\ 
 
 * ■ • 
 
TRAVELS 
 
 IN 
 
 FRANCE, 
 
 in 1818. 
 
 BY 
 
 Lieut. FRANCIS HALL, 
 
 14TH LIGHT DRAGOONS, H. P. 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 TRAVELS IN CANADA AND THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers-Street ; 
 FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1819. 
 
TO 
 
 THE REVEREND 
 
 WILLIAM STANLEY GODDARD, D. D. 
 
 LATE HEAD MASTER OF WINCHESTER COLLEGE. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 I dedicate these Travels to 
 you, because it is to you I am especially in- 
 debted for those literary habits which have 
 hitherto been my purest sources of enjoy- 
 ment. Nor am I grateful for this benefit 
 only : I owe you many of the most plea- 
 surable recollections of youth : recollec- 
 tions which daily look brighter, and are 
 more cherished, as our onward road grows 
 more perplexed and overshadowed. A 
 school-boy's life is often cheated of half 
 
 a 2 
 
i v DEDICATION. 
 
 its natural enjoyments, by the misplaced 
 rigour or indulgence of those who watch 
 over it. This is robbing the butterfly of 
 its wings. You left us our wings, and only 
 directed our flights to the flowers most pro- 
 ductive of honey. 
 
 As for my book, though I have not mo- 
 desty enough to abuse it, 1 am aware it 
 contains sentiments and opinions which I 
 cannot defend by the sanction of your au- 
 thority. My politics are my own, whether 
 for good or evil. You did not suffer our 
 time at Winchester to be wasted in party 
 disquisitions and speculations unsuited to 
 our age and situation. You laid for us a 
 foundation of good taste, and habits of 
 correct thinking, on all essential points of 
 literature, morals, and religion : the super- 
 structure is, and must be, our own. I only 
 regret that, in my case, it is rfbt worthier 
 of a foundation so laid ; but however 
 
DEDICATION. V 
 
 great may be my political heresies, I am 
 happy to have this opportunity of showing 
 that there is one monarchy at least for 
 which I entertain the affectionate vene- 
 ration befitting a loyal subject, — that of 
 Winchester College. 
 
 Believe me, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 With all respect and gratitude, 
 
 Your faithful Friend and Servant, 
 FRANCIS HALL. 
 
 Addlestone, 
 September 8. 1819. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Calais to Rouen 1 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Rouen 25 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Neighbourhood of Rouen , 45 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Paris 61 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Environs of Paris 208 
 
 CHAP. VI, 
 
 Paris to Mortagne and the Monastery of La Trappe 227 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Mortagne to Tours 246 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 Tours to Poitiers 264 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Poitiers to Saintes and Bordeaux 294 
 
yiii CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Bordeaux to Toulouse 313 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Toulouse to Paris 339 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 Of the French Character 3 *9 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 Of Bonaparte • 3 ? 3 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 Of the present Government of France 3 83 
 
TRAVELS IN FRANCE 
 
 in 1818. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN, 
 
 A man must have considerable literary Courage 
 to write " Travels in France," especially if he 
 begins by Calais: — a proposition, the demonstra- 
 tion of which I shall take into my own hands, 
 as Mr. Moore turns critic for himself in the 
 character of Fadladeen ; and for the same reason, 
 videlicet, lest some sterner critic should take up 
 the matter for me. 'Tis a very moderate assertion 
 to say, that within these ten years past, there 
 have been written as many books of " Travels in 
 France," as would fill a country gentleman's 
 library. They have swarmed in all forms and 
 sizes, from the humble journalist, who notes 
 down each stage and post-house, takes record of 
 his daily dinners, and fixes literary talons upon 
 each aubergiste and JUle-de-cliambre, on his road, 
 to the more scientific and exalted tourist, who, 
 soaring above vulgar detail, concocts the spiri- 
 
 VOT.. T. / B 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 tualised essence of his journey, like a rich sauce, 
 from ingredients " known only to the artist." 
 The public has thus banquetted on Travels, 
 Agricultural, Philosophical, and Political ; on 
 Visits, and Visitations, from Six Months to 
 Six Weeks ; on Letters and Observations ; 
 on " Reflections during a Residence," and 
 " Notes during an Abode on " Walks in, 
 round, and about Paris ;" on " Sketches of 
 Scenery," and " Scenic Delineations on 
 Journeys, voluntary and forced ; on Excursions 
 on Horseback, and on Foot ; by Old Routes, 
 and New Routes, and Unusual Routes. Nor 
 have the species of travellers been less nu- 
 merous than the forms given to their produc- 
 tions : — clergymen and men of letters, lords 
 and farmers, physicians, journalists, officers, 
 cockneys, and ladies, have in turn figured, and 
 disappeared, from the stage of travelling noto- 
 riety. In such a state of things, to write 
 " Travels in France," disguise the title as you 
 will or can ; hint the purport of your book, 
 however gingerly ; dish it like a lottery-puff, to 
 slide unawares down the intellectual viscera of 
 the public ; the attempt is still " periculosa? 
 plenum opus alew," whether it be done by me, 
 or another ; and if perilous, then requiring 
 courage, not indeed martial or pugilistic, but 
 literary courage, — a very different quality, as 
 many literary men know, — a very estimable one, 
 as I am willing to believe, though critics should 
 calumniate it by the appellation of impudence. 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 s 
 
