies, was
regarded as his familiar spirit. lie not only
composed love-philtres, and withered, by magical
arts, as was supposed, the bodies of those whom
he was desired and paid to injure, but lie pro¬
fessed to be able to exhibit the prince of darkness
himself. For these arts he was confined in the
Bastile; and the popular belief was, that the
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 97
spirit of darkness came and strangled him ii7 ^is
bed. Another was a foreigner, named Ruggieri,
a vulgar poisoner, who, though not imprisqb^
was believed to have undergone the same fi A-iv-
the other enchanter. . . ^
Though the size of the city was much in¬
creased, and its whole appearance greatly im¬
proved, under the influence of the cardinal, many
of the streets were still so narrow as to furnish
amusement to some of the courtiers in jumping
on the roofs from one side of them to another.
As yet Paris was only lighted by large braziers,
called falots, filled with combustible substances,
and placed at the corners of the streets, which
were as dangerous as they were dark. The
passers-by at night, indeed, required to be armed,
and to be followed by attendants, to guard them
from injury.
One of the institutions, patronized from its
commencement by Richelieu, was the French
Academy. It was formed by a number of
literary persons, who met weekly in the Rue St.
Penis, in the house of the king's secretary, to
read their own works. It was limited to forty
members. Some time elapsed before the parlia¬
ment would sanction the new institution. As
the cardinal was himself the author of some
tragedies, and regarded the superior success of
Corneille with envy, one of the first occupations
of the Academy was to censure the principal
productions of that poet. After the death of
Richelieu, this institution met in the house of
the Chancellor Seguier, now 1'Hotel des Fermcs.
4
98
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN
A- "'lie Protestant inhabitants of the city of Paris
we're, like their brethren throughout the king¬
dom, exposed to great disquietude and danger
<1 iiring this reign. In 1G21, a body of them
ky "Mig attended a sermon at Charenton, were, on
tij&ir return, beset by a party of brigands, hired
by their enemies, whom they vigorously resisted,
but who succeeded in pillaging and injuring such
of them as were unarmed, as well as other pas¬
sengers. As the [Reformers were about to enter
Paris by the Porte St. Antoine, they were as¬
sailed by another party of villains, who, in sjjite
of the efforts of the magistrates, raised a con¬
siderable tuinult. On the next day these ill-dis¬
posed individuals not only burned two Protestant,
houses at Charenton, but committed great de¬
predations in the city itself, and forced the
Protestants, after three of their number had been
killed, to take refuge in the establishment of the
Gobelins. Two of the rioters were seized, and
hung in the Place de Greve, with this motto sus¬
pended around their necks—" Sctliticux faisritrs
d1 emotions"—seditious makers of tumult. Two
others were whipped, and banished for nine years.
This put an end to the sedition.. To what
injuries the Protestants were exposed ill other
parts of the empire, the history of the siege of
.Rochelle will prove, although many who bore
the name of French Protestants at this period,
showed themselves absolutely unworthy of the
title.
The deaths of three eminent personages of
France occurred at nearly the same period. The
J?ARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 99
first was that of Sully, the able and faithful ser¬
vant of Henri Quatre. His principal residence
was the Arsenal. The next was that of Richelieu,
the powerful enemy of the Huguenots, and the
commander of his nominal sovereign and the
court, after a life characterized by intrigue,
duplicity, and the triumphant success of schemes
prompted by a mind of the first order of talent.
He breathed his last in Paris, in December, 1642,
with a stoical courage, to which the reproaches
of conscience were strangers : conducting himself
to the king, who came to visit him, like an equal
potentate, and avowing, with his last breath, that,
as "before his Judge, he had never taken any
measures but for the good of the state. The
third death was that of the king himself. For a
long time, Louis had led a miserable life. With¬
out resources, and without power, a perfect roi
faineant,, idly looking on whilst the cardinal
governed his empire and directed his armies,
his principal amusement had been to catch
birds, and to cherish the melancholy which con¬
sumed him. With his dying breath Richelieu
had recommended Mazarin as his successor; and
by that statesman's advice the king drew up
his will. He died at St. Germain, on the 14th
of May, 1643.
We now arrive at the period of the com¬
mencement of the reign (as it was the fashion
to call it, though the young king was only five
years of age) of Louis XIV. He was the sod of
Louis XIII., and was born twenty-three years
after his father's marriage to Anne of Austria,
100 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
a Spanish princess. Before tlie decease of liis
father, the child had been brought to the mon¬
arch's death-bed, and asked, "What is your
name?'' "Louis the Fourteenth," was his re¬
markable reply. "Not yet, not yet," said the
dying father, "but you will be so very soon."
Immediately on the death of the king, Anne
of Austria, with the young Louis, proceeded in
all haste to Paris, the people of the- city going
forth to meet them with those triumphant gratu-
lations which are characteristic of an excitable
nation. Amidst a crowd of carriages, and a vast
multitude of the people, the young monarch en¬
tered his capital. Preparations were instantly
made for holding " a bed of justiceand, in
defiance of the will of the late king, by which,
though his wife was appointed regent, her powers
had been greatly limited, the sole authority was
vested in the queen-mother. But she had
previously gained Mazarin to her side, and was
content to divide the power with that supple and
far-seeing minister. For four years the machine
of the state moved on in quietude. But there
were turbulent influences concealed under this
general appearance of order; and it was not long
before they increased to a formidable insurrec¬
tion—into all but a revolution.
It was the policy of Mazarin, who well knew
the elements which surrounded him, to pander
to the taste for amusement which is almost an in¬
stinct of the French national character. With
this design he encouraged every kind of court
festivity; and during a considerable time his
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 101
policy was successful in averting popular insurrec¬
tion. But the volcano only slumbered.
Upon his arrival in Paris, the young king,
Louis XIV., set up his little court in the Palais
Cardinal, part of which was allotted to him for a
residence. A larger portion of it was devoted to
the accommodation of the queen-mother, who did
not fail to add to it every embellishment which
the luxury of the times could supply : whilst an¬
other portion of the palace was assigned to the
use* of " His Eminence the Cardinal Mazarin."
In this spot Louis developed his early taste for
military amusements, in which he was joined by
the members of his little court. Madame de la
Salic, to whom the care of the young monarch
was partially confided, did her utmost to enter
into the spirit of this juvenile and royal party,
being herself dressed in a half-military fashion.
When, however, Louis had reached the age of
seven, men instead of women became his attend¬
ants, much to the chagrin of the little king, who
missed the fairy talcs which had composed him
heretofore to sleep. To fill up this void, his
valet, Laporte, endeavored to interest him by the
narrations of real history, in which he proved so
successful, that after a little time the mind of
Louis was filled with the desire of rivalling the
great-historical personages of the past, and of
performing exploits worthy of his ancestors. But
however gratifying such stories might be to the
king, they were by no means equally pleasing to
the cardinal, whose desire was that the monarch
might be kept in as profound an ignorance as
102 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
possible of all wbicli might stimulate his mind,
and cause him to assert himself. Nor was it in
this instance alone that Mazarin manifested his
wish to keep Louis in subjection. The arrange¬
ments made for his comfort were disgracefully
deficient. He slept, we are told by his valet, be¬
tween sheets so ragged, that his feet passed through
them; and sometimes wore dresses which were
so old as to accommodate themselves very imper¬
fectly to his increasing height. The carriages
appropriated to his service were in a condition so
dilapidated as to expose him to the greatest risk
in travelling in them : till, upon Louis's angry
remonstrances with the queen and cardinal, better
vehicles were provided. Policy and avarice bore
perhaps about an equal share in the cardinal's
neglect of the comfort and dignity of him whom
he called his king. The same want of adequate
provision extended to the court of the" regent her¬
self ; and Madame de Motteville, in her memoirs
of her royal mistress, relates that, in the absence
of proper supplies for the queen's attendants,
they were not unfrequently compelled to satisfy
theii; hunger with the morsels left from her
table.
The year 1040 was remarkable for the begin¬
ning of those contests between Jansenism and
Jesuitism which engaged so deeply the lehrned
doctors of the French universities, and which,
arraying, on the one side, the real piety of certain
adherents of the Eomish Church, and, on the
other, the prestige and authority of ecclesiastical
rank and station, threatened, especially when they
PARIS *. ANCIENT AND MODERN✓ 103
brought into action the genius and pen of Pascal
and the Port-Royalists, the integrity of the Ro¬
man Catholic community. The schism, after
having for a time excited the utmost debate and
uneasiness, was temporarily pacified by a healing
measure of Pope Clement IX.
The same year was memorable for the arrival,
in Paris, of Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I.
of England, whom the troubles incidental to the
stormy period of the Commonwealth had driven
from her adopted home, and compelled to take
refuge in her native land. She was met at the
gates of Paris by the king and queen-regent, and
conducted by them to the Louvre, where for some
time she resided, though the avarice of the cardi¬
nal allowed her most inadequate means of sup¬
porting her nominal dignity.
It is impossible to present a faithful picture of
Paris at this period, without adverting to one who
bore a conspicuous part in the incidents through
which it was soon about to pass. The name of
the Cardinal de Retz is familiar to every reader
of modern French history. lie was of Floren¬
tine blood, though himself a native of France,
and was educated for the Church, though without
a single virtue appropriate to that destination.
Dissipated, vain, rash, and daring, he took ad¬
vantage of the serious grievances under which the
population of Frauce was laboring, to elevate
himself to distinction and fame. Ilis success as
a disputcr with Protestants had led, during the
last days of the life of Louis XIII., to his ap¬
pointment as coadjutor or co-partner in the arch-
104 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
bishopric of Paris, with the prospect of succeed¬
ing to that see on the death of the existing pre¬
late. To rival and supplant Mazarin was the
great object of his restless life; but, instead of
attaining it, he ended his course in deserved de¬
gradation. At this time, however, he was the
popular preacher of the metropolis, and was ready,
in the meantime, to take a part in any intrigue
which might gratify his restless ambition, or pro¬
mise to promote his worldly interests.
The spirit of liberty for which on many occa¬
sions the inhabitants of Paris had 'been distin¬
guished, began in the year 1G48 to show symptoms
of a revival. The exactions of Mazarin af¬
forded the occasion. A remonstrance was ad¬
dressed to the cardinal on the subject by the
Masters of Requests, which ended in no satisfac¬
tory assurances. The capital was alarmed by the
sound of firearms during the night, and the dis¬
turbance was ascertained to have originated in
some of the citizens making trial of their mus¬
kets. On the next day a mob of women sur¬
rounded the regent as she went to Notre Dame:
they were, however, dispersed by the military.
The haughty spirit of the queen was ill-disposed
to yield to the threats of an excited populace;
and the cardinal, misled by the success of his
tyrannical predecessor, Richelieu, imagined that
a strong hand was all that was requisite to con¬
trol them.
One of the kings of France (Henry III.) was
accustomed to say that the head of the kingdom
(meaning by this the capital) was too large : that
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 105
it was full of humors injurious to the comfort of
the bocly; and that a good bleeding was necessary
every now and then. This periodical crisis was
now approaching. The troubles which led to the
English Commonwealth had stirred up a sympa¬
thetic uneasiness in the neighboring country, and
an occasion was not wanting to develop the exist¬
ing disaffection. An ancient law of France had
forbidden the erection of any new houses in the
faubourgs of Paris. Yet this law, as might be
expected with a population so rapidly increasing,
had been perpetually violated. It was, therefore,
proposed that every such house should pay a
heavy fine. But as the parliament / would not
consent to this measure, it was offered the - alter¬
native of raising eighteen millions of francs,
whilst it was promised that it should have a voice
in the appropriation of the money so raised. The
decree was registered. But a schism in the par¬
liament prevented its execution, and the deliber¬
ative body became divided into three sections:
one party opposing Mazarin and his measures':
another siding with the cardinal; and a third
awaiting the dictation of circumstances, and
resolved to unite with the. body likely to
prove triumphant. Things were in this state
when the great victory gained by the Prince of
Conde at Sens stimulated the courage of the
court, and instigated the queen and cardinal to
seize upon six of the magistrates, who had been
most active in their opposition to the ruling
powers. No sooner was this known, than the
whole quartier of Notre Dame was in uproar.
iOG PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Shops were closed: chains were drawn, accord¬
ing to the former custom of the inhabitants,
across the streets, and barricades arose in every
quarter. The queen-regent, who then inhabited
the Palais-Royal, and whose haughty Spanish
spirit was roused by what she interpreted as a
high indignity offered to her royal authority, re¬
fused for some time to yield, and when De Retz
represented to her the serious disaffection of the
populace, she declared that it was disloyal even
to believe in the possibility of an insurrection.
At length, however, the .coadjutor was sent to
announce to the excited mob that Broussel, one
of the insurgents, who had been seized by the
court, should be restored to his party on the next
day. The appearance of De Retz was the signal
for increased tumult, in the midst of which one
of the people was shot, and the coadjutor himself
struck to the ground before he was recognized.
After speaking a few words to the mob, he offered
again to return to the regent, whom he assured
that, if Broussel was not at once liberated, Paris
would be destroyed. His remonstrance was re¬
ceived only with taunts and sarcasm ; and when
De £*iz returned- to the people, it was to organize
a revolt, and to place himself at its head. No
fewer than 1200 barricades were immediately
formed in the capital, till, forced by the violence
of the popular movement, the promise of the
restoration of Broussel was once more made by
the royal party, the mob declaring that if he
should not have arrived among them by ten o'clock
on the next morning, they would pillage the royal
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 107
palace and murder the cardinal. The alarm of
the court became extreme; and the insurrection
had reached its height when at nine o'clock on
the next day the prisoner had not arrived. But
when Broussel appeared at liberty, the anger of
the mob as quickly yielded to the impulses of
ecstatic joy, and Broussel was borne in triumph
to Notre Barne, where a Te Deum was performed
on his release, whilst the wild excitement and
frensied rage which had so recently agitated the
whole capital gave way instantly to the utmost
tranquillity. Peace being thus restored, the
court lost no time in removing so dangerous a
man from the city. Such were some of the first
incidents of the Fronde—a name signifying a
peculiar kind of sling, then employed in the
sports of the juvenile portion of the inhabitants
of the city, and terminating sometimes in blood¬
shed. When the first symptoms of dissatisfaction
appeared in the parliament, Mazarin contemptu¬
ously said that the legislative body was like the
"frondeurs" in the ditches of Paris, who invariably
fled on the appearance of the police. This name,
devised by the enemy, was adopted by the parti¬
sans of liberty. The frondc became the rallying
cry of the disaffected Parisians, It was to the
capital of France in 1610 what " Wilkes and No.