 But then to begin with Calais! — Why, one must 
 begin somewhere; and in such cases, except 
 there be special reason to the contrary, 'tis as 
 well to begin by the beginning. Besides, what 
 English heart beats not at the historical recol- 
 lections attached to Calais ? Who but remem- 
 bers how our warlike Edward consented not to 
 hang the worthy members of the corporation 
 who delivered themselves in their shirts to his 
 clemency. Then, like a true monarch, tem- 
 pering mercy with a necessary rigour, he turned 
 all the inhabitants out to starve, and make room 
 for an English colony. " In my opinion" (says 
 old Froissard) " it was a melancholy thing for 
 v the inhabitants of both sexes, of the town of 
 " Calais, thus to be sent abroad, with their 
 ** children, from their inheritances, leaving 
 " every thing behind : for they were not al- 
 " lowed to carry off any of their furniture or 
 «' wealth, and they received no assistance from 
 " the king of France, for whom they had lost 
 " their all. They did, however, as well as they 
 *' were able ; and the greater part went to St. 
 " Omer." Without being critical, they no doubt 
 felt themselves well able to comment, during their 
 travels, on Horace's " Quicquid delirant reges." 
 
 This depopulation terminated, as such mat- 
 ters usually did in those days, by the building 
 of a new church, a description of which will be 
 more germain to the business of a traveller, than 
 this historical digression, with which, however, 
 it links conveniently enough. The architecture 
 
 b 2 
 
4 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 of this edifice is Gothic *, in its simplest form ; 
 the interior consisting of pointed arches resting 
 on plain massive columns. The altar-piece is 
 of white marble, elaborately sculptured, and 
 adorned with eighteen small images of saints. 
 It is said to have been originally purchased in 
 Italy, for Canterbury Cathedral, about the year 
 1623, and to have fallen into the possession of 
 the Calesians in consequence of the ship, in 
 which it was embarked, having been wrecked 
 on the coast. If this be true, Canterbury rather 
 gained a loss ; for though the workmanship is 
 rich, and costly, the design of the whole is in 
 bad taste, and too overloaded with petty orna- 
 ment to produce any effect, either of beauty or 
 magnificence. The Assumption, by Vandyke, oc- 
 cupies the central compartment over it. It is 
 highly esteemed ; but the colouring is faded, 
 and the figure of the Virgin so completely Fle- 
 mish, that the clouds seem breaking down be- 
 neath her. The Descent from tJie Cross, by the 
 same master, is a more pleasing composition ; 
 the face of Mary is full of tranquil sweetness, 
 as if assured of the immortal destinies of her 
 Son and Saviour. A picture of Christ tempted 
 
 * I use this epithet, because none more appropriate has 
 yet obtained the sanction of general use. Though it is a style 
 which probably owes its most striking peculiarities to east- 
 ern models, the term " oriental" would be too bold an 
 innovation : I have taken greater liberty in occasionally 
 substituting corrupted Roman or Lombard for Saxon, an epi- 
 thet which, though bearable in England, is palpably false 
 and even ridiculous in France. 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 5 
 
 by the Tribute Money , is forcibly painted, in the 
 manner of Rubens : the figures were whole 
 lengths, but it was cut in two during the Revo- 
 lution. The other decorations of the church 
 are Catholic enough ; rags, tinsel, puppet-show 
 Jesuses, and daubings of purgatory, with alms- 
 boxes, to filch from credulity the wages of hypo- 
 crisy. At the eastern extremity of the edifice, 
 a new Lady-chapel has been lately built ; but if 
 the virgin has the slightest tinge of architectural 
 taste, she must feel little grateful for an append- 
 age so ludicrously at variance with the general 
 style of the edifice. 
 
 Few, even of the least curious among tra- 
 vellers, can have missed seeing the town-hall of 
 Calais ; for it stands on one side of the great 
 square, or Place d'Armes, so as to stare you in 
 the face on your way from the pier towards any 
 hotel in which you may have designed to quar- 
 ter yourself ; but 'tis possible enough to over- 
 look two national monuments in front of it, 
 both erected A. D. 1818. These are two pe- 
 destals of reddish marble, about as big as two 
 city pumps, and not much unlike them in figure, 
 supporting the busts of Cardinal Richelieu, and 
 Francis Duke of Guise, surnamed " Le Bala- 
 " fre;" the former of whom, as the inscriptions 
 tell us, built the arsenal, the latter recovered 
 Calais from the English, A. D. 1558. This is 
 evidently an attempt to direct national vanity 
 towards legitimate objects. Napoleon adorned 
 France with monuments, so the Bourbons take 
 
 b 3 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 a hint from the devil, and Napoleonize in little. 
 But this is a species of imitation in which they 
 are not more fortunate than was the Duke of 
 Berri, when, in the same spirit, he mistook him- 
 self for a general. The objects of commemo- 
 ration, in the present instance, are selected with 
 singular ill luck, as well as bad taste, unless 
 they were intended to represent the principles 
 of the present dynasty. Francis Duke of Guise 
 first laid the foundation of that celebrated league 
 which went nigh to deprive the Bourbons of 
 their succession to the crown. He was master 
 of the court and its feeble king, when the fiery 
 chambers (les chambres ar denies) were insti- 
 tuted in each parliament for the purpose of 
 burning all Protestants convicted of addressing 
 their God in their own way. The conspiracy 
 of Amboise was the consequence of these cru- 
 elties ; the failure of which was followed by a 
 judicial slaughter, " till," says Mezeray, " the 4 
 " streets of Amboise ran down with blood, the 
 " river was covered with dead bodies, and all 
 " the public squares planted with gibbets." 
 He adds, that the chancellor Olivier, who was 
 of a gentle and feeling nature, died of horror 
 at this massacre. One might have imagined, 
 that to have procured a sentence of death, in 
 open defiance of law and justice, against the 
 uncle of Henry IV. would have seemed suffici- 
 ent reason in legitimate eyes for at least keeping 
 this personage in the shade ; but, in truth, to have 
 been a persecutor, is a merit, which, like 
 
CALAIS "TO ROUEN. 
 
 7 
 
 charity, " covers a multitude of sins." — By the 
 way, it was not Francis, but Henry his son, who 
 was surnamed " Le Balqfre" (the slashed). Vid. 
 Bayle, Art. Guise {Henri de Lorraine Due de). 
 As for Richelieu, to say nothing of the blacker 
 shades of his character, there is no individual in 
 French history, who has been more powerfully 
 instrumental in producing that chain of events 
 which led to the Revolution, than he; but he was 
 a despot and a priest. 
 
 There was much barbarism in the days of 
 chivalry, but there was some grandeur of soul 
 too ; and I would have given more to have seen 
 the old castle-hall, in which our Edward enter- 
 tained the knight by whom he had been twice 
 beaten down in battle, than whole acres of 
 gilded palaces, with Versailles at the head of 
 them; but scarcely a vestige of the castle of 
 Calais is now visible : 
 
 Old times are changed, old manners gone. 
 
 Illustrious prisoners are now-a-days treated 
 in a very different manner, especially wjien 
 they chance to fall beneath the sway of such 
 as are strangers to military achievement ; — 
 
 Nor the divisions of a battle know 
 More than a spinster. 
 
 I transcribe this memorable scene from 
 Froissard, because it cannot fail to suggest a 
 pleasing association of ideas, if not a pleasing 
 contrast of manners, to the mind of every 
 English visiter. 
 
s 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 " When the engagement was over, the king 
 " returned to the castle in Calais, and ordered 
 " all the prisoners to be brought before him. 
 " The French then knew for the first time that 
 " the king of England had been there in per- 
 " son, under the banner of Sir Walter Manny. 
 " The king said he would, this evening of the 
 " new year, entertain them all at supper in the 
 " castle. 
 
 " When the hour for supper was come, the 
 " tables spread, and the king and his knights 
 " dressed in new robes, as well as the French, 
 " who, notwithstanding they were prisoners, 
 " made good cheer, (for the king wished it 
 " should be so,) the king seated himself at 
 " table, and made those knights do the same 
 " around him, in a most honourable manner. 
 
 " The gallant Prince of Wales, and the 
 " knights of England, served up the first course, 
 " and waited on their guests. At the second 
 " course they went and seated themselves at 
 " another table, where they were served and 
 " attended on very quietly. 
 
 " When supper was over, and the tables re- 
 " moved, the king remained in the hall, among 
 " the English and French knights, bareheaded, 
 " except a chaplet of fine pearls, which was round 
 
 " his head . When he came to Sir 
 
 " Eustace de Ribeaumont, he assumed a cheer- 
 " ful look, and said with a smile, * Sir Eustace, 
 " you are the most valiant knight in Christen- 
 " dom that I ever saw attack his enemy, or 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 9 
 
 ; defend himself. I never yet found any one 
 ' in battle, who, body to body, had given me 
 ' so much to do as you have done this day. I 
 ' adjudge to you the prize of valour, above all 
 « the knights of my court, as what is justly 
 ' due to you.' The king then took off the 
 « chaplet, which was very rich and handsome, 
 ' and, placing it on the head of Sir Eustace, 
 < said : ' Sir Eustace, I present you with this 
 ' chaplet, as being the best combatant this 
 « day, either within or without doors; and I 
 ' beg of you to wear it this year, for love of me. 
 " I know that you are lively and amorous, and 
 " love the company of ladies and damsels ; 
 « therefore say, wherever you go, that I gave 
 " it to you. I also give you your liberty, free 
 " of ransom; and you may set out to-morrow, 
 " if you please, and go whither you will.' " 
 (Froissard's Chronicles, vol. ii. chap. cl. p. 247.) 
 
 The French have been charged with super- 
 abundant vivacity ; but this is certainly not a 
 quality evinced in their mode of travelling. It 
 is true, there is a coach running from Calais to 
 Paris in thirty hours; but this is an Eng- 
 lish imitation, almost forced upon them by the 
 concourse of English travellers, and by no 
 means in unison with the general spirit, or rather 
 matter, of their diligences. I desired to secure 
 a place in one of these to Boulogne, and was 
 directed to the " Hotel de Flandres," from 
 which its name assured me nothing speedy could 
 emanate. The office was at the end of a yard, 
 
10 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 encumbered with vehicles of such grave and 
 ponderous aspect, that they seemed rather in- 
 tended for the everlasting homes, than the 
 temporary conveyance of the bodies consigned 
 to them. The book-keeper, pressing an easy 
 chair with a most ominous bulk, and raising 
 a broad ruddy countenance, surmounted by a 
 black velvet night-cap, grunted out an expres- 
 sion of vexed surprise, when I declared my 
 preference of a scanty jumbling seat beside the 
 driver, to the fusty expanse of cushions within. 
 
 Our team consisted of three rope-linked 
 steeds; one of them a blind English charger, 
 bought of an officer of hussars: and much 
 would the beast have marvelled, could he have 
 been restored to sight, to have found himself in 
 such company. It cost us five hours to jog over 
 the twenty miles betwixt Calais and Boulogne, 
 along a well-paved road. 
 