4b" was to the capital of London in 1763. The
insurgents adopted the frondc as their emblem,
and attached it as a cord to their hats. • They
were designated Frondeurs, whilst the opposite
party were sarcastically called Ma sarins. At
this period, following a custom not peculiar to
108 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
France, but which all observers of society will
well understand, every article of dress or utility
designed to acquire popular favor, was dignified,
in some shape or other, with the appellation a la
Fronde.
But though, for the present, the insurrection
was quelled, the tumult of the Fronde was by no
means ended. No man was more extensively
unpopular than Mazarin. Not only was" he a
selfish and unprincipled oppressor of the people,
but he was also a foreigner. He never could
speak the French language in a manner tolerable
to a French ear, and the wits of Paris - ridiculed
continually his pronunciation of union, as if it
had been written olgnon, (onion.) The demon¬
strations of the Fronde had not been confined to
the people alone : many of the nobles had taken
an active part in the disturbances: in fact, the
whole kingdom was trembling on the verge of
total disorganization.
But, more alive to her haughty passions than
to any due estimate of her own position, (though
the counsels af Mazarin, now the queen's secret
husband, tended greatly to moderate her im¬
petuosity,) the regent commanded the celebrated
Conde to come to her aid against her disaffected
subjects. A civil war enstied. Among others
who took the part of the Frondeurs were the
Duchesses of Longueville and Bouillon, the most
beautiful women of their time, the former being
the sister of Conde. Many nobles were gained
to the popular side through their influence; and,
on one occasion, these two ladies just named ap-
1'xV.RIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 109
peared on the steps of tlie Hotel de Ville in the
midst of an immense crowd, holding their children
in their arms, and declaring to the delighted
people that it was their intention to entrust them¬
selves to the care of the Parisians, that they might
be hostages for the fidelity of their husbands to
the popular cause. On behalf of the royalists,
Conde commenced the blockade of Paris, and was
represented by the liberal party to be supporting
himself by feeding upon the ears of his prisoners—
a rumor which was popularly credited, and kept
up not a little the excitement of the Parisians.
The more. moderate members of the parliament
in the mean time regarded this disorganized state
of affairs with extreme apprehension, and availed
themselves of every occasion to enter into nego¬
tiations, with a view to reconciliation with tile
court. In this they were at length successful •
and on the 11th March, 1649, peace was signed
at liuel, and soon extended itself over the whole
kingdom.
The insurrection of the Fronde, though pro¬
fessedly for objects similar to those which occa¬
sioned the civil wars of England about the same
period, was little characterized by the firm ad¬
herence to conscientious convictions, true or false,
which distinguished that eventful period of
British history. Versatility and treachery were
the prominent features of most of the actors in
the scene ; and if the leaders of the Fronde were
gained at last to the side of the court, it was well
understood that their submission had been a mar¬
ketable commodity. One only of the French
110 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
nobles stood superior to sucb ignominy—it was
the Duke of Beaufort. The rest were brought
over; but the people remained dissatisfied as be¬
fore. Cond6 himself wavered in the crisis, and
proved not superior to those mercenary considera¬
tions by which so many were swayed. He had
his reward. The position which he occupied in¬
spired Mazarin with such terror, that, to release
himself from so haughty and dangerous a general,
the cardinal leagued with theFrondeurs and with
De Iletz, whom he afterwards arrested together
with the Prince of Conde and the Due de Longue-
ville ; whilst the people of Paris, who had never
forgiven Conde's measures against the capital,
demonstrated their joy at the event by a grand
illumination.
Conde was imprisoned in the fortress of Yin-
ceunes, and afterwards at Havre. His deme mor
during his imprisonment formed, by its calm
courage, a remarkable contrast to that of his com¬
panions ; and the bearing of the three amply
justified the witticism uttered by the Duke o"
Orleans, lieutenant-general, upon being informed
of the arrest: " There is a good haul of the net:
they have just taken together a fox, a monkey,
and a lion \" An attempt was made at the same
time to apprehend the Duchess de Longueville,
but she contrived to effect her escape after sundry
romantic adventures. The arrest of these con¬
spirators, however, did not increase the popularity
of- Mazarin. Intrigues, which had for their ob¬
ject the liberation of Conde, were so ill-managed
by the cardinal, and so adroitly directed by the
PARIS*. ANCIENT AND MODERN. Ill
ever busy and meddling De Retz, as to lead to
the renewed demand of the people that Mazarin
should leave Paris; which was presented in such
terms that the cardinal was compelled to obey."
From this time the young Louis was carefully
watched and guarded, lest he should be taken
away from Paris. The Duke of Orleans sent each
night a greeting to the queen, and gave orders to
the messenger not to return till he had seen the
prince.
In the meantime Mazarin proceeded to Havre,
where Conde and the other princes were confined,
and gave them their liberty, his policy ^prompting
him to acquire the merit of such an act before it
was possible that the Frondeurs could accomplish
it. For a season Paris again became calm, though
new storms were brewing in the distance.
On the Gth September, 1651, the king had
reached his fourteenth year, and, according to the
laws of France, ceased to be a minor. The cere¬
mony of his "taking the government of the state,"
according to the phraseology of the court, was
celebrated by extraordinary magnificence. In the
midst of a gorgeous procession appeared "the
king himself, calm, dignified, and grave to a de¬
gree astonishing for his years; and securing by
the premature majesty of his deportment," say
contemporaneous writers, " the admiration of all
ranks, who loaded him with prayers and blessings
as he passed along. His dress was so entirely
overlaid with gold and embroidery that neither
the color nor material could be distinguished;
and he was already so tall that it was difficult to
112 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
believe that he had only just attained his ibur-
tcenth year. This circumstance acted greatly
upon the feelings of the crowd, who, seeing one
of the nobility, who was of the same age as Louis,
although considerably smaller in stature, riding
near him, began with increased enthusiasm to
peal forth their cry of ' Long live the king!' a
demonstration which so startled the cream-colored
charger upon which the young monarch was
^mounted, that it reared and plunged violently;
but the boy-king managed his steed with so much
ease and self-possession, that the incident only
tended to^ive the populace, a higher idea of their
young monarch." At this time the queen formally
resigned to her son the reins of government,
whilst the king, thanking her for the attention
she had shown to the interests of the nation, de¬
sired her to remain second only to himself in the
council. The government was, however, ad¬
ministered as before by the queen, who was
impatient to procure the return of Mazarin. In
the meantime, Conde employed his liberty in
making war upon the court. During his imprison¬
ment, his wife, Clemence de Mailly, a daughter
of Richelieu, had organized a considerable revolt
in favor of her husband, and Conde now placed
himself at the head of her troops. After a vic¬
tory gained'over the royal forces, under Hocquin-
court, he advanced once more to Paris. His
intention was to array the citizens of the capital
in an alliance against Mazarin. He gained the
populace, but found little favor with the magis¬
trates, who detested the junction he had recently
PARIS: ANCIENT AND . MODERN. 113
formed witli Spain, as being a combination with
the enemies of France. The aid, however, which
the parliament of Paris had denied to Conde,
reached him from an unexpected quarter—from
the hand of a woman—the daughter of the Duke
of Orleans, his cousin, whom the French desig¬
nated by the title of Mademoiselle. By means
of the utmost energy, and the employment of
alternate threats and cajolery, she prevailed upon
the magistrates to permit the entrance of Conde's
troops within the city. It was high time: Turenne,
who commanded the royal army, had succeeded
in cooping up Conde round the Porte St. Antoine,
where he had been compelled to defend himself
at the greatest disadvantage, and had undergone
a conflict, in which he had displayed great valor,
although he had failed to secure admission to the
city—only the dead and wounded being allowed
to pass into it. It was at this juncture, when
the forces of Turenne were preparing for their
last decisive spring upon their almost prostrate,
though not yet disheartened, foe, that the diver¬
sion of Mademoiselle saved the army of the
valorous Conde. As she went to the Porte St.
Antoine to convey to her cousin the welcome
news of the permission to enter the city, which
she had just gained with so much difficulty, she
passed through the most shocking spectacles of
the dead and dying. No entreaties of hers, how¬
ever, could cause Conde to enter the walls until
nightfall: his answer to all remonstrances being,
"I will not be reproached with having retreated
in broad dav before the Mazarins."
Ill PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Tlie encounter of tliese rival forces was wit¬
nessed by Louis XIV. from the heights of Cha-
ronne, and it was with extreme mortification that
tbo royalist party saw the opening of the city
gates to receive their rival; whilst, by command
of Mademoiselle, the c-annon of the Bastile fired
upon the army of Turenne at each attempt it
made to pursue the foe. Up to this time, the
marriage of the young king with this heroic lady
had been deemed an event tar from improbable;
but such hopes were now for ever ended. " Ma¬
demoiselle," as Mazarin afterwards said, "had
killed her royal husband with the cannon of the
Bastile."
This interposition of the princess had been far
from agreeable tcrthe magistrates of Paris. Conde,
therefore, aided by the Duke of Orleans, resolved,
with unscrupulous determination, to terrify them
into submission. The parliament had assembled
in the Hotel dc Ville, to debate cei'tain proposi¬
tions submitted to them for a union of parties.
It had been expected that Mazarin would be de¬
clared a prisoner, the Duke of Orleans lieutenant-
general, and Conde commander-in-chief of the
royal forces. But the deliberative body was found
to be extremely little inclined to lisfen to such
overtures. Conde and the Duke of Orleans,
therefore, left the assembly in discomposure, and
as they passed through the populace, who were
assembled in great numbers ou the Place de Crevo,
they cried out to them—" These gentlemen will
do nothing for us : they intend to put us off from
day to day. They are Mazarins: deal with them
PALI IS t ANCIENT AND MODERN.' 115
as you please !" Scarcely were tlie words uttered,
when the mob set up a cry of—''The. union!
the union I" and the windows of the hotel were
crashed by musket-shots. The parliament were
in the utmost terror. Nor was their consternation
diminished by the fact, that the first discharge of
firearms (which, having been directed from the
esplanade below, had taken an upward direction*)
was succeeded by another aimed directly through
the windows from the opposite houses with mortal
effect. Escape was impossible. The populace
were not only masters of all the avenues of egress,
but were heaping wood, mixed with pitch and oil,
before the doors, and these, being ignited, threat¬
ened the ' assembled parliament with the most
terrible of all deaths. A dark suspicion will ever
rest'upon the memory of Conde, that these trans¬
actions were performed at his suggestion : certain
it is that, when he received the news of the in¬
surrection, he refused to interfere, declaring that
he . understood nothing about sedition, and felt
himself a coward in such a scene. Most of the
senators, however, by bribes or by disguises, con¬
trived to escape. But so calamitous an event left
a deep impression on the public mind. In vain
did Conde declare that he had no part in the mur¬
derous onslaught, and that he had left the Place
de Grfive before the bloody tumult took place.
The event proved the ruin of his party; and the
detestation of which he himself became the object
threw him into a fever, on recovery from which
he departed to join the army of the King of Spain,
leaving the capital open to the royalists. Never
11G PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
did man more distinctly realize the sentiment of
the poet—
"Beneath the good how far! yet far above the great."
Thus ended, in the -disgrace and discomfiture
of its authors, the war of the Fronde. On the
21st of October, 1052, the king once more entered
his fickle and seditious capital, in the midst of
his army. Mademoiselle was displaced from the
Tuileries, which she had till then inhabited,
and left Paris. The Puke of Orleans retired to
Blois. The Cardinal de Petz was imprisoned,
first in Vincennes, and afterwards in the Chateau
of Nantes. Conde, Conti, with others, were put
under the ban of the law as -traitors, and excepted
from the general amnesty, and the courts of jus¬
tice were prohibited henceforth from meddling
with affairs of state. Mazarin, triumphant over
the liberties of his adopted country, and silencing
the movements which, pursued with no principle,
had ended only in rivetting the chains of slavery,
became, during the remainder of his life, the un¬
disputed master of the people of France, compelled
henceforth to endure the tyranny they could not
now hope to shake off.
The history of the court at the Louvre, from
this period to the death of Mazarin, personal and
scandalous as it was, little deserves to be detailed
in these pages. Theatrical entertainments, jousts,
balls, and ballets, in which the young king per¬
formed a conspicuous part, and in which the
grossest flattery was offered to him by others, or
applied to him by himself, as if he realized in bis
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 117
own person the mythological attributes of heathen
divinities: an enormous expenditure of public
money, part of which fed the avarice of the
greedy cardinal, and part of which administered
to the luxurious tastes of the ambitious young
king: the suffering people groaning in secret
under these exactions: the systematic attempts
of the ruling minister to keep in abeyance the
growing intelligence and quick penetration of the
sovereign, in whom he had already discerned
matter enough to furnish, as he said with a bitter
satire upon royalty, " four kings and one honest
man the conflicts between .Conde, as generalis¬
simo of the Spanish army, and Turenne, who
continually opposed him: the presence of Louis
in the' trenches, to gain royal honors in war : the
loss of Dunkirk to the English : the illness of the
king, to whom the administration of an emetic,
then a new remedy, was of signal service: the
chapter of intrigues connected with the history
of Louis's marriage, when, after a journey taken
to espouse one princess, he ended by giving his
hand to another, Maria Theresa—these and simi¬
lar events fill up this interval, which occupies
hundreds of pages of French memoirs, sometimes
flippant, sometimes trivial, but always gossipping,
and often amusing—though the heart not seldom
aches at the sad recital, and the Christian not un-
frequently turn from it with disgust.
In the beginning of 1GG1, the, health of Car¬
dinal Mazarin began visibly to decline. But so
far as will could do it, he determined to grapple
with the enemy whoSe approach he had so much
US PARIS; ANCIENT AND MODERN.
reason to dread. He therefore not only endea¬
vored, by painting bis cheeks, to conceal the
ravages which age and disease were making in his
frame, but prepared a grand ballet, in which all
the magnificence hitherto seen in Paris was in¬
tended to be outrivalled. The king and queen
were invited to witness it. In the course of Lis
preparations, however, for this grand entertain¬
ment, some costly draperies which had been im¬
ported from Milan at an enormous expense took
fire, and the cardinal himself was with difficulty
rescued from burning, He was conveyed to the
Mazarin palace, and was told by his physicians
that, though there was no immediate danger, death
was inevitable. No news could have been more
unwelcome. On one occasion, his valet perceived
him tottering through the gallery where the most
magnificent works of art had been accumulated at
enormous cost, and overheard him saying, " Must
I quit all these ?" Then perceiving his attendant,
he added, "Look at this Correggio; this Venus
of Titian; that incomparable Deluge of Carracci.