 The appearance of this tract of country is 
 dreary; for though cultivated, it is unenclosed, 
 and with its dips and short hills very closely re- 
 sembles the greater part of Dorsetshire. 
 
 The castle of Boulogne still exhibits some- 
 thing of the gloomy strength of a feudal fort- 
 ress. The upper town is surrounded by an 
 ancient wall, with round towers ; the lower is 
 spread round the harbour, formed by the dis- 
 charge of the little river Liane, which, when the 
 tide is out, is scarcely seen to serpentine through 
 the mud. The basins, constructed by Bonaparte 
 for the reception of the flotilla, are now little 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 11 
 
 used, and will probably be gradually choaked 
 up, since the harbour has too little depth to be- 
 come of much commercial importance. 
 
 A winding road ascends from the town to the 
 summit of the cliff, whence the white coast of 
 England is distinctly visible. An almost shape- 
 less mass of brick-work here arrests the atten- 
 tion, by a solidity of construction, which seems 
 to have destined it to almost everlasting durabi- 
 lity. It is the ruin of a Roman pharos, said to 
 have been erected by Caligula. Its foundation 
 has out-lasted the rock on which it rested, and 
 it now projects several feet over the precipice. 
 Its length towards the sea is about 300 feet ; its 
 breadth about 100. Such portions of the walls 
 as jut out from the mass are from eight to ten 
 feet in thickness; in the body of the work 
 their dimensions are undistinguishable, but were 
 probably much greater. The whole is of brick, 
 but appears to have been faced with stone. 
 There is a small arched recess at the north-east 
 end, and the traces of a staircase are visible at 
 the west : these, with two apertures, which have 
 the appearance of drains, are all that is discern- 
 ible of feature m the ruin.* It is not possible, 
 however, to look on it, even in its present shape- 
 less condition, and then to turn towards the ex- 
 tensive remains of the field-works a little beyond, 
 without being struck by a remarkable historical 
 coincidence. It was on these heights the Roman 
 
 * It is said to have been tolerably entire in 1643. It is 
 engraved in Montfaucon, t. iv. plate L. 
 
12 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 emperor encamped his legions, while he surveyed 
 and meditated the conquest of Britain. Eighteen 
 centuries had passed away when the eagles of 
 conquest were again displayed on the same spot, 
 and another " King of the world" menaced 
 the sea-girt isle. The mighty preparations ended 
 alike in both instances. About two miles north- 
 east of the Roman ruin, stands the unfinished 
 column designed by Bonaparte for a similar 
 purpose. The basement and a few feet of the 
 shaft are all that is yet raised of it ; but the 
 scaffolding is standing, and the materials are 
 collected and prepared for completing it; though 
 it is doubtful if a work so illegitimate will be 
 taken up by the present government. Its 
 height was to have been 150 feet ; circum- 
 ference 45. The marble for its construction, is 
 from the neighbouring quarries of Marquise. 
 The style and decorations of the plan are Egyp- 
 tian; and a statue of Napoleon was to have 
 overlooked the shores of England from its sum- 
 mit. About a league north of Boulogne is the 
 little port and village of Ambleteuse. It 
 nourished considerably while the grand army 
 was encamped round it ; but is now in ruins, 
 and garrisoned by a single ragged douanier. It 
 was here James II. landed after his dethrone- 
 ment. — Caligula, James, Bonaparte ; the mad- 
 man, the bigot, and the conqueror ; each an 
 excellent specimen of the three sorts of kings 
 who have most especially laboured to become 
 the heroes of history, and les delices du genre 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 13 
 
 humam. The space of a league furnishes an 
 almost universal epitome of royalty. 
 
 Betwixt Calais and Ambleteuse is the little 
 village of Witsend, half-buried in sand. It 
 claims, however, to be the site of the Roman 
 Portas IttiuSy where Caesar embarked in his ex- 
 pedition against Britain. I had some curiosity 
 about the truth of this tradition, from its con- 
 nection with the following incident. 
 
 In the month of May last, as some labourers 
 were digging gravel on the flat, or level, as it is 
 called, betwixt Shepperton and Chertsey, they 
 discovered, at about three feet from the surface, 
 two skeletons, which, from their position, (for 
 they lay across one another,) seemed to have been 
 carelessly thrown into an hole for interment: 
 near them were found an entire funeral urn, the 
 broken pieces of several others, two small sacri- 
 ficial vessels, a Roman javelin head, and a cir- 
 cular plate of metal, with a round hole in its 
 centre. The soil of this spot is a solid bed of 
 gravel, or rather shingle, covered by a slight 
 coat of earth, and so little raised above the 
 level of the Thames, from which it is not more 
 than 200 yards distant, as to be overflowed almost 
 every winter. It never, therefore, could have 
 been a regular burial-ground; but most pro- 
 bably was, in this instance, a casual place of 
 interment after some fray or military encounter: 
 a conjecture, in support of which we have the 
 authority of Bede, who records a tradition, that 
 it was at this spot Capsar first crossed the Thames 
 