Ah, my friend, I must quit all these. Farewell,
dear pictures that I loved so dearly, and that
cost me so much." The sentence pronounced
upon him by his physicians haunted him night
and day. " Guenard"—his medical attendant—
" has said it: Gruenard has said it." In vain was
he told that Guenard was only man, and might
be mistaken. "Ah," replied he, "Guenard knows
his trade." Yet his solicitude still was to portion
his nieces, and to provide for their future establish¬
ment. On one occasion he sent for three of his
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 119
relatives, and commanded them to help themselves
to what they chose of his treasures. They took
as much as they could carryand as the strong¬
box was not yet exhausted, they opened the wiu-
dows, and threw the rest to the servants loitering
about in the court below. When the intelligence
of this reckless profusion was conveyed to the
cardinal, it added a new pang to his avaricious
soul. lie had heaped up riches^ not knowing
who should gather them. The sum amassed by
this crafty and able minister was no less, we are
told, than forty millions of livres. His confessor
was startled on hearing the amount, and told Ma-
zarin that it was too large a sum to die with; and
informed him, moreover, that it was necessary
for him to refund all which had not been acquired
by legitimate means. The dying man was in
agony, saying, that in that case he must give up
the whole. Trembling in every nerve at the
thought of losing what his life, had been spent in
acquiring, the expiring sinner sent for Colbert,
the minister of finance, and by his advice made
all over, in one comprehensive donation, to the
king; ejaculating continually, " My poor family!
my poor family ! they will be left without bread."
ThreS days of anxious suspense followed this deed
of gift. At the expiration of that time, Colbert
returned with the joyful news that the king, by
an act of grace, restored the whole to the cardi¬
nal. This quieted the scruples of the confessor,
and extreme unction was no longer refused. The
last days of this eminent but intrinsically worth¬
less minister were varied by. devices to conceal
120 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
his mortal sickness from the prying eyes of the
courtiers : by engaging in games of cards, though
his weakness rendered it necessary for his attend¬
ants to hold his " hands by parting advice to
the king as to the course he should pursue in the
future regulation of his kingdom; and by the
occasional utterance of devotional expressions.
Thus "as'the fool dieth" passed away, at the age
of fifty-two, the rich, the subtle, the powerful
Cardinal Mazarin.
paris : ancient and modern.
121
CHAPTER IV.
paris tile the death op louis xvi.
At the death of Mazarin, Louis was twenty-
three years of age. His education had been much
neglected, and his acquisitions were far inferior
to those required by his position. But he had a
strong will and untiring energy. His views of
royalty were, however, debased and degraded.
To him it was only another name for external
splendor, glittering arms, and magnificent shows;
and the desire for a nation's happiness scarcely
formed an element of his ambitious purposes.
The selfishness of his rule is well illustrated by
the remark he made to a magistrate who was
talking in his presence of the state: "L'etat,
c'est mot."—The state is myself.
Paris did not long retain the court of a monarch
whose retinue was larger and whose magnificence
was greater than those of any of his predecessors.
The splendors of royalty increased to such an
extent that no ordinary palace would contain the
attendants. A new- erection was therefore hegun
at Versailles, the mere construction of which, it
is said, cost two hundred millions of livres, though
the king burned the bills, that none might see
122 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
the amount lavished upon the superb building.
The history of that residence does not come within
the object of this little volume.
The adulation paid to Louis is almost incredible.
Courtiers are ever quick to discern the taste of
the reigning sovei'eign; and, as their interest lies
that way, are not usually backward in gratifying-
it. It might be supposed that praise, adminis¬
tered so constantly, would at length disgust the
most eager appetite. But Louis was insatiable.
Painters, medallists, heralds, architects, writers
of poetry and prose, vied with each other in
offering adulation. A storm of fire and blood"
raged over Europe, in order to extend his power
and to gratify his love of applause. By means
like these, the King of France gained the name
of " Louis the Great." But the medal had its
reverse. The reign of this monarch entailed
upon the nation an exhausted exchequer, an
enormous sacrifice of human life, a pernicious
public example, and left to it a legacy of convul¬
sion, woe, and death.
During the reign of Louis, though it no longer
possessed the presence of the court, Paris rapidly
increased in extent, and realized in some degree
the words of Vauban—"This city is to France
wdiat the head is to the human body. It is the
true heart of the kingdom, the common mother
of France." Many religious houses arose, or were
extended, among which none was more remark¬
able than Val-de-Grace, a nunnery of the Bene¬
dictine order, still situated in the Rue da faubourg
St. Jacques, the dome of which is conspicuous
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 123
over a considerable piirt of the capital. It derived
its name from a valley on the banks of Bievre-le-
ChCitel, (three leagues from Paris,) where the
original structure had#been placed. On the birth
of Louis XIV., after his parents had been married
twenty-three years, Anne of Austria erected a
building on the south of Paris, for the accommo¬
dation of the institution, in fulfilment of a vow
made by her before her son's birth. * After she
became regent, she resolved to erect a more mag¬
nificent building upon the spot, and in 1GI5
Louis XIY. laid the foundation-stone with a splen¬
did ceremonial.
The queen granted to this monastery the privi¬
lege of interring in its church the hearts of the
royal (Bourbon) family. These were deposited
in the left side of the chapel. The remains of
Henrietta Maria, ex-queen of England, were also
buried here. This church is likewise remarkable
as having been associated with the unhappy me¬
mory of Madame de la Yali^re, before she became
a nun: her confessional is still shown.
Another religious house in Paris which owed
its origin to this reign is the Port Royal, standing
on the site now occupied by La liaison de la
Mate mite, 5 Hue du Port-Royal. This institution
was also one of those transported from the coun¬
try to the capital, having been removed to it from
the neighborhood of Chevreuse. In the contro¬
versy on the subject of Jansenism, in which Blaise
Pascal took so distinguished a part, the nuns of
the Port Royal in Paris made common cause with
their brethren left at Chevreuse, and the com-
124 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
munity was broken up-by Louis XIV., in 1664,
whilst several of the nuns were deported to other
monasteries, and treated as prisoners. The whole
abbey was at a later period suppressed.
Among the churches which belong to this pe¬
riod are those of St. Loch, the foundation of which
was laid by Louis and his mother: St. Sulj)ice,
begun in 1643, upon the site of a previous edifice,
and not completed till towards the end of the next
century; and La Madeleine., the predecessor of
the present imposing structure.
Other institutions ^f considerable importance
remain to be added as distinguishing this reign.
The Salj>etricre,. or general hospital, situated
in the Quartier St. Marcel, demands peculiar no¬
tice. The number of beggars who infested the
streets of Paris during the reigns of Henri Quatre
and his successor was excessive, and it was greatly
increased by the prevalence of the civil wars. A
large mass of thieves was, as usual, concealed
under the habits of those who solicited charity in
the streets of the metropolis. Before such a crowd
of mendicants, the efforts of the parliament to
establish a better order of things entirely failed.
During the wars of the Fronde, the beggars of
Paris amounted to forty thousand—nearly a fifth
of the whole jiopulation. After many debates,
the establishment of a general hospital was resolved
upon; and the materials of the Bicetre, with
another house called the Salpetriere, from which
the new hospital took its name, were employed in
a new erection, principally remarkable for its vast
size.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 125
The Hospital of Enfans-trouves originally arose
out of the obligation held binding upon all feudal
lords to support children found in the streets.
This duty was subsequently delegated to the Arch¬
bishop of Paris, who built a house for the recep¬
tion of these foundlings. It was anciently the
custom to place in churches huge cradles/contain¬
ing a number of these children, as a plaintive,
though probably not always a silent, appeal to the
benevolence of the worshippers. But at the time
of vjhich we speak, such children were greatly
neglected. In 1G36, a widow, whose pity was
excited by their destitute condition, undertook to
receive and care for as many as her house would
contain. Unfortunately, her perseverance in well¬
doing proved unequal to her zeal, and the children
were left to the care of servants,- who made a trade
of them, often lending them out for hire to men¬
dicants, by -whom they were subjected to great
suffering in order to excite pity; whilst some of
them fell into the hands of pretended magicians,
who employed them for purposes in connection
with their deceitful arts. In 1G38, the benevolent
Vincent de Paul, perceiving the destitute condi-
tipn of these poor children, addressed himself to
the richer females of the city and its faubourgs,
and placed before them his project for relieving
them. " The life and death -of these children,"
he said, " are in your hands: it is time to pro¬
nounce their fate, and to know whether you will
have compassion upon them. They will live, if
you extend to them your compassionate care; and,
on the contrary, they will infallibly die and perish
126 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
if you abandon them." Vincent de Paul next
proceeded to address himself to the king, (Louis
XIII.,) who gave an annuity of four thousand
livres, to he1 applied to the wants of these unfor¬
tunate outcasts. Anue of Austria added a new
gift of eight thousand livres annually. The chil¬
dren were subsequently taken to a house opposite
St. Lazare, and were placed under the care of the
Socurs de la Charite, and the justiciaries of the
city were taxed to the amount of fifteen thousand
livres for the support of the institution. A situ¬
ation was afterwards found for it in the Faubounj
St. Antoine, where a large building was con¬
structed. Louis XIV. conferred on the institution
the dignity of a hospital of the city, constituting
it thus a public charity. In 1747 the charity was
removed to the Rue d'JSnfcr, where it still re¬
mains. It admits within its walls all exposed
children under two years of age, those above that
period of life being provided for by the Orphan
Hospital. It contains 599 beds. The children
are received cither from the police, or from their
parents, "being placed secretly within a small
opening provided for the purpose, and are then
registered, with an account of the place and
manner in which they have been found, and the
signs which may assist future recognition. They
are afterwards dressed in the general uniform of
the establishment. Several rooms called Crh-Jus
(nurseries) are assigned for their reception, fur¬
nished with cradles, equally simple and clean,
ranged-in double rows against the walls, and a
considerable number of nurses are constantly em-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 127
ployed in attending to their wants. The following
remarks of a French writer are justly applicable
to this institution:—"We cannot disguise from
ourselves that, notwithstanding Lthe immense
benefit of this establishment, it has often favored
Vice and immorality. An unnatural mother, or,
what occurs still more frequently, a mother not
having sufficient mental energy to contend with
want, is, perhaps, often stimulated to abandon her
child, which from that moment becomes an utter
stranger to her." The hospital is visited by a
committee of ladies, who are charged to register
from time to time the observations they may
make as to the condition of the children in the
establishment. The first stone of the chapel of
the Hopital dcs En fans trouves, in the Hue St.
Antoine, was laid by the queen, Maria Theresa,
wife of Louis XIY. Other establishments, sub¬
sidiary to the principal one, now exist.
The Hotel Royal des Invalides forms one of
the chief sights in Paris. It is destined for the
reception of wounded invalids, and superannu¬
ated soldiers, and stands at the extremity of the
Faubourg St. Germain, on the other side of the
Seine, opposite to the Champs Elys6es. Louis
XIY., whose wars were greatly more numerous
than those of his predecessors, founded and en¬
dowed this establishment with appropriate liber¬
ality. It was first occupied in 1674, and the
church was commenced in the following year.
The modern palace of the Louvre, though pre¬
viously begun, was also forwarded and harmon¬
ized under Le Grand Munarque, who laid the
128 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
first stone of the east facade. The original archi¬
tect was Bernini, an Italian, who was afterwards
succeeded by Perrault. The expenses of Ver¬
sailles, however, proved so great, as to divert the
king from his purpose of completing the Louvre,
and it was not finished till the time of Napoleon".
In the reign of Louis, also, the palace of the
Tuileries underwent great alterations, though little
was added to the interior. In 1CG5, Le Notre
was charged with the work of laying out its gar¬
dens, and the street intervening between them
and the palace was removed. This area has sub¬
sequently undergone great change, and is now
the most beautitul one of the kind in Europe.
The Champs Elysees, begun to be planted by
Mary de Medici, were also greatly increased and
improved under Louis XIV., who gave to them
■ their present name. The Place du Carrousel,
the Place Venddme, (which presented original I
in its centre a bronze equestrian statue of Louis
XIV.,) the Place des Victoircs, built by the
Vicomte d'Aubusson, in commemoration of the
conquests of his royal master; the Partes St. An-
toine, St. Denis, and St. Martin, triumphant
arches, all recall Louis's military successes. The
Observatory; the Academies of Sculpture and
Belles Lett res ; the Eoyal Library, now a stupend¬
ous collection of literature; the existing manufac¬
ture of Grobelins tapestry; the Pont Iloyal; toge¬
ther with many theatres and aqueducts, are the
abiding memorials of the magnificence of this
reign. Nor must we omit the Boulevards, planted
on the north side of Paris during this period,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 129
and occupying tlie place of the ancient fortifica¬
tions.
The police of France was in the earlier days of
Louis XIV. most insufficient and contemptible.
The three sous and a half per day, often ill-paid,
which the guards of the city had continued to
receive since the earlier times of French history,
secured no effective services from the guardians
of public order : ill-conditioned soldiers roamed
about, committing all kinds of mischief: the in¬
solence of pages and laquais, who were often
thieves also, was intolerable; and the Cour des
Miracles (so called from the transformations there
effected in the appearance* of those who had ex¬
cited in the streets pity for their pretended
misery) swarmed with an incredible mass of per¬
sons given up to the most utter abandonment.
Under Louis XIV., regular lanterns were first
fixed in the streets of Paris : this did something
to correct the evil. But more was effected by the
energy of D'Argenson, as Lieutenant du Prevot
de Paris, and his successor, Ilerauld, who took
the vagabonds into the pay of the state as spies,
and brought them thus under police control. In
this reign the number of " quartiers" assigned to
the city increased to twenty, and its population
is computed to have been somewhat under five
hundred thousand.
The period of which we speak unquestionably
contributed not a little to destroy the remnants
of the old feudal system, and to introduce order,-
civilization, and literature into the community.
But the advance was far from being rapid or
5
130 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
complete. Poisoning was one of the most notori¬
ous crimes of this reign; and its progress was
amply illustrated by the history of the Marchion¬
ess de Brinvilliers, who was found guilty of the
murder of her father and brother, and of an
attempt on the life of her sister. She was drawn
on a hurdle to the entrance of Notre Dame, where
she made a full confession, and was afterwards
beheaded at the Place de Greve. Many other
persons of rank were about the same time arrested
on suspicion of the same crime.
The example of Louis XIV. and his court dif¬
fused an air of politeness over the whole capital,
some traces of which yet remain. But. the
stranger will not fail to remark, mingled with
this, especially among the middle classes of Paris,
an air of brusquerie, learned from subsequent and
more revolutionary times.
As Louis XV. was, upon the death of his
great-grandfather, Louis XIV., only five years of
age, (A. D. 1715,) a regency was inevitable; and
Philippe, Duke of Orleans, was appointed to that
station by the will of the late king. One of his
first acts was to restore to the parliament of Paris
the privilege of which Louis XIV. had deprived
them—that of remonstrating against measures of
which they disapproved. The regent found the
finances of the kingdom in the most deplorable
state of dilapidation : the national debt amount¬
ing to seven hundred millions of livres, in bills
demanding immediate payment, besides a funded
debt of which the interest alone amounted to
ninety-six million. A bankruptcy was proposed,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 131
and was substantially, though not nominally, de¬
termined on. The critical position of affairs led
the regent to lend a greedy ear to the projects of
Law, of South Sea notoriety, who launched his
bark upon these' troubled seas, and promised, by
his wild and nefarious schemes, to rescue France
from its threatened destruction. The disastrous
failure is well known: it increased the national
debt one-half. The principal scene of this ex¬
citement, while it lasted, was the Rue Quincam-
poix. So great was the popular indignation which
the ignominious failure of his scheme roused
against Law, that, to shelter himself from the
fury of the populace, he was obliged to take re¬
fuge in the Palais Loyal, where the regent resided,
and which was in consequence surrounded by an
immense mob, demanding the surrender of the
impostor. Three persons were crushed to death
in the crowd. Law, after having been secreted
by the regent, made his escape by the aid of some
who had been enriched by hfs roguery, and fled
first to Brussels, and afterwards t'o Yenice, where
he died. As a consequence of this national bank¬
ruptcy, which his bubble produced, France un¬
derwent the utmost distress, and many wealthy
families saw themselves suddenly left without
resource.
Notwithstanding this terrible crash, the regency
of the Duke of Orleans was, upon the whole,
tranquil — especially when compared with some
preceding periods. The regent expired in 1723,
leaving behind him a name for treachery and pro¬
fligacy seldom equalled.
182
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
When the death of the regent took place, Louis
XV. was already of age. The administration of
affairs passed into the hands of the Due de Bour¬
bon, whose course was extremely short. He was
succeeded by the Cardinal de Fleury, who had
held the office of preceptor to the young king,
and who governed the kingdom, not unsuccess¬
fully, for seventeen years.
The reign of Louis XV., the personal incidents
of which belong more to Versailles than to Paris,
was a blot upon the name of royalty. With more
than the vices of his predecessor, but without his
virtues—cowardly, mean, voluptuous, frivolous—
he had yet sagacity enough to foresee the issue
towards which the affairs of the kingdom were
daily tending. "Apres nous, le deluge"—"After
us, the deluge"—was continually on his lips. In
the meantime the government of France fell into
the hands of corrupt ministers and still more cor¬
rupt courtezans; and the resources of the police
were continually employed to trace out petty in¬
trigues, or to punish those who had incurred the
enmity of base women. The prisons were crowded:
men were arrested upon " lettres de cachet " which
were issued by no public tribunal, and were amen¬
able to no public authority, save that of the blind¬
folded sovereign. The public profession of religion,
degenerated into a mere empty form, often cov¬
ered, in those occupying ecclesiastical stations,
the most hypocritical immorality : infidelity made
rapid progress under the Voltaires, Diderots,
d'Alemberts, Rousseaus, and the Encyclopaedists
of the day, who to talents of the highest order
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 133
joined a contempt (suggested, alas ! by what they
witnessed around them) of all that was sacred
and sublime: the debauchery of the nobles, fos¬
tered by the court, was excessive and unblushing—
the whole people were ignorant and unfed. The
king, who had in his earlier years, when threat¬
ened with death by the knife of Damien, been
called Le bien-aime, (the well-beloved,) and for
whose life prayers had been at that time volunta¬
rily presented by the people in crowded churches,
had, long before his death, outlived all such popu¬
larity; and, when he appeared in public, began
to be received with significant silence. He there¬
fore ceased for a considerable time to visit his
capital. So far, however, from winning more
favorable suffrages, by this absence, his next ap¬
pearance, years after, was marked by loud cries
of " Bread! bread !" It was known that the king
trafficked in corn, and made large sums by the
misery of his subjects; and it was popularly believed
that, to restore energies to his body, destroyed by
debauchery and disorder, young children were
seized and murdered, that he might bathe in their
blood. The king's licentiousness led to his death—
a death of such degradation, misery, and horror,
as has been seldom equalled. On the 10th of
May, 1774, "Versailles was deserted by its cour¬
tiers, who abandoned it in disgust when the sove¬
reign was no more; and the body of Louis XV.
was literally thrown into " the sepulchre of the
kings."
The differences of religious opinion between
the Jansenists and Jesuits, which were made
134 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
apparent by tbe fanatical belief of the people,
threatened a serious dirorganization, till it was
determined by the court that an accommodation
should be made, and that these discordant views
should not be brought into prominent notice. As
this did not satisfy the Jesuit party, thp king sent
for some of its leaders, and said to them: "I
forbid you to make any reply to what I am about
to say. I desire peace and tranquillity in my
kingdom. I impose silence upon you. Those
who disturb it shall be punished according to
law./' This was afterwards registered in "a bed
of justice." The king's attempted assassination
about this time was generally attributed to the
dissatisfaction of the Jesuits with the decision,
and advantage was taken of the feeling to expel
them from the kingdom. By this strong measure,
which the history of Europe has seen often re¬
peated, peace was restored.
At this time, we are told, fully one-half of the
area on "which the city of Paris stands was occu¬
pied by religious houses. Among the ecclesiasti¬
cal edifices erected during the reign of-Louis XV.,
which were not many, that of St. Genevieve de¬
mands preeminent notice. The church which
enclosed the remains of the patron saint of Paris
having become dilapidated, Madame de Pompa¬
dour (fit instrument!) prevailed upon the king to
recrect it in a manner far surpassing the former
building. A lottery was established to furnish
the funds, and produced' about four hundred
thousand livres per annum. Paris has no modern
church comparable to this in external magnifi-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 135
cence. Before it was erected, and for tlie pur¬
pose of conveying to Louis and the inhabitants
of Paris a notion of its splendor, the future
building was represented by a wooden erection,
covered with painted canvas. This was exhibited
on the occasion of laying the " foundation-stone/'
as the phrase is, though the works were at that
time (1701) in a considerable state of advance¬
ment. Several markets, halls, and schools arose
also in Paris at the same period. Among the
latter the Ecole Mllitaire stands conspicuous. It
was established by the king, and is well known as
the building which terminates the vast esplanade
called the Champ de Mars, destined for an exer¬
cise ground to the establishment. This area is
large enough for the manoeuvres of ten thousand
soldiers. The magnificent establishment of the
Hotel des Monnaics, opposite the Louvre, dates
also from this reign.
On the site now occupied by the Place de la
Concorde there existed a confused piece of ground,
which disturbed and disfigured the whole vicinity.
In the year 1748, the provost of Parisian mer¬
chants determined to erect on this spot a monu¬
ment to the king in the name of the citizens.
This statue was completed in 1763. It repre¬
sented the king on horseback, surrounded by four
Virtues. The well-known character of the king
provoked the severity of the following epigram :—
" 0 la belle statue ! 0 le beau piedcstal!
Les Vertues sont a pied, le Vice est a chcyal I"*
* " 0 beautiful statue and beautiful pedestal! where
the Virtues are on foot and Vice on horseback."
136 paris : ancient and modern.
Thirty years after, the populace pulled down
this figure, and the Assembly ordered it to be
destroyed. But the name which the statue*gave
to the area is not yet effaced: "Place Louis
Quinze" yet lingers on the lips of many as the
designation of the spot.
The morals of this period, especially among the
higher classes, were most deplorable. Lying was
a courtly accomplishment. Payment of debts was
called une bourgeoisie (vulgar). Complaints of
injustice against the ruling powers were often im¬
mediately followed by a lettre tie cachet: sixty
thousand of these warrants are said to have been
issued during this reign. The spread of immo¬
rality extended beyond the aristocracy. The
number of depraved persons in the streets of
Paris was enormous. Gaming was universal:
frivolity unbounded. Fashions changed so ra¬
pidly as to provoke the jest, that a lady who
had left Paris for six months would become as
antiquated as if she had left it for thirty years.
Those who would form a notion of the costume of
the period must think of the toupees, which added
a disproportionate height to the head : of hoops,
which increased the volume of the figure to such
an extent as to compel the wearer to pass through
a door sideways: of patches affixed to the face,
and carried in mirrored boxes : of enormous per-
ruques : of laced and embroidered coats; and of
the sword worn by the side, even of workmen
themselves.
Louis XVI. became, at an early age, king by
the death of his uncle iu 1774. He had married
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 137
before his aceession a princess of the house of
Austria, and the celebration of his nuptials had
been attended by a terrible calamity to the city
of Paris. On the 30th of May, 1770, a magnifi¬
cent display of fireworks took place in the Place
Louis Quinze, in honor of that joyful event. As
yet the buildings forming the Rue Royale were
incomplete, and in many parts large excavations
had been allowed to remain without fences. An
extremely dense multitude had collected from all
parts of the city to witness the feu dejoie, and
the heat and crush were intolerable. When the
fireworks were ended, the crowd began to retire,
as they were able, from the spot, most of them
taking the direction of the Rue Royale. But,
owing to some defect in the announcements, the
retiring crowd was met by an opposite mass, who
were advancing to the Place Louis Quinze, un¬
conscious that they were too late for the spectacle.
A terrible melee ensued. The resistless pressure
of the mass behind them drove many headlong
into the deep pits which they were unable to
avoid. Others were forced against the masonry,
which stood in heaps around. Many were trod¬
den to the earth. The most fearful cries, alter¬
nating with the bitterest imprecations, filled the
air. At length, in the despair and excitement
consequent upon so much danger, those who
could release their arms, and were provided with
weapons, began to hew a way of escape through
the thickly wedged mass, whilst injuries of the
most serious and even mortal kind accompanied
the effort. Three hundred persons, at least, were
138 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
killed on the spot. But these were only a mino¬
rity of the sufferers. Not less than twelve ^hun¬
dred are supposed to have died immediately after
the event, in consequence of the wounds they
then received, while the number of those who
suffered serious injuries, but escaped with life,
could never be ascertained. The dauphin and
dauphiness, whose marriage was thus disastrously
celebrated, relinquished a year's revenues for
the relief of the victims, and for the main¬
tenance of those who were made orphans by
the calamity. But the superstitious people of
Paris drew from the occurrence a dark omen as
to the fate of the marriage itself—an omen
terribly verified.
We need not repeat in these pages the varied
and tragical incidents which marked the rise and
progress of the first French revolution. Every
one is familiar with the part which the inhabitants
of the Faubourg St. Antoine took in that strug¬
gle, and with the destruction of the Bastile in its
vicinity. The club of the Jacobins was peculiarly
distinguished in these events. They held their
meetings in the convent of the Jacobins, in the
Hue St. Honore. The chapel yet remains in the
Bue de Gres. When the National Assembly had
confiscated all church'property, abolished all re¬
ligious orders, and destroyed the hereditary
nobility, preparations were made for a grand
fete in the Champ de Mars. Around this area
an elevated ridge was. thrown up, like thetrenches
of some field encampment, to serve as a gallery
at a great (so-called) religious ceremonial. Girls
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
139
and boys, tradesmen and merchants, noblemen
and courtiers, devoted themselves to the task.
It was the fashion of the moment, and its rem¬
nants still survive. During the same period, the
body of Yoltaire was disinterred from the church
of Sellieres in Champagne, and brought, with a
most pompous procession, to the church of Ste.
Genevieve—then called the Pantheon. The
same building held also the remains of Des¬
cartes and Mirabeau, and subsequently the
heart of Marat. Many of the most remark¬
able scenes of this period became associated
with the palace of the Tuileries, among which
the massacre of the Swiss guards was not the
least conspicuous. In this building the Con¬
vention held its sittings : within it was discovered
the iron chest, which furnished to the excited
populace new materials of accusation against the
king.
The Place Louis Quinze, called at this crisis
the Place de la Revolution, was the theatre of
some of the most bloody scenes of this disorganized
and terrible period. The visitant of Paris will
not fail to have observed the two beautiful foun¬
tains now decorating the spot, and refreshing, by
their delicious and abundant waters, the sultry
atmosphere of Paris in the hot season. Near to
one of these, that in the direction qf the Chamlre
des Deputes, on a cold and misty morning in the
month of January, though an occasional sunbeam
shone at intervals, a scaffold was erected at the
end of the great alley of the Tuileries; and an
immense concourse crowding the bridge, the trees,
140 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
the roofs of the houses, and the terraces of the
adjoining palace, awaited in breathless silence the
arrival of their unhappy king. After an imprison¬
ment in the tower of the Temple, where he had
been exposed to every variety of outrage and in¬
dignity : after a prolonged trial, in which he had
manifested a courage not natural to him, but
learned in affliction, he had been condemned to
die—even the Due d'Orleans (himself of the
blood-royal) concurring in the sentence, " on his
soul and his conscience"—and he was now
brought amidst a concourse of national guards,
and a great multitude of 'cavalry and artillery,
along the Boulevards and the Bue Boyale to the
place of his execution. Undressed and bound, (he
had with difficulty submitted to this last act of de¬
gradation,) Louis attempted to address the mul¬
titude, but the rolling of drums drowned his
voice after he had uttered a few words, in which
he declared his innocence of the crimes imputed
to him. He died with a firmness which was
almost sublime. ' His head, after the execution,
was held up and exhibited. to the multitude, who
received it with loud huzzas. It was a striking
coincidence, that on this very spot the Duke of
Orleans himself, who had voted for the king's de¬
capitation, met with his own death, also by
the guillotine; and that just there his royal
son, the late Louis Philippe, in a few short
years, was seen to fly from the face of an irritated
people.
So disorderly and fearful a reign as that of
Louis XYI. was not likely to be signalized by
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 141
many public institutions; yet some of interest
and importance characterize its earlier periods.
Among others, was the convent of Capucins, in
the Chaussee d' Ant in, soon afterwards suppressed
as a religious house, and subsequently changed
into a hospital: it is now one of the grammar-
schools of Paris, and bears the name of the Lycee
Bonaparte. To this reign is due, also, the
reparation of the College Royal de France, Place
Cambrai, begun under Henry IV., and the
Schools of Medicine in Rue de V Ecole de Medecine.
The Swimming School, at the point of the Is?e*Nf.
Louis: the Deaf and Dumb School in the Fau¬
bourg St. Jacques; and the School for the
Juvenile Blind, Rue. Masseran, are of the same
date. The Palace de Justice, La Fontaine des
Innocents, and the Bridge Louis XVI., belong to
the same epoch. Nor must we omit L'Hotel du
Mont-de-piete, originated in 1777, after the model
of some institutions in Italy, being an establish¬
ment for lending money upon small articles of
property at a rate of interest which was formerly
twelve, but is now four per cent. It is at present
under the administration ,of the prefect of the
Seine.