14 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 in pursuit of Cassivelaunus, who, after an in- 
 effectual attempt to defend the ford, retired to 
 his capital at St. Alban's. He relates, in con- 
 firmation of this history, that the stakes had been 
 discovered which the Britons had driven into 
 the banks, to render the ford impassable; 
 whence, to this day, the spot retains the name of 
 Coway Stakes. There are traces, too, of a Ro- 
 man encampment On Walton Common, which 
 lies immediately behind the opposite heights of 
 Oatlands and Woburn, on the Surrey side of the 
 river. Caesar himself says, he crossed the 
 Thames at the distance of eighty miles from the 
 spot where he landed : supposing him, there- 
 fore, to have embarked at Witsend, and landed, 
 as is most probable, on the flat coast about 
 Hythe, or Romney, a march of eighty miles, 
 making allowance for circuitous roads and 
 deviations, would place him on the banks of the 
 Thames, much about the spot fixed upon by 
 tradition for his passage. Join the discovery of 
 these urns and bones, and 'tis indulging no an- 
 tiquarian vision to believe, that the former once 
 held the ashes of such of the first invaders of our 
 isle as were killed in their skirmish with Cassi- 
 velaunus, and that the latter belonged to such 
 of our ancestors as dared, on this occasion, 
 
 Their rudely painted limbs expose 
 To Chalybean steel and Roman foes. 
 
 I was forced to pass a Sunday at Boulogne, pro- 
 bably under the surveillance of the police, for I 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 15 
 
 had forgotten my passport; but this delay gave me 
 an opportunity of visiting a fete, or fair, held at a 
 neighbouring village. On a little green, shaded 
 for the most part by rows of elm-trees, booths were 
 erected, containing a rich display of bon-bons y 
 cakes, ribbons, and the whole stock of small wares, 
 which, on these occasions, " puzzle the will" 
 of the purchaser to choose betwixt numberless 
 species of nothings. At various intervals rings 
 were enclosed, not for boxing or bull-baiting, 
 but dancing. The musicians plied beneath the 
 trees, while the young men and lasses tripped it 
 " on the light fantastic toe," with a correctness 
 and grace which would have honoured Almack's. 
 The prevailing costume of the nymphs was a 
 white gown ; a shawl, generally red ; and a cap, 
 closely fitted to the head, of a fashion rather pri- 
 mitive than Parisian, from which, however, their 
 curls were suffered tastefully to escape, and hang 
 round their pretty faces ; as pretty, certainly, as 
 might be found in an equal number of our own 
 country maidens; while an air of refinement, 
 diffused over their whole persons and manners, 
 seemed to indicate that they might almost all of 
 them have been elevated to a higher place in 
 society, without stirring the question of, " how 
 " got they there?" — The men had not the 
 same relative superiority of appearance. The 
 smartest among them had a shop-boyish air ; but 
 their enjoyment was unstained with vulgarity, 
 and the evening passed off without a single 
 fight, or drunken frolic. 
 
16 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 Time, which brings about all things, having 
 at length brought my passport to the Bureau de 
 Police, 1 proceeded to present myself before the 
 mayor, from whom I was to receive a carte de 
 surete in exchange. He was a steady mercer, 
 and forthwith dispatched my business, appealing, 
 in conclusion, to my generosity to be allowed to 
 pocket two francs above the usual charge " pour 
 " son expedition.'" — Certes, one would not easily 
 find the mayor of an English corporation, who 
 would take an official bribe of twenty pence, — 
 but the French are no despisers of small profits. 
 Being now furnished with official proof of my 
 own identity, I was at liberty to pursue my way 
 towards Normandy, which I did via Montreuil 
 and Abbeville. 
 
 Montreuil is famous for nothing so much as 
 for the mention made of it by Sterne, with 
 whose journey the French' are as well, or better 
 acquainted than ourselves. Before entering the 
 town, one passes a plentiful allowance of draw- 
 bridges, fortifications, and sentries. The faces 
 of the works are, in many places, judicious- 
 ly covered with fruit-trees. The ditches are 
 supplied by the little river Canche, which, after 
 performing this uninteresting duty, escapes down 
 a fertile valley to the sea. The streets, or at 
 least the main street, is clean and lively. Several 
 of the churches were destroyed during the Revo- 
 lution ; but it is probable there are still enough 
 left to feed the spiritual hunger of the inhabit- 
 ants. The principal of them is a Gothic edi- 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 17 
 
 flee, with a fa9ade richly decorated with sculp- 
 ture, but the eight saints which adorned the 
 porch suffered decapitation during the Revolu- 
 tion ; and well had it been had this process 
 been confined to saints, either in stone, or "in 
 " the flesh since, even in the latter case, it is 
 probable the whole of France would not have 
 furnished as many relics as are now to be seen 
 in this single church, the high altar of which is 
 richly garnished with the hips, shin-bones, and 
 grinders of saints Macloud, Austrebette, &c. &c. 
 The pointed arches of the central aisle, and rib- 
 bed roof, are supported by octagonal columns. 
 The paintings are for the most part by a M. 
 Dumon, " Peintre ordinaire" as he appositely 
 styles himself ; but there is a picture of St. Au- 
 strebette kneeling to receive the veil, by an older 
 master, in which the countenance of the youth- 
 ful devotee is pourtrayed with exquisite sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 The " Hotel Dieu" is an establishment of Au- 
 gustines, founded f? about the year 1200, by the 
 " very high and powerful Lord of Monteray," as 
 we are told by an inscription over his picture, 
 which hangs in the parlour, in plate armour, bear- 
 ing the escutcheon of his arms. The altar piece of 
 the chapel is a copy of Raphael's Descent from 
 the Cross, as the ragged urchin who constituted 
 himself my cicerone took care to inform me. 
 
 I had seen the lions, and dined at the Lion 
 d'Or, which is a more comfortable auberge than 
 its exterior promises ; when I requested the loan 
 
18 CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 of a book, to shorten that tedious period of a 
 traveller's day, from night-fall to bed-time. Ma- 
 dame immediately lent , me one; but so full of 
 Cellamiras, Leontios, and other worthies, all in- 
 finitely good and beautiful, that I was near 
 slumbering over their . virtues, when I alighted 
 on the following story. 
 
 THE STORY OF LOUIS XI. AND THE PRIOR OF 
 COSMO. 
 
 The prior of Cosmo, a man of singular piety, 
 even in an age famous for its devotion, had ob- 
 tained the king's permission to make a pilgrim- 
 age to the Holy Land ; and so much time had 
 elapsed since his departure, that it became the 
 fixed belief of many, but especially of those who 
 had any interest in so believing, that he had 
 either died during his journey, or was held in 
 perpetual captivity by the infidels. Among 
 those who most pertinaciously held this opinion, 
 was one of the king's chaplains, who had long 
 set his eye and heart on what he willingly con- 
 sidered the vacant priory ; and so frequently and 
 forcibly did he contrive to express his conviction 
 on this head, that the king himself began at last 
 to consider that what was every day asserted 
 could not very well be without foundation, and 
 the chaplain became in consequence prior of 
 Cosmo. Scarcely, however, had he begun to 
 have a lively sense of his sovereign's goodness, 
 and his own comfort, and to feel himself at home 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 19 
 
 in his new dignity, when one morning, blanched 
 with fatigue and age, and supporting his en- 
 feebled frame on his long pilgrim's staff, the 
 old prior himself made his appearance at the 
 royal levee. As may be supposed, this sudden 
 apparition produced much surprise, and a little 
 awkwardness. Louis XI. had too high notions 
 of royal consistency ever to undo what he had 
 once done, whether right or wrong; while at the 
 same time, his generous disposition would not 
 suffer him to regard the offence of the old man's 
 being thus inconveniently alive, as calling for 
 any severe or immediate punishment. He there- 
 fore received him very graciously, touched as 
 lightly as possible upon the loss of his priory, 
 spoke of omitting no opportunity of benefiting 
 him, in any way he might be able to point out ; 
 asked questions about the G rand Turk ; and con- 
 cluded by consigning him to Philip de Comines, 
 his secretary for the home department, who, 
 with a most friendly squeeze of the hand, bowed 
 him out of the apartment. The old man had 
 unfortunately, however, some stubborn notions of 
 rightabout him, which prevented his acquiescing, 
 as readily as became a loyal subject, in the loss 
 he had sustained, notwithstanding the very flat- 
 tering manner in which it was palliated. On 
 the contrary, he omitted no opportunity of pre- 
 senting himself before the royal countenance, 
 and requesting in earnest, but respectful terms, 
 that his priory might be restored to him. Now 
 not only was there a degree of provoking ob- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 CALAIS TO ROUEN* 
 
 stinacy in this conduct, but there was even 
 an odour of treason about it ; for, as Louis 
 justly reasoned, thus to iterate his suit, was by 
 implication to assert that without such iteration 
 it would prove unavailing — and what was this, 
 but to impeach the sovereign's prime attribute 
 of justice, and thus covertly to hold him up as 
 unfit for his kingly office? It was upon the 
 spur of some such reflections as these, and imme- 
 diately after an interview with the importunate 
 subject of them, that Louis, calling to his friend 
 and minister Tristan, bade him without delay 
 to dispose of the prior of Cosmo, that he might 
 be no more troubled with him. Now Tristan 
 was not only too loyal to dispute his master's 
 will, but he had moreover that delicacy of feel- 
 ing which forbad him to pry into the reasons by 
 which it might be influenced. In his mind, the 
 will of Heaven and that of the king were the 
 same thing ; or rather, the latter claimed a supe- 
 riority over the former, in proportion as the 
 consequences of obedience, and rebellion, in 
 the latter case, were more sensible and more 
 immediate than in the former. He accordingly 
 took an opportunity of calling on the prior that 
 same evening, whom he found, nothing aware 
 of his approaching fate, enjoying a social hour 
 in the company of a few particular friends. As 
 Tristan was well known to be a favourite at 
 court, it may be supposed he was received with 
 the utmost politeness, and requested to take a 
 seat at the table j an invitation he at first mo- 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 m 
 
 destly declined; but upon being pressed, con- 
 sented to take a single glass of wine; after 
 which he requested a few moments private con- 
 versation with the prior, to whom, as soon as 
 they were alone, he presented the royal order, 
 together with the sack in which he was to be 
 enclosed, and thrown into the Seine. 
 
 The next morning, as King Louis was taking 
 the air in the Louvre garden, chatting freely 
 with his faithful Tristan on matters concern- 
 ing the welfare of his realm, and inwardly con- 
 gratulating himself on being at length quit 
 of the eternal prior, on turning suddenly the 
 corner of an alley, to his inexpressible dismay 
 he beheld the apparition of the old bearded suitor 
 .igain crawling towards him. " Ah, traitor!" 
 he exclaimed, turning upon Tristan, " did I not 
 " charge you to rid me of that cursed prior, 
 " and here he is again before me." " Sire," 
 replied the terrified favourite, " you charged 
 " me to rid you of the prior of Cosmo, and I 
 " went accordingly to the priory, whence I 
 " took and drowned him yesterday evening. 
 " But, gracious sir, there is no harm done by the 
 " mistake ; a prior more or less can make but lit- 
 " tie difference : this evening I'll rid you of this 
 " one also." " No, no," said the king, smiling 
 graciously, (for he was a monarch of most legi- 
 timate facetiousness,) " one prior is enough at 
 " a time. Go, old man, and take possession 
 " of your priory, — you'll now find it vacant." 
 
 c 3 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 The only remarkable object betwixt Montreal! 
 and Abbeville, (a dull expanse of flat open 
 country, like the whole of Picardy,) is the wood 
 of Crecy, famous for its vicinity to the ancient 
 field of battle, and for .being twenty-two miles in 
 circumference. 
 