During this reign, the Palais Ptoyal, then the
property of the Duke of Orleans, became the re¬
sort of strangers, and gained the character, which
is now much altered, of being the head-quarters
of vice, gaming, and small merchandise. At this
time the bridges were denuded of the buildings
which had gathered upon them. Under the ad¬
ministration of Calonne, a new wall was built
142 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
around the city, much to the dissatisfaction of
many of the inhabitants—a circumstance which
gave rise to the pun, unintelligible in any trans¬
lation :
"Le mur murant Paris, rend Paris mdrmurant."
These walls were not, however, completed till the
reign of Napoleon. Necker suppressed some of
the prisons because of their insalubrity, and
transferred their contents to the Hotel de Force,
which afterwards received the name of La Petite-
Force.
Exemplary as were the morals of the king, the
early part of his reign presented too many sad
memorials of preceding epochs. But science
made some considerable progress. Mesmerism
took its rise at this period, and great atten¬
tion was excited by the pretended divinations
of one Francis Balsamo, a professed discoverer,
also, of the secret of restoring youth to the
aged. Montgolfier invented balloons, and in
1783 the Champ de Mars witnessed the ascent
of one of these aeronautic machines, which
in its fall produced great consternation at
Grouesse.
The fashions of the capital, ever varying, fol¬
lowed its fortunes. The tall head-dresses continued
to increase until Marie Antoinette's hair fell off
through illness, and thus changed the mode.
But with the revolution c-ame a total change.
Hiding-coats then took the place of rich em¬
broidered garments: the hair was no longer
powdered: the shoes were fastened with large
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN:. 143
buckles, or with simple strings, (a fashion intro¬
duced by the republican Roland:) the ladies'
rouge grew pale 5 and swords were no longer
carried, except for purposes far too practical, as
the Reign of Terror showed.
144 paris: ancient and modern.
CHAPTER Y.
paris till the accession oe louis napoleon.
The notion of a republic, which loomed before
the deluded minds of the French nation at the
period of its first revolution, was a vague idea,
fostered in the hotbed of national depravity, and
entirely destitute of truth, religion, or morality:
a generality, equally inconsistent and impossible.
Without the securities furnished by the gospel of
Jesus Christ, indeed, every national revolution
becomes, almost of necessity, a Reign of Terror.
It is true religion only which teaches men to curb
their passions, to think of the welfare of the whole
community, and to subordinate selfishness' to an
enlarged desire for the public good. Where the
mass of a population, indeed, is not largely im¬
bued by a religious spirit, nothing but devasta¬
tion and disorder can follow.
The insurrectionary troubles which ended the
power of the Girondists led, as is well known, to
the greater tyranny of Marat, Danton, and Robes¬
pierre. To describe the events which followed
is not within our compass. It may interest the
reader to know that the residence of Robespierre
was No. 39G Rue St. Honori, opposite the church
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 145
of tlie Assumption; and that of Marat, a ruined
building now occupied by No. 20 Rue die I'Ecole
de Medecine.
Among the scenes which the Place Louis
Quinze, or, as it was then called, the Place de la
Revolution, witnessed ar this period, was one
which, from the persons interested in it, was
more than usually remarkable. Who does not
remember the assassination of Marat, by Char¬
lotte Corday ? Such an act, had it been per¬
formed in heathen ages, would have drawn down
an applause, which the benignant and merciful
character of the Christian religion indignantly
refuses to accord. The gospel holds human life
as too sacred a thing to be disposed of according
4o the caprice or enthusiasm of any single indi¬
vidual ; and in reference to all acts of death, ex¬
cept those administered by public justice, it asserts
the imperative command: " Thou shalt do no
murder The instrument of violence used on
this occasion was purchased by the deluded young
woman in the Palais Royal. When seized, she
was imprisoned in the Abbaye, in the Rue St.
Marguerite, near to the church of St. Sulpice.
Charlotte Corday was brought to the guillotine
June 18th, 1793, during a violent storm.
But when human beings take into their own
hands the sudden punishments which belong only
to God, they usually only aggravate the evils they
have attempted to cure. The death of Marat ex¬
cited to frenzy the passions of the mob who adored
him; and, as a consequence, the prisons of Paris
146 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
became more densely crowded with suspected
accomplices, and executions daily multiplied.
Other scenes of a sanguinary character followed
on this sad spot. On the 10'th October, in the
same year, Queen Marie Antoinette was there
brought forth to die, within view of the palace
which had witnessed her gaiety and her suffer¬
ings. On her way, she was stopped by the mob
opposite to the church of St. Roch, (a building
familiar to all who traverse the Rue St. Honore,)
that they might have a better view of their tor¬
tured victim. Arrived in the Place de la Revo¬
lution, and after turning her eyes with one sad
gaze to. the palace in which she had once reigned
as queen, she mounted the scaffold, and the knife
fell—delayed for a moment by the trembling of
the executioner. Amidst the record of the burials
in the church of the Madeleine, is to be still
found the following entry: " For the coffin of the
widow Capet, 7 francs."
Other executions followed. On the same spot
were immolated one hundred and thirty-nine de¬
puties, by ordonnances which passed the Conven¬
tion in three days. Among these were Verg-
niaud, Ducos, Boyer-Foufrede, Carra, and Brissot,
chief. members themselves of the body which
doomed them to death. Not long after followed
Philippe, Duke of Orleans, and Madame Roland,
who, as she stodd upon the scaffold, exclaimed
before the statue of Liberty placed near it: " 0
Liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!"
Here also the notorious Madame du Barry ended
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. JI7
a life of vices, with a cowardice worthy of her
degraded character.
Among- others who suffered in succession were
the Due do Biron, Hebert, Anacharsis Clootz, and
Camille Desmoulins. To these was added the
sanguinary Danton himself, whose last words were:
" You will show my head to the people : it is well
worth their looking at I" Its features were in¬
deed characteristic of one whom the royalists had
distinguished as " the bulldog of the republic."
The Archbishop of Paris, the celebrated chemist,
Lavoisier, the Princess Elizabeth, sister of Louis
XVI., and multitudes of others, followed.
When, however, the spectacle of bloody execu¬
tions began to pall upon the taste of the frenzied
and versatile people, Robespierre removed the
guillotine to the Place cle la Bastile, where the
column of July now stands. It was once more
brought back for tlje death of that arch-tyrant
himself.
And who can forget the impious ceremonial
by which the inhabitants of Paris celebrated their
act of renouncing the great God ? In their ca¬
thedral church—in the presence of the archbishop,
of whose death we have spoken, and who was a
consenting, though perhaps unwilling witness of
the atheistical act, the goddess of Reason had
been represented by a young actress, whilst Cliau-
mettc flung the perfumed censer before her as if
she were really divine. The church-bells were
roelied into cannon: the heads of departments
were forbidden to pronounce God's sacred name ;
148 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
and the prayer-books were made into wadding for
firearms ! The atrocities of that scene can never
be forgotten so long as France remains a nation.
During tbis stormy period, very little was done^
as may be readily imagined, for the improvement
of the capital of France. The Hotel JDieu was,
however, enlarged by the incorporation with it
of the archbishop's palace, and was crdled the
Hospice d'Humanite. At the same time all the
hospitals of Paris, with several new ones, were
united into a great combination in connection
with 11JJAdministration Generate des Hospices
civiles," the building allotted to which was placed
opposite the Hotel Dicu. In this period, also,
the Ecole Poly technique, the museum of pictures
in the Louvre, the Conservatoire des Arts et
Metiers, with many other institutions, benevolent
and civil, had their origin.
The return of France to despotism now began
by steps which the limits of this volume do not
permit us to trace.
The history of the French nation became, after
this time, identified with the rise and movements
of an individual man—to whom none can
deny the attributes of the highest genius and
power, but whose "glory" was often his dis¬
grace—Napoleon Bonaparte. His early resi¬
dence was in the Rue Chantereine, afterwards
called, in his honor, the Rue dc la Vic to ire, not
far from the church of Notre Dame dc Loreffc.
From this place, as ho gained eminence, he re¬
moved to the Luxembourg, where, with his secre-
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. IP?
tary, Bourrienne, lie occupied a suite of rooms ou
the ground-floor.
The memoirs of the Duchess d'Abrantes,
(Madame Junot,) present several pictures of the •
manners of the Parisians about this time, whilst,
as yet, the talk of a republic was still in every
mouth. "Young men, dressed completely in the
Grecian style, were seen gravely walking in their
white togas with red borders, stopping under one
of the entrances of the Louvre, and discussing
beneath their porch the gravest interests of the
state. They did not laugh, hut held their chins
in their hands, saluted each other by wagging the
head, and strove, in short, to play the old Romans,
even the youngest of them, as, well as they could.
Do not suppose that there were only two or
three of such young maniacs : there were two or
three hundred of them at least. But there were
in Paris a great number of men of good family,
who had adopted a costume peculiar to them¬
selves. This was a gray frock-coat, with a black
collar, a black or green cravat, hair in oreilles de
cJtien, (dog's ears,) plaited, powdered, and fastened
up with a comb, and a thick cudgel in the hand.
This was the costume of the clichyans in particu¬
lar. At the manage, or the society of the Rue
de Bac, the wearer of a queue would have been
knocked on the head, as was proved in more than
one instance. As for the sham Greek, he was
perfectly safe : people contented themselves with
laughing at him to his face."*
* Memoirs of Napoleon, etc., Colburn's edition.
150 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
After the appointment of Bonaparte to the
office of first consul, republican manners and
forms of address began to wane. Tbe phrases
cituyen and citoyenne were more rarely heard :
madame began to be the formula in addressing
ladies in the Luxembourg; and the movements
commenced which ended in introducing the full
ceremonial of the Imperial court. Under the
pretext that the Luxembourg was too small for
the business of the government, Bonaparte took
the daring step of inhabiting the Tuileries. The
revolutionary emblems were now removed, the
caps of liberty disappeared. "Wash out these
things I" said the resolute man, "I will not have
any such fooleries!" During his career, Paris
received great embellishments; and the thoughts
of the ruler were, in his intervals of leisure, and
even in the midst of his campaigns, constantly
ocaupiecl by this subject. Among many other
improvements, he designed four vast cemeteries,
like those of Cairo, placed at the four cardinal
points of the city; and his intention was that
every new street should be forty feet wide, with
convenient pavements. During this time the
museum of the Louvre was enriched by the most
valuable gems of art, torn at the point of the
sword from the cabinets of Europe.
We need not mention, in detail, the circum¬
stances connected with the explosion of the infer¬
nal machine, in the Place of the Carrousel: the
magnificent ceremonial in the Church of Notre
Dame, on the occasion of the Concordat: the mar¬
riage of Ilorteiise, daughter-in-law of Napoleon,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 151
and mother of the present emperor, in the private
chapel of the Rue Victoire-: the splendid reviews
held in the Carrousel previously to the peace of
Amiens : the coronation which ratified the title
of emperor in the presence of the pope; and the
adoption and enforcement by Napoleon of the
" continental system," as it was called) which, as
it prohibited all English merchandise, materially
affected the trade and habits of the whole popu¬
lation of Paris.
Nothing could exceed the brilliancy of the
court of the Tuileries about this period. Princes
sent to Paris their highest aristocracy: every
court in Europe, England excepted, bowed in
courtly adulation before the second Charlemagne:
the emperor transformed all the members of his
family into kings and princes.
But the triumphs of ambition are short. All
this was but
" The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below."
The emperor foresaw, already, though his bril¬
liant circle did not, events full of danger to his
crown and kingdom. The unsuccessful invasion
of Spain—the heartless divorce from Josephine—
the marriage of Napoleon with the daughter of
the house of his old enemy, Austria—and, more
than all, the combination of powers against the
European usurper—soon accumulated in a crisis
of danger. Then succeeded the march to Mos-
cow—the evacuation of Spain—the pressure of
the allied armies upon the soil of France : till the
152 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
empire fell from the hands of him who had been
the terror of the world !
The consternation of the capital at this period
was excessive. A universal gloom hung over the
inhabitants. Everywhere was uncertainty and
dismay. • Couriers continually arrived : the most
earnest debates occupied each member of the
executive council. The charm of the delusive
word " glory" was broken. Paris began to take
thought for itself, and opened its gates to the
allied army. The white cockade, the emblem of
the Bourbons, reappeared. The emperor, Alex¬
ander of Russia, attended by the king of Prussia
and a splendid cortege of sovereigns and generals,
entered the city as a conqueror, and took up his
residence at the house of M. de Talleyrand, (now
the mansion of Baron Rothschild,) at the corner
of Rue St. Florentin. Yet, even now, the curi¬
osity of the Parisians triumphed over their sor¬
rows; and the public places were crowded by
immense multitudes, eager to witness the disas¬
trous show. The Grand Duke Constantine of
Russia marched his 80,000 cavaliy into the
Champs Ely sees. Paris was in the hands of its
enemies; and the glitter of unfriendly bayonets,
or the clash of hostile steel, was seen in its
promenades, its squares, and its gardens. The
hour of retribution had at length arrived, and the
abdication of Napoleon followed :
" 'Tis done; but yesterday a king."
Then succeeded the arrival of the Count of
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 153
Artois, the universal abolition of the tricolor, and
the adoption of the white cockade, and the words
(of Talleyrand's suggestion) uttered by the re¬
stored prince, " I see my country again, and I am
happy. There is nothing changed in Trance:
there is only one Frenchman more !" The first
movement of the king, when he arrived, was to
Notre Dame, where he offered thanks for his
return. He then went, accompanied by an im¬
mense concourse, to take up his residence in the
Tuileries.
During this reign of Napoleon, Paris had re¬
ceived the greatest improvements. Despotism is
favorable to public edifices; for it permits unity
of design, and affords a concentration of resources
not to be commanded by morfe liberal govern¬
ments. Building, too, was as much the taste of
the ex-emperor as war. Some of the principal
markets, granaries, and abattoirs of Paris were
commenced in this reign. The bridge of Auster-
litz, opposite the Jardin des Plantes : that of La
Cite: le Pont des Arts; and that of Jena, owe
their construction to Napoleon. The latter ex¬
cited so strongly the wrath of Blucher during
his occupation of the capital, that only the most
serious remonstrances of the Duke of Wellington,
and the alteration of the name of the edifice into
Pont des Invalides, induced him to refrain from
blowing it into the air. The Q ua is also were
most extensively increased and improved under
Napoleon's regime. Besides these works, canals,
basins, fountains, and sewers, in large numbers,
testified the comprehensive mind of the ruler, and
154 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
liis ambition that Paris should be the first capital
in the world. We must not fail to notice the
Catacombs. These, like similar excavations in
other cities, had been originally formed by quar¬
rying the living rock to supply stone for build¬
ings, and they form an immense hollow beneath
the Luxembourg, the Val de Grace, St. Sulpice,
and the neighboring parts of Paris. In 1776, it
was ascertained that a large number of the public
buildings of the capital were in the utmost danger
from these excavations, and further quarrying
was forbidden. To make room for the increasing-
size of the city, the whole contents of the Ceme¬
tery of the Innocents (which had served during a
thousand years for twenty parishes) were removed,
and a market built on the spot. It was afterwards
forbidden to bury the dead in churches.
Perhaps no consequence of the downfall of
Bonaparte was more bitterly felt by the Parisians
than the forced restitution of the stolen property
of the Louvre. The Bourse, in the Hue Yivienne,
a huge ymd ungainly structure, though often con¬
sidered magnificent, was begun in 1808, and was
not completed at the abdication of the emperor.
Prisons were not forgotten during this reign.
The following structures will, however, most ex¬
cite the interest of the traveller: the column of
the Place Ycndome, in imitation of the column
of Antoninus, erected to the glory of the grand
army, and commemorating in bronze the ex¬
ploits of the campaign of 1805 : the Place du
Ca era usee, which the emperor greatly adorned,
with the intention of uniting the Louvre to the
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 155
Tuileries—a scheme still in process of execution,
and now nearly complete. To him also Paris is
indebted for the triumphal arch of the Carrousel,
erected to the glory of the army, and originally
surmounted by four bronze horses brought from
Venice, now replaced by a work of the sculptor
Bosio. Another erection remains to be noticed :
the Arc de l'Etoile, at the termination of the
Champs Elysees, the first stone of which was laid
in 1806.. On the marriage of the emperor with
Maria Louisa, a perfect representation of this
building, then unfinished, was temporarily placed
in honor of her arrival on the spot. The calcare¬
ous nature of the soil interposed great obstacles
to the foundation of this structure, and it was
necessary to form an artificial subsoil. This arch
was one of the works which the Bourbons, when
restored, found and left incomplete.
No visitant to Paris will fail to look with inter¬
est on the palace of the Elysee Bourbon, con¬
structed for Madame de Pompadour, and now
undergoing large alterations to fit it for the resi¬
dence of the present emperor, It was the last
Parisian residence of Napoleon when he returned
from the battle of Waterloo—a ruined gamester,
having played for men, reign, opinions, and hav¬
ing lost his game. Here his final abdication of
power was made, and from it he found his way
after some interval to St. Helena *
Soon after this time, Paris presented the ap¬
pearance of a huge European camp, including
soldiers of all nations, residing within its walls.
' Their entrance had befcn effected without diffi-
1-56 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
culty: since, though the city had been defended
on the north, it was very inadequately so on the
south. There might be seen the Prussian, in
uniform of red and blue, vdwing revenge against
the desolators of his country: the Russians,
whom, from their small stature and green uni¬
form, the French were in the habit of calling
cornichons (cucumbers) : the Hungarian guards,
distinguished by their tall figures and white
dress: the Highlanders, mistaken by some of
the Parisians for Sauvages Americains ("Ameri¬
can savages"); and the Cossacks, clothed in
sheep-skins, and bearing their shields of hide;
whilst encounters of the most strange and amus¬
ing description were continually occurring. The
British troops, now seen in Paris for the first time
since 1436, were encamped in the Champs Ely-
sties, and the Duke of Wellington occupied the
mansion which stands at the corner of Rue
Champs El//sees. Flow have all the potentates
and warriors who then figured upon the scene
passed away! Alexander, Frederic, William,
Blucher, Wellington, Talleyrand, Fouche—where
are they all ? So, like the winds of autumn, does
death sweep away the once verdant leaves of
humanity. How Affecting such changes 1 how
solemn the destinies to which they lead !
Louis XVIII. now made his second entry into
Paris, and passing through the army of the Prus¬
sians, who were encamped in the Place Carrousel.
reached the Tuileries by the same door by which
he had left it when the entry of Napoleon last
dictated his flight.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 157
One of the principal incidents which marked
this restoration was the trial and execution of
Marshal Ney; who, after having attached himself
to the royal cause, and undertaken the command
of a body of soldiers at the commencement of the
"hundred days," promising to bring Napoleon
alive or dead, had deserted to his old master, and
fought with the utmost bravery on his side in the
battle of Waterloo. He was confined in the Con-
ciergerie, tried before the Chamber of Peers, and,
after much intercession on his behalf, shot in the
garden of the Luxembourg, where his statue has
been just erected.
The peace and tranquillity which succeeded
the convulsions undergone by France, and espe¬
cially by Paris, were terribly interrupted on the
13th of February, 1820. The Duke of Berri was
the son of the Count d'Artois, (afterwards Charles
X.,) consequently nephew of the king, and was
looked upon (his father, the heir-apparent, being
somewhat advanced in life) as the hope of the
royal family. He had been married to a daughter
of the Bourbon royal house of Naples. The duke
and his young duchess were fond of pleasure and
gayety, and the duchess, who was unwell, was
about to leave the theatre, in which they had
spent the evening, when a man named Louvel,
whose mind was full of a morbid enthusiasm for
revolutionary notions, and who eiftertained a deep
hatred for all the royal family, sprang upon the
duke as he led the princess to her carriage, and
struck a poniard into his side. The blow was
mortal. This melancholy event took place on the
158 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
spot now called the Place Richelieu, in, the street
of that name. In the course of the year 1820;
Paris became again disturbed, complaints being
made of certain measures devised by the court
for putting the press under censorship; and the
execution of Louvel seemed to add to the agita¬
tion. This disquietude was not abated by the
birth of a posthumous son of the Due de Herri,
who has since been called by the royalists Henri
Y., (the Count de Chambord.)
The death of Napoleon in 1822 produced the
deepest sensation in Paris. His faults were for¬
gotten in his renown and military glory. Prance
always sighs for action: its thoughts are not deep
enough for repose.
Towards the conclusion of the reign of Louis.
XVIII., a great public rejoicing took place in the
capital on the occasion of the return of the Due
d'Angoulerne from Spain, where he had been suc¬
cessful in replacing Ferdinand upon the throne
of Spain by means of French bayonets. His
military entrance into Paris was a magnificent
spectacle. ■ He was received at the Arc de CEtoile,
then unfinished, in a richly adorned tent prepared
for the purpose, and the municipal and public
functionaries gave him welcome. It was at this
time proposed that the triumphal arch should be
decorated with emblems and bas-reliefs comme¬
morative of his Spanish campaign, instead of re¬
presentations in honor of Napoleon, as at first
designed. Put this was too ridiculous, and the
change never reached its accomplishment.
The habits of the court of Louis XVIII. were
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 159
an imperfect imitation of tlie elaborate etiquette
of Versailles in its palmy days. The king, whose
infirmities rendered him unable to walk, delighted
in rapid carriage exercise. One of his historians
says of him at this period—" The king no longer
reigned, but he lasted/' In the year 1824 (Sep¬
tember 16th) he ceased to be. His remains were
interred with pomp in the church of St. Denis,
followed by a large multitude. He was succeeded
by his brother Charles X., whose reign was equally
brief and disastrous.
The elements of excitement which 'existed in
the kingdom previously to the accession of Charles
X. were not long in displaying themselves. In
1827, during a review, at which the king was
present, he was assaulted by cries of—" Down
with the Jesuits ! Down with the ministers!"
The king availed himself of the occasion to dis¬
band the national guard, which he regarded as a
symbol of the revolution in which it had origi¬
nated. Two years afterwards a ministry, under
the leadership of Prince Polignac, which, from
the changes in its first construction, was denomi¬
nated The Impossible Ministry, (le ministere
impossible,*) endeavored, by a coup d'6latf sup¬
pressing the liberty of the press, and annulling
the popular elections, to restore peace to Prance.
Instead of peace, it excited a revolution. At first
Polignac was little aware of the fury he had pro¬
voked, and few preparations were made for the
defence of the crown and kingdom. The calcu¬
lation had been, that the joy of Paris at the honor
gained by the French arms in the conquest of
160 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Algiers, an event which had just taken place,
would so intoxicate the citizens, that the " or-
donnances" would provoke no serious uneasiness.
But the storm arose, and the sound of a pistol-
shot from the windows of a hotel in the Rue St.
Honore, was, as fire to a quick-match, the pre¬
cursor of an explosion. Soon the tricolor flag
was seen to wave from the principal buildings of'
the city : orators addressed the multitude in every
public esplanade: printed placards inflamed the
populace; and barricades, according to the old
fashion of the capital, though now formed of om¬
nibuses as well as stones, stopped the stream of
the streets. At length the daring, but supine
court, grew alarmed. The capital was declared
in a state of siege, and the Due de Raguse
(Marshal Marmont) appointed to the command
of the forces. These forces were, however, ex¬
tremely inadequate to the occasion, and the dis¬
positions of the marshal, in distributing them
over too wide a surface, tended still more to
weaken their power. Most bloody conflicts took
place, especially on the quais in the vicinity of
the Louvre. The general was at length com¬
pelled to concentrate his forces on the luileries :
but the populace forced the Louvre, and gained
by its means the royal chateau, where the de¬
struction of valuable property was extensive.
The revolutionary spirit of Paris had once more
triumphed.
In this crisis, Louis Philippe, son of Egalite,
the late Duke of Orleans, was appointed lieuten¬
ant-general of the kingdom, and was carried in
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 161
triumph through Paris, to the unspeakable joy
of the fickle people. After some adventures,
Charles X. arrived at Cherbourg, and sailed for
Lngland.
The period of the history of Prance just glanced
at was remarkable for the development of intel¬
lectual power. Nor was it less favorable to the
fine arts, in which many names became justly
celebrated.
The public buildings of the Restoration were
Notre Dame do Lorette, a church, the splendor
of which is extremely incongruous with its pro¬
fessed objects : the church of St. Vincent de Paid,
in the Place Lafayette, with other buildings of a
similar kind. A melancholy memorial of the
history of the royal family exists in the Okay,die
Expiatoire, placed at the junction of the Rue
St. Honore and the Rue de VArcade, erected in
memory of Louis XVI. and his queen, with every
emblem appropriate to the mournful remembrance.
The chapel of the cemetery of Pere la Chaise:
the bridges of Invalides, VArchcvecM, d'Arcole,
and several markets, hospitals, and theatres, had
their origin at this period.
The " revolution of the three days," as it has
been often designated, placed the Duke of Orleans
in a position of the titmost-difficulty between his
duty to his sovereign and benefactor, on the one
hand, and the prospect of a crown now openirfg
before hpn, on the other. He chose the latter
alternative, and refused to hold his office in sub¬
serviency, or to proclaim Henry V. king of France.
He was not long after nominated by the people to
6
162 PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN.
the vacant throne, under the title of "king of the
French." One of the earliest actions of the new
king was to reorganize the national guard, which
Charles X. had disbanded. The late ministers
were imprisoned and brought to trial. The fear
entertained by the people that their case would
be regarded too favorably by the Chamber of
Peers, caused no little excitement. Crowds ran
about the streets, demanding the death of the late
king's advisers; and after being driven away from
the Palais Royal, went on to Yincennes, (where
the prisoners were confined,) and were only kept
back by the threat of the governor, that if they
effected an entrance he would blow up the fortress.
During the whole trial of the ex-ministers, Paris
was strongly garrisoned, and the national guard
kept constantly under arms. A crowd proceeded
to the prison of the Petit-Luxembourg, where,
during the process, the prisoners had been kept,
crying out, "Death to the ministers I" The lat¬
ter had, however, been removed to Yincennes.
When the intelligence was published that the
sentence given against them was that of perpetual
imprisonment, the joy of the Parisians was great,
not however unmixed with disappointment that
the punishment was not more severe.
The reign of Louis Philippe supplied continual
reasons for the maintenance of a large military
establishment around the court, and in the heart
of the capital. Nor were the ententes confined to
the republican party. An extensive combination
was formed among the Royalists to remove from
the' throne the unwelcome usurper. It was even
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 168
resolved to enter the Tuileries by means of false
keys, and to carry off the royal family; hut the
plot was discovered, and the conspiracy crushed.
The ravages to which the capital was subject
from the presence of the cholera, in 1832, were
most desolating, and the terror created was ex¬
treme. To give an example of magnanimity, the
royal family did not remove from the city 5 hut
scarcely any persons of rank and station followed
their example. What added to the excitement
of the scene was a report, laboriously circulated,
that the cholera was caused by the administration
of poison, for the sake of destroying the people.
Eighteen thousand persons perished; and one
day recorded one thousand one hundred deaths.
Another Parisian insurrection took place in the
same year at the funeral of General Lamar que,
one of the leaders of the democratic party. All
the secret societies of Paris attended on this occa¬
sion, and the Sue St. Honore was blocked by an
immense crowd. A contest ensued between the
king's troops and the populace on the Boulevard
Bourdon, and the old story of the barricades be¬
gan to be repeated once more. But the decisive
measures adopted by the government, in march¬
ing a large body of troops into the city, and bat¬
tering the barricades with cannon, put an end to
this commotion.
In 18c>3, the king's life was attempted by an
assassin, who fired at his majesty when on his
way to open the parliamentary chambers. The
criminal was never discovered.
The next year another insurrection took place,
164 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
and.barricades once more appeared; but the in¬
surgents were scattered, and almost all the in¬
habitants of One house, who had been concerned
in this movement, were put to death bj the
soldiers.
In 1835, the infernal machine of Fieschi,
planted at No. 50 Boulevard du Temple, de¬
stroyed the lives of many of Louis Philippe's at¬
tendants, though the king himself escaped. The
victims of the conspiracy were buried with much
pomp in the Invalides. Fieschi, with two con¬
federates, was executed. These were not the
only attempts on the life of the king, though our
space forbids our entering into the details of the
others.
On the occasion of the marriage of the Due
d' Orleans, the king's eldest son, witb the princess
Helena of Mecklenburg, an immense crowd as¬
sembled in the Champ de Mars to witness a
representation of the taking of the citadel of
Antwerp, and many were stifled to death.
In 1842,- a profound grief was excited in Paris
and throughout France by the sudden death of
the Due d'Orleans, heir-apparent to the throne,
who was hurled from his carriage by his horses
having taken fright, as he was travelling from
Neuilly to the capital. His injuries proved al¬
most instantly mortal. His death had a con¬
siderable effect in causing the changes which
subsequently deprived his family of the throne.