 The town of Abbeville is large, bustling, 
 and has a motley appearance : many of the 
 houses are old wooden buildings, with pointed 
 roofs, projecting stones, and fronts chequered 
 with wood-work; others are in the heavy solemn 
 style of the age of Louis XIV., with abundance 
 of stone balustrades, urns, and tall gateways ; 
 while the remainder represent the neat flimsy 
 architecture of the present day. 
 
 The Church of St. Wilfrid is a magnificent 
 edifice ; viewed laterally, it seems, and probably 
 is, too short for its height ; but the fi^ade, with 
 its two lofty towers, is in the most lavish style 
 of Gothic splendour. The portals are ornamented 
 with colossal statues, ably executed, and in per- 
 fect preservation. The interior is not remark- 
 able. The roof is plainly vaulted : the central 
 arches rest on clustered columns. Among the 
 pictures, a Crucifixion, Last Supper, Christ Re- 
 viled, and some others, seem good; but are so 
 covered with dust and cob-webs, that it is not 
 easy to pronounce on their merits. I observed 
 this neglect to the sachristan, who answered me 
 with " Ah, monsieur, Us sont tres viewr" and 
 then directed my attention to the recent daub- 
 
CALAIS TO ROUEN. 
 
 23 
 
 ings, which he conceived to have a juster claim 
 on my curiosity. 
 
 I could not, on leaving Abbeville, turn a fare- 
 well glance towards this edifice, on which the 
 wealth and labour of generations seem to have 
 been expended, without regretting the insensibi- 
 lity of the French nation to such monuments of 
 the costly piety, and magnificent taste, of their 
 forefathers. Were it not for the curiosity of 
 English travellers, their very existence would be 
 forgotten 5 while the feeblest effort of modern 
 times is a work of wonder, — "superbe!" " ma- 
 " gnifique /" and stamped with all the grandeur 
 of La Nation Frangaise. Even English curiosity 
 on these subjects is misinterpreted, and set 
 down, not to admiration, but national vanity. 
 An idea prevails, that most of their Gothic edi- 
 fices were built while we had possession of the 
 country ; an observation which, true or false, 
 the cicerone of each cathedral seldom fails to 
 make, as most grateful to English ears. 
 
 I vainly sought for some engraving of Abbe- 
 ville Cathedral ; the only sketch I could meet 
 with hung in a bookseller's shop, nearly opposite ; 
 but it was rather a caricature than a likeness. 
 
CHAP. II. 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 Without travelling as far backwards in history 
 as to Magus, the son of Samothes, who is said 
 to have founded Rouen 2700 years before the 
 Christian era, or without even investigating the 
 comparatively modern claim of the idol Roth, 
 who is reported to have lent his name to the 
 Rothomagus of the Romans, we may take it for 
 granted, upon the mere testimony of its physi- 
 ognomy, that Rouen is a city of great antiquity. 
 Indeed I have never seen one, except our own 
 Chester, which has an appearance so thoroughly 
 Gothic. Almost all the houses are built of 
 wood, with each story projecting over the one 
 below it, until their pointed roofs nearly meet 
 from the opposite sides of the narrow, crooked 
 streets ; into which, under such circumstances, 
 light and sunshine make but feeble inroads. 
 The door-posts, window-frames, beam-ends, and 
 wood-work, with which the fronts of almost 
 every building are chequered and intersected, 
 are very frequently ornamented with rich carv- 
 ing, grotesque heads, flowers, and other fanciful 
 devices. At every turning, some relic of anti- 
 quity, a pointed arch, the mutilated statue of 
 some saint, or a Gothic fountain, strikes the 
 eye ; while the mouldering magnificence of the 
 cathedral, churches, Palais de Justice, and other 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 25 
 
 public edifices, carries the imagination four or 
 five centuries back in the history of society. 
 
 The demolition of the ancient fortifications, 
 and castles, which defended the approach to the 
 city, is, perhaps, the only considerable innova- 
 tion of modern times. These have been re- 
 placed by boulevards, or broad avenues of trees, 
 forming stately promenades, and vestibules of 
 verdure ; which have, however, like most things 
 stately, something of stiffness and monotony. 
 
 Among the public edifices of Rouen, the 
 cathedral first claims attention. It is said to 
 have been founded as early as 260, to have 
 been enlarged by St. Romanus in 623, and af- 
 terwards by Archbishop Robert, son of Robert, 
 first Duke of Normandy, in 942, until it was 
 raised to its present splendour by Archbishop 
 Maurillus in 1063. Its superb fa9ade, about 
 180 feet in breadth, is terminated by two lofty 
 towers. That on the right hand is said to have 
 been first built by St. Romanus, but completed 
 in its present style by Cardinal D'Amboise, in 
 1482, who also built the tower on the left 
 of the fa9ade, called the butter tower, because it 
 is reported to have been raised with the money 
 collected from the sale of indulgences to eat 
 butter in Lent. 
 