In 1848, the uneasiness which had long per¬
vaded the capital reached its height. Men gath¬
ered together rapidly: exciting harangues were
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 165
delivered at the public "places; and in front of
the hotel for foreign affairs the tumult hurst out
into a scene of blood. Again the Marsettaise was
heard : again the students of Paris mixed them¬
selves in the mtlee : the Palais Royal was taken
and sacked: the Carrousel was occupied by the
populace: the soldiers wavered: the king, him¬
self a man of peace, shrank from the dreadful
crisis, and at length abdicated his throne : after
which, by a subterranean passage, he made his
escape into the gardens of the Tuileries, accom¬
panied by his queen and one of his daughters-
in-law. Hastily entering two hackney-coaches,
which had been drawn up at the bottom of the
terrace, the royal party, surrounded by a .guard
of cuirassiers, and scarcely pursued, drove off at
a rapid pace by the Quai de Passy, and escaped,
after many adventures, to British soil. The
Tuileries were sacked by the mob. The Duchess
of Orleans, with her two children, the Count of
Paris, and the Duke de Chartres, threw herself
on the protection of-the Chambers. But the day
of the Orleans dynasty was over: men's minds
had turned again to"wards a republic.
To relate the history of that period, so full of
grave and exciting events : to tell the tale of the
contests which then took place—the riots and
disorganization—the assemblies of the Socialists
—the restoration of order by the influence of
Lamartine—the garde mobile—the national work¬
shops—the rise of a new faction under the name
of Napoleon, with his nephew, Prince Louis
Napoleon, at its head—the revolutionary emblems
166 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
on all public edifices, u Liberie, egalite, frcitcr-
nit6," pointedly translated, in reference to some
well-known transactions, "Cavalry, infantry, ar
tillery;" and to describe tbe movements, many
of tbem sad and terrible, by which that prince
acquired power, till at length be was greeted by
tbe title of Emperor of France, would require a
volume to itself, and ours is now near its close.
Troubled as was tbe period to which we have
referred, it was productive of many men who gave
honor to the city of Paris. More was done in the
reign of Louis Philippe for the embellishment of
the capital than in any previous period. The paving
of the streets—the enlargement of the quads—the
completion of the Madeleine—the addition of many
collections to the museum of the Louvre and to the
Jardin des Plantes—the institution of several sub¬
ordinate exhibitions—the termination of the works
at the Arch of Triumph, de T Etoile—the column
of July in the Place de la Bastile—the Palais
d' Or say—the fountain erected in honor of
Moliere—the fountains which embellish'the Place
de la Concorde, with the obelisk of Luxor, erected
in 1836 — the fountains of -La Place Louvois,
Cuvier, La Place Saint Sulpice, Notre Dame—
the bridges of Louis Phihppe, Bercy, and Car¬
rousel—many prisons, canals, and railroads—the
enlargement of the Hotel de Ville—the ornament¬
ing of the Luxembourg—the beautiful chapel
erected to the memory of the Due d'Orleans—■
the improvement of the Champs Ely sees—are
among the works of this reign. Nor must we
omit to mention, as an event characterizing the
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 16T
period, and exercising an important influence on
the subsequent history of France, the removal of
the remains of the Emperor Napoleon in 1840
from their original resting-place at St. Helena, to
the chapel of the Invalides, with a pomp which
has never been equalled. That these relics have
reached their final restiug-place is, however, ex¬
tremely improbable. Nothing is more character¬
istic of the French'people than the history of
Parisian disinterments: the Catacombs, Pere la
Chaise, the Pantheon, St. Denis, the Invalides,
being witnesses.
168 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
CHAPTER VI.
PARIS AS IT EXISTS AT tCHE PRESENT DAY.
To a traveller fresh from London, or one of
our cities, the metropolis of Prance presents an
aspect which, at the first glance, is altogether
novel, surprising, and enchanting. Accustomed
to the appearance of a city, the atmosphere of
which is usually thick and misty, and to rows of
brick-built houses, the fagades of which are sel¬
dom imposing, the visitor* if, as is most probable,
he has to traverse the Boulevards in order to
reach his hotel, is amazed and delighted by the
coup d'ceil which everywhere meets his view.
The broad carriage-road, crowded by every variety
of vehicle, from the elegant equipage down to the
meanest cart: the avenues of trees lining the
road on each side, affording in summer relief to
the eye, and a grateful shade to the pedestrians:
the broad pavements crowded, especially towards
evening, by a gay and laughter-loving population:
the tall houses clustering in all forms of graceful
architecture, and relieved by colored blinds,
jalousies, and balconies: the gorgeous-pshops,
which amuse the eye and tempt the purses of the
lounging passengers: the clear atmosphere, free
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 169
from all taint of smoke, thus preserving the ele¬
gance of the adornments, and giving fair play to
all the magic of aerial perspective : the customs
and habits of a people whose observances are little
in accordance with our own—give to Paris at its
first view an aspect fairy-like and astonishing to
the inexperienced stranger.
Perhaps one of the first sights which the
traveller will desire to visit in the metropolis of
Prance is the superb view, to which reference
has been already made, which meets the eye
from the Place de la Concorde. What gorgeous
and refreshing fountains here send forth their
waters on each side of the obelisk of Luxor,
amidst groups of statuary, tritons, naiads, and
mermaids ! What magnificent ranges of public
buildings display their rich architecture with
every advantage of position ! What noble pedi¬
ments, whether one looks upon the Madeleine on
the one side, or the Chambre des Deputes on the
other! What exquisite foliage meets the eye
from the garden of the Tuileries: its avenues
interspersed with statuary and artificial waters!
and what a line of moving life passes continually
up that slight but long- ascent which, bordered
by trees and furnished with the broadest asphalte
pavement, conducts to the Arc de Triomphe!
To visit the Champs Elysees by night is to see at
a glance the character of the whole population.
The brilliant lights, blazing from pavilions placed
amidst groups of verdure, and the numerous
elegant but slightly constructed edifices which
meet the eye at every point, the mountebank
170 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
stows, the groups of gay and gaping spectators
collected everywhere amidst the lights which
glance out from the trees, proclaim that the taste
of the Parisians is for pleasure, and that the
means of gratifying that inclination are abundant.
But amidst this gayety how much is childish, how
much absurd, how much positively evil 1 The
visitor is astonished to see paltry exhibitions,
which in our country would ffe left only to children
of the lowest class, exciting in Paris the attention
of those whose appearance would proclaim them
capable of much better things. And gay and
giddy as these scenes, or the actors in them, may
appear to be to the mere transient spectator,
there hovers over them all the black, mephitic
vapor of spiritual death; and the victim is insen¬
sibly amused, betrayed, destroyed. The young
man who finds enjoyment amidst such scenes is
already on the road to ruin; and he who can
traverse the public avenues on the Lord's day,
when all these seductions are most elaborately
displayed, without agony and without a sigh,
must be within the strong grasp of the evil one
already. Nowhere are the words of Solomon
more appropriate than amidst the gayeties of this
enticing city—"Bejoice, 0 young man, in thy
youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days
of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine
heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know
thou, that for all these things God will bring thee
into judgment."
The modes of Parisian life are strange and
peculiar. The pride and boast of an Englishman
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
171
or Anglo-American is to.be comfortably enclosed
in his distinct habitation, which is proverbially
his 11 castle." Of this separation the Parisian
has no conception. Almost every house in Paris
is, on the contrary, divided into many separate
tenements, the prices of which, after .the first
floor has been passed, diminish at each successive
stage; and thus the same roof often covers speci¬
mens of all the great classes of the social system.
Most of these buildings are entered from a court¬
yard, communicating with the street by a coach
passage, (parte cocMre..) The ground-floor is
occupied by shops, offices, and by the concih-ge,
or house-porter, who represents the landlord,
receives his rents, takes charge of the apartments,
opens the outer door by the machinery of a cord
to those who seek admission, receives messages
for the locataires, tenants, etc. In many Parisian
houses the shops are immediately surmounted by
a very narrow set of apartments called entresols,
well situated, but extremely low, and usually in¬
habited by those whose tastes are good, but whose
means are limited. Immediately above the
entresol are the principal rooms of the mansion,
frequently occupied by persons of fashion and
distinction. Over these are the residences of
people engaged in business; and the upper por¬
tions of the house are devoted, in varying degrees,
to the accommodation of the humbler classes.
Each suite of apartments has its distinct kitchen,
(as in many of the houses in Edinburgh, (Ilasgow,
etc.,) and other household conveniences. The
chambers are usually let furnished. In Paris all
172 PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN.
advertisements of unfurnished apartments are on
white, and of furnished ones, on yellow paper.
When let, inventories are delivered to the lodger
of the whole contents of his tenement, down to
each smallest particular, and these documents
record with amusing minuteness even every slight
damage which the furniture may have undergone.
To an English or American eye, the accommoda¬
tions of a Parisian kitchen are perfectly inex¬
plicable. How cookery can be performed on that
brick table, which stands instead of a grate, or
how a few charcoal embers can supply the place
of a fife, are riddles indeed. Nor is the wonder
diminished at the sight of those vessels of metal
or of pottery for which our language has no cor¬
responding names; but which, making much out
of little, supply the wants of a comparatively
frugal people. But a large portion of the Parisian
population usually take their meals from home,
and one considerable phase of their life must be
studied in the restaurants and caf£s with which
the city abounds. The stranger who goes to some
of these resorts, about the Palais Boyal for in¬
stance, at the hour of dinnef, will be highly
amused by the novelty of the scene. Entering a
large apartment, decorated with the highest taste
and with surpassing splendor, crowded with tables
and crammed with company, he will have put
into his haaid a little volume designated La Carte,
on which he will find the names of two or three
hundred dishes, classed under appropriate divi¬
sions, each of which solicits, under names entirely
strange, his embarrassed choice. No wonder that
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 173
in such conjunctures the mistakes and perplexities
of foreigners are notorious, and afford great
amusement to the sarcastic Parisians. Dinner
ended, the custom in France is to adjourn to a
cafe, where coffee, with a small verrc de liqueur,
becomes an adjunct to the repast. In this latter
place of refreshment the evening is commonly
spent by the inhabitants of the city, except when
engaged in the promenade, the amusements being
found in reading journals, in gesticulatory con¬
versation, or in playing at games of chance. The
company assembled at these cafes is presided over
by a female, often elegantly attired, who sits at a
kind of elevated tribune, whence she deals out
the various refreshments, and possesses a com¬
manding view of the whole saloon. The prompti¬
tude of the waiters, or gargons, as they are termed
at these places of public resort, is perfectly mar¬
vellous, and such as only a Frenchman could
exhibit.
Towards the close of the summer's days the
public promenades of Paris become densely
crowded. Indeed, at such times, the stream of
population is so great, and the number of persons
collected on chairs at the outside of the cafes so
numerous, as to render locomotion often difficult.
But how sad becomes the heart of the Christian
when he witnesses all this increased to a tenfold
degree on that day which should be the holiest
of all! Even during the hours of religious ser¬
vice on Sunday, the shops of Paris are by no
means uniformly closed, and at other hours they
are almost universally open. In the evening, the
174 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
places of public entertainment stand open "with
their widest invitation; whilst the gayety and
hilarity witnessed in every quarter indicate how
faint and feeble has been the effect produced by
the services just terminated. On that day artisans
work as usual, though they obey the requirements
of their physical constitution by resting on Mon¬
day. Marriages commonly take place on the
Saturday, with the intention of employing the
Lord's day as one of gayety and amusement. All
national fetes, reviews, and public festivals are
then observed. The public conveyances are
crowded: public works proceed; and the day is
appropriated to balls, concerts, horse-races, and
festivities. Not a little surprise and .sarcasm
were produced among foreigners by the fact, that,
during the time of the Great Exhibition, the
Crystal Palace of London was found closed upon
the Sabbath. Even the mass of Protestants of
Paris are extremely loose in their observance of
public worship, and their consecration of a day
which commemorates the Lord's resurrection:
though the few spiritual Christians which Paris
possesses are most careful in its observance. The
city has extremely few evening services, and those
few are very sparingly attended. It may be
readily concluded that a population without a
Sabbath is a population without religion. And
not until that day when France, like Israel, shall
" turn to the Lord," and " the veil shall be taken
away," can we hope to see the commandment,
"Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath
day," restored to its true place in the mutilated
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
175
decalogue. Let every Protestant traveller who
spends his Sunday in the metropolis of France
he ware how he lends himself to practices which
make many native Christians tremble at the guilt
of their capital. Let him remember that religion
is authoritative and unalterable: that it is the
same truth abroad as at home; and beware how
he involves himself in dissipations, "because" of
which " things cometh the wrath of God upon
the children of disobedience."
It is indeed impossible to enter into the churches
with which Paris abounds without perceiving that
the infidelity of the heart is extensively manifested
in the utter absence of all spiritual religion in
worship. These churches are truly only religious
theatres, abounding in all the pomp, tinsel, and
costume of external decoration, and making con¬
tinual appeals to all the senses:—to the eye, by
sculpture, parade, and painting of every variety :
to the ear, by rich and often giddy music : to the
taste, by the holy loaves handed round among the
congregation : to the smell, by the incense which
floats voluptuously through the building; and to
the touch, by the holy water applied to the form,
or by the sacred relic which invites the kiss of
the prostrate worshipper. Amidst the various
altars before which unmeaning masses are conti¬
nually performed, in an unknown tongue, and
where the simplicity of religion is lost in a vague
crowd of historical ceremonies, how eager is the
longing of the Christian man that the same voice
which once sounded at Athens could proclaim to
these besotted votaries of an "unknown God"—
176 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
" Whom • therefore ye ignorantly worship, him
declare I unto you V'
The total revenue received by the Roman Ca¬
tholic religion from the state is about forty-two
millions of francs. This sum is exclusive of the
amount obtained by the clergy for the celebration
of its numerous ceremonials. Though various
religious bodies are nominally recognized by the
state, all proselytism is severely discouraged : con¬
troversy is forbidden: discussion by the press
almost prohibited; and the liberty to distribute
boohs greatly shackled in its operations. But
whilst all opposition to Romanism is rendered well-
nigh impossible, the utmost facilities are given to
proselytism in its favor. In connection with the
efforts of the latter character, the Society of St.
Vincent <Jc Paul is extremely prominent — edu¬
cating children, watching over apprentices, visiting
the sick, and generally imparting what the Church,
of Rome calls moral and religious instruction.
There exist in Paris, and in Prance, moreover,
many communities formed for the propagation of
the faith, and for extending the operations of
foreign missions. The whole apparatus of Popery
is, indeed, at this time remarkably active. Its
churches are well filled, the influence of the priest¬
hood is great in the state, though extremely small
elsewhere, and the clergy flatter and are flattered
by the ruling power. But whilst Romanism
boasts itself of these advantages, the great elements
of moral strength are grievously wanting. There
are important differences among its priesthood
with regard to cardinal truths. The Bible is to
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 177
a large extent an unknown" book: the pulpit,
though often drawing considerable crowds, is
ordinarily deficient in point and taste: the lives
of the saints, as presented in publications, are
swollen into an absurd importance, and an erotic
and profane phraseology frequently pervades the
addresses to the Virgin, and even to the Divine
Being himself. The term religion, as applied to
France in general, and to Paris in particular, is
scarcely susceptible of an intelligible definition.
The Virgin and the saints are enshrined : the holy
God passed by. The form of the cross is con¬
tinually thrust forward : the doctrine of the cross
as constantly thrust back. " Only as a crucifix is
Christ known in the Ilomish Church—a fetish,
which is reverenced, kissed, worshipped, because
it has been blessed by the priest. As the host
has supplanted the Saviour, so has the Virgin
supplanted the Intercessor; and the God-Man is
held in tutelage by his mortal mother, being
always represented as a child in arms, or at the
feet of the Virgin Mary."* The paraded shows
of Catholicism cover an enormous mass of scarcely
hidden infidelity. .The doctrine of regeneration
exists only in, the names of baptism, penance,
confession, and extreme unction. Romanism in
Paris is exceedingly tolerant of vices: it is only
intolerant of conflicting truth.
The church of the Madeleine has no fewer than
sixty priests of different ranks employed in its
* "Religious State of Christendom." Essay by Rev.
W. Roussell.
178 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
services. It was originally intended by Napoleon
to be consecrated to the military glories of France,
and bears not a few traces of its original destina¬
tion. It is pitiable and painful in the highest
degree to witness among the multitude of great
personages who are represented as adoring in
heaven the Magdalen at the feet of Jesus, the
great emperor himseff in the foremost place.
Surely, if the art of the painter have done some¬
what to civilize society, it has done much more
to degrade religion.
The church of the Mai! el vine, with that of
Notre Dame de Lor cite, constitute the most fash¬
ionable churches of Paris. Even a French writer
speaks of the latter (he might have included the
former, with some others) as in true keeping with
the sensual age which gave rise to it: combining
the graces of the cafe, the theatre, and the places
of public amusement; whilst it forms an append¬
age to the opera, which stands in its parish. The,
feiidapted church of Stc. Genevieve (formerly the
Pantheon) may be regarded as in no small degree
liable to such criticisms. Amidst the glare and
splendor investing these edifices, how often do the
words of the prophet occur to the Christian mind—
" Behold, the days come, saitli the Lord, that I
will send a famine in the land; not a famine of
bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the
words of the Lord I" Tieligious books, excepting
those of a very Bomanistic order, are extremely
scarce in Paris; whilst the writings of .the witty,
the licentious, or the scoffer, abound at every turn.
The most sacred subjects*are used in literature or
PARTS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
179
in the theatre without remorse, if they can fur¬
nish a jest or point an epigram. The same govern¬
ment which is zealous in upholding the claims
of the Church, continually chooses the Lord's day
as the appropriate time for military reviews or
national festivals. Such is the " most Christian"
nation.
Nothing is more characteristic of Paris than the
extensive system of police which pervades it, and
hy means of which the government exercises an
almost omniscient acquaintance with the secrets
of the capital. No class of persons, no society,
however private, can calculate upon exemption
from the prying inquisitiveness of eqn'onnage.
The prefect of Paris is at the head of several
important ramifications of public service. One
branch watches over suspected politicians and
secret gamhling-houscs: another over public ve¬
hicles : another over sanitary operations : another
over the vessels of the river; and another over
the markets of the metropolis. To this tribunal
also are amenable schools, advertisements of houses,
hackney-coaches, and all strangers arriving in
Paris. Even workmen are not allowed to be em¬
ployed without a livret, endorsed by the public
authorities. But there is in Paris another class
of spies, who, whether in the employ of the police
or not, are often used as instruments to gratify
curiosity or to administer to evil. These are the
" commissionnaires," a race of people whom every
traveller has found most useful, and who hold
themselves ready to exhibit sights', to convey mes¬
sages, to speak languages, to execute commissions,
180 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
to watch indicated persons—in short, to perform
almost every conceivable office.
The visitor who passes along the Seine c-annot
fail to observe the contrast presented by the green
and usually limpid waters of that river, and the
dark, foetid, and pestilential stream of the Thames,
however superior the latter may be in commercial
importance. Public baths did, and perhaps still
do, exist near some of its bridges; but in Paris
they are among the necessities of life. They are
of all classes and sizes, are adapted to the use of
both sexes, and are of all prices, from a few sous
to three or four francs, supplying all possible con¬
veniences for the purposes of ablution and swim¬
ming. Much of the washing of the city is also
performed on the river, in barges of a peculiar
construction, battledores being much used for
beating the wet linen. "We are sorry to record,
from personal experience, that the proverbial dis¬
honesty of Parisian hlanchisscuscs is not altogether
a fabulous accusation.
Schools abound in Paris. It is impossible to
enumerate all those of law, of medicine, of divinity,
of polytechnics, of machinery, of mineralogy, of
art, of language, of military instruction, of music,
of declamation, although some of their peculiar¬
ities deserve a volume. Paris has all schools,
excepting Sunday-schools, which are extremely
rare. Hence in part it is that the student life is
that from which the Christian eye often turns
away with pain and in disgust, as " earthly, sen¬
sual, devilish."'
Some of the markets of this metropolis will well
PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN. 181
repay the visitor's attention. The Mar die, des
Innocens constitutes the Covent Garden of Paris.
The market of dogs—only held on Sundays—that
of horses, to he seen on the same spot: the various
establishments for flowers, for birds, for oysters,
for cheese, for botanical plants, for butter, for
eggs, bread, fish, afford conveniences which the
population requires. Not the least interesting is
that of old linen, where caps, bonnets, slippers,
stockings, parasols, etc., may be procured. A class
of people called chiffonniers derive their living
from the dust of Paris; out of which they are
sure to extract certain articles bearing a small
commercial value, such as bones, iron, etc., in
which they sometimes find money, and even richer
spoils.
Among the prisons of Paris, the module prison
is, perhaps, the most remarkable. ■ In this estab¬
lishment, the prisoners are only allowed to see
their friends through two iron gratings, so placed
that an inspector can be situated between them
to prevent any actual personal communication.
A bell-handle in each cell enables the prisoner to
summon assistance, by causing a kind of sema¬
phore to project from the wall of the corridor
opposite to his cell. By a curious contrivance, a
kind of railway conveys the meals to each indi¬
vidual apartment. The inmates are allowed to
purchase certain luxuries by their own labor,
which is entirely voluntary, and a library of six¬
teen hundred volumes supplies those who desire
to read.
Perhaps none of the Parisian regulations con-
1C2 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
trast more agreeably with those of London than
the system of public conveyances. To the mar¬
vel of Englishmen, who are apt to suspect a thief
upon every coach-box, the control over hackney-
coaches is so complete, as to assure the passenger
that he will neither be cheated nor insulted. The
omnibus system is equally perfect. By means of
" tickets of correspondence/' a passenger may,
for a fixed charge, go to any part of Paris, there
being a regular transference from vehicle to
vehicle, as the circumstances of the case may
require. Each seat is divided by a rail, and as
soon as the vehicle is full, a notice to that effect
is placed on the top, so as to be seen by the
passers-by. The color of the omnibus and the
dress of the driver indicate the direction in which
the vehicle will travel.
The regulations of railway travelling are, in
general, equally admirable. The fares are usually
low, and the civility ordinarily great. Some in¬
convenience may be sustained by the separation
of the traveller from his friends as soon as he has
received his ticket, but by this means much con¬
fusion is prevented. The baggage, if in any
quantity, is carried in a separate carriage, paid
for at a low price by weight, and the ticket held
by the passenger entitles him to reclaim it, or to
demand its value, at his journey's end.
The treatment of the dead in Paris is altogether
peculiar. The conpse is buried within twenty-four
hours of the time of the decease. The care of
burials is assigned to a public company, desig¬
nated, "Enterprise des pompes fuuebres," and
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 183
the charge is according to a fixed and graduated
scale. The entrance to the cemeteries is be¬
tokened by the number of monumental shops
which are clustered in this vicinity, and the pass¬
ing of the funeral procession is acknowledged by
the uncovered heads of the spectators. The ar¬
rangements within the cemetery afford striking
indications of French character. Sometimes, in
the cases of rich proprietors, a little kind of
chapel, occasionally with stained glass ^windows,
is erected over the grave. In other instances,
simple railings protect the enclosure; while the
tombs of the poor, who are not interred in com¬
mon graves, have neither. But whatever the
form of the grave, it is distinguished by wreaths
of amaranth, laid over it by the surviving relative;
whilst crucifixes, figures of saints, vases, imitative
flowers, all the devices in which the French so
much excel, and every kind of .ornamental in¬
scription, proclaim the regard, real or imaginary,
in which the memory of the deceased is held.
Amidst much of obtrusive grief, one greatly
misses, in a Parisian cemetery, the simplicity of
true feeling—though there are not wanting in¬
stances in which the memorials are truly affecting.
It is impossible to enumerate within a few
pages the features which distinguish the capital
of Pitmce from other cities. The enormous masses
of advancing public buildings, proceeding in every
direction under the control of government: the
new streets, new palaces, new hospitals, and new
decorations, which promise speedily to_ render
Paris the most splendid of European mctropo-
184 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
lises: the blouses and independent air of the
ouvriers engaged upon thein: the large number
of shops devoted to purposes of personal adorn¬
ment : the violations of delicacy which continually
meet the eye : the freshness of some parts of the
city, and the great . antiquity of others: the
columns appropriated for purposes of advertise¬
ments : the numerous fantastical structures, so
incongruous with the line of houses amidst which
they stand: the signs exhibited on the exterior
of many of the edifices : the articles of merchan¬
dise, of which we know neither the name nor the
use: the shops for the sale of wine or of char¬
coal : the booths inhabited by those who write or
read letters for the passers-by : the salons of every
class, including the " salons epilatoires," where
inconvenient gray hairs may be extracted: the
exhibitions made by the chiropodist of corns of
all the magnitudes to which the human foot is
liable : the shops of the chocolate vendors, where
all the processes of the manufacture are publicly
exhibited: the fantastic varieties of can de
Cologne, perfumery, and soap : the ever-present
military ensigns : the singular dress of the priest¬
hood : the processions which attend the host to
the houses of the dying: the freedom of admis¬
sion given to the valuable and interesting public
exhibitions : the unbusiness-like air of the greater
part of the population : the gayety and grimace
of the passers-by:—these, with many other pe¬
culiarities too numerous to detail, defy all previous
conception. With one sad feature of the Parisian
population we must close our volume.
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 185
The immorality of Paris ! These are not the
pages in which that dark tale can he told. The
putrescent masses of social evil, concealed under
a guise of conventional bienseance, hut corrupting
and festering at the core: infecting the young:
breaking the ties of marriage : poisoning the mass
of French literature; and leading the way on¬
ward to gigantic and almost inconceivable crimes
—who shall attempt its delineation ? May our
readers be " wise concerning what is good, but
simple concerning evil"—especially such evils!
One phase of it alone is open to us, and in de¬
scribing this we shall be brief.
There exists in Paris, by the side of the. Seine,
and near to the church of Notre Dame, a building
called La Morgue, destined for the reception of
dead bodies found in the adjoining river. When
we visited it recently, it contained two bodies,
separated from the spectator by a partition of
glass, and laid, almost undressed, upon slabs, over
which water was continually trickling. The
clothes of the deceased were hung above his head,
in order that the spectator might be the better
able to recognize the remains.
The institution of La Morgue is deeply asso¬
ciated with the history of public morality in the
city of Paris. Much as has been said of the sui¬
cidal acts to which Englishmen are prone, the
number of self-destroyers in England is much
less than in France. The number of bodies ex¬
hibited annually in La Morgue is about three
hundred; and the greater proportion of these
are cases of suicide. But drowning is not the
186 PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN.
craly form, of suicide : it is only one mode out of
many. The reader may therefore judge for him¬
self what the aggregate amount of" such deaths
may be.
Fearful as these reflections are, they are but
the natural conclusions to which a thousand con¬
current causes are leading. The national mind
of France, intellectually open, yet disgusted by
the system of religion everywhere meeting its
view—(it is a common French proverb, that re¬
ligion is only fit for children)—is always open to
receive every gibe and taunt which infidel writers
have placed in its way, till it ceases to believe in
either God or devil. "Hypocrisy in religion
leads to hypocrisy in morals," says a Protestant
preacher, "and causes it to be adopted as an
axiom that scandal is worse than ill-doing—that
concealed sin loses half its guilt—that all is per¬
mitted which does not offend against the property
and life of others—that impurity, intemperance,
blasphemy, violation of the Sabbath, are unim¬
portant, because they do no one any harm. Shall
I remind you of the principle of public morality
—(I have neither stolen nor killed ?' I cannot
enter into these details, but will content myself
with the general statement, that there are no
moral principles in France—I repeat it, no moral
principles. If honorable exceptions arc brought
before me, I will say that such exceptions do but
prove the rule. I do not, indeed, mean to affirm
that every one is, for instance, guilty of injustice;
but I do say, that they are for the most part hold
back by self-interest on points of worldly honor,
PARIS : ANCIENT AND MODERN. 187
and rarely indeed by any principle of morality.
Even this degree of probity is more apparent than
real. Unfaithfulness is tolerated under its varied
forms of deception, lies, and broken promises."
"On the inclined plane of immorality, France is
descending with an ever-accelerated speed, till it
seems to have almost reached the lowest point of
depravity."
Such is the witness of a faithful Frenchman.
On such principles we cease to wonder that Paris
is the centre of intrigues, the patroness of vice,
the asylum of all infamy: that its ouvriers are
tumultuous; its middle classes immoral; that its
fashionables glory in their shame. We cease to
wonder that lives of sin should end in suicidal
deaths, yhen we remember that to most French¬
men the thought of eternity scarcely comes at all.
The gambler flies to suicide as a relief from his
losses : the lover, as an end to his mortifications :
the jealous and the envious alike regard it with
favor: it has even occurred to the mind of the
child, whose punishment at school was greater
than he deserved.
Visitants to the city of Paris! Whilst you
stand on your guard against temptation, aid,
sustain, promote all which promises to effect a
reformation in so lost a capital. By your con¬
versation and your example, by the distribution
of tracts and religious books, and by the liberal
sustentation of all evangelical efforts, show your
pity for the perishing!
What Paris needs, what France needs, what
the whole world needs, is the practical reception
188 PARIS: ANCIENT AND MODERN.
of "the glorious gospel of the blessed God."
Without it,, a nation can possess no real glory—
there can be no security for public morality—no
individual can be safe or happy. Let us seek for
ourselves the' divine religion, unfolded to us in
that gospel. Repenting' of sin; believing in the
Lamb of God—the Sacrifice and Saviour of the
world; striving after the renewal of the heart and
the holiness of the life, through the power of the
Eternal Spirit. We shall thus attain the true
"liberty," the spiritual "equality," the real
"fraternity;" without which all other is an
empty name, " a mockery, a delusion, and a
snare;" and this "joy no man taketh from us."
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