 This second tower is a beautiful specimen of 
 the most elaborate Gothic : it is terminated by 
 a flat roof, surrounded by balustrades of stone, 
 and adorned with rich Gothic pinnacles, which 
 give it the appearance, at a distance, of being 
 
26 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 surmounted by a' rich crown. The other tower 
 is also terminated, in its upper story, by pin- 
 nacles at each corner and face ; four of which, 
 on each side, bear colossal statues ; the whole 
 being surmounted by a grotesque pyramidical 
 spire. The space betwixt these towers is again 
 
 * i» JS P> s:> 30 Ttitrt 
 
 or ISO Pert. 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 divided by four pinnacles of the richest and 
 most delicate sculpture, which crown, like east- 
 ern minarets, the centre of the fa9ade, and 
 portal. The latter consists of three entrances, 
 of which the two lateral are ogives, richly sculp- 
 tured. The central doors are carved, and sur- 
 mounted by a basso-relievo, representing the 
 genealogical tree of " the root of Jesse." The 
 pointed roof of the porch is adorned with three 
 bands of images, in alio-relievo, each figure 
 standing beneath a Gothic tabernacle. This 
 central entrance has a pyramidical pediment, 
 carved, and containing a large dial. It is also 
 flanked by two graceful pinnacles, one of which 
 is in part ruined ; towards the bases of which 
 are niches, filled with the colossal images of 
 saints and bishops. But this is a feeble effort 
 to pourtray forms of sculpture, too rich and 
 complicated to be adequately expressed by 
 words. The artist's pencil can alone do justice 
 to the architect's conceptions. 
 
 The whole interior length of the edifice is 
 50S feet ; the nave is 83 feet across, and is 
 divided into three aisles: of these, the central is 
 ilanked by 10 clustered columns, which are cut 
 by an arcade surrounding the whole building. 
 The lateral aisles are lower than the central, 
 and have each eight chapels on either side. 
 The transept is 150 feet from one side entrance 
 to the other. Four massive columns, each con- 
 sisting of a cluster of 31 smaller pillars, support 
 the principal tower, which rises to the height of 
 
28 
 
 ROUEN, 
 
 380 feet, and is terminated by a lofty spire* 
 bearing a cross, on the top of which stands a 
 cock. The choir is separated from the lateral 
 aisles by 14 plain columns^ with capitals of 
 leaves. These originally resembled the clus- 
 tered columns of the nave, but were pared 
 away to let in more light ; an alteration by 
 which the effect of the perspective is much in- 
 jured. Another blemish is the screen of the 
 choir, which, like that of Winchester Cathedral, 
 is a piece of modern architecture, ornamented 
 with Corinthian columns, altars, and statues, all 
 in the modern taste. This is the more inex- 
 cusable, because the old Gothic screen was de- 
 stroyed to make way for the modern bijou. 
 The lateral aisles which surround the choir, ter- 
 minate in the Chapel of the Virgin, which con- 
 tains some of the most interesting objects in the 
 cathedral. The altar piece is painted by Philip 
 de Champagne, and represents the Adoration of 
 the Shepherds. On the right, near the altar, is 
 the monument of the Cardinals B'Amboise, 
 uncle and nephew, both Archbishops of Rouen. 
 It is of white marble, and was completed in 
 1522. It consists of a flat tomb, on which the 
 two cardinals are kneeling in their robes : both 
 these figures are very finely sculptured-: above 
 their heads, an image of St. George on horse- 
 back adorns the richly fretted canopy, which 
 arches the mausoleum. The face of the tomb is 
 enriched with small statues of white marble, re- 
 presenting the many virtues of the two prelates^ 
 
 4 
 
ROUEN* 
 
 29 
 
 the elder of whom was minister to Louis XII., 
 and boasted of holding but one benefice, 
 though, as Voltaire justly observes, " the king- 
 dom of France stood him instead of a second." 
 In his epitaph, he thus modestly speaks of him- 
 self: 
 
 Pastor eram cleri, populi pater, aurea sese 
 
 LMia subdebant, quercus et ipsa mihi. 
 Mortuus en jaceo, morte extinguuntur honores, 
 
 At virtus, mortis nescia, morte viret. 
 
 The oak alludes to Pope Julius II. of the House 
 of Rovera, which, in Latin, is interpreted by 
 quercus. 
 
 Another monument on the opposite side of 
 the chapel, equally remarkable for the beauty 
 of its sculpture, is that of the grand Senechal 
 De Breze, Governor of Rouen, who died in 
 1531. His naked figure, in black marble, lies 
 upon a tomb, supported by four Corinthian 
 columns, on the face of which he is again re- 
 presented on horseback, in complete armour. 
 On either side are two females, one of whom is 
 supposed to represent his wife, Diana of Poi- 
 tiers, at whose expense the monument is said to 
 have been erected. Above the entablature, 
 four female statues, in the manner of Carya- 
 tides, bear baskets of flowers, and represent 
 Prudence, Glory , Victory, and Faith. 
 
 These monuments deserve attention, not only 
 from the merit of their execution, but also as cu- 
 rious specimens of the style of sculpture, which, 
 towards the end of the reign of Louis XII., 
 
30 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 and during that of Francis I., connected 
 the Gothic with the revived Grecian, by a mix- 
 ture of the faults and beauties of both. Thus, 
 warriors and prelates were raised from their re- 
 cumbent, to a kneeling, or erect position :■ — 
 allegorical personages, borrowed from Pagan 
 mythology, began to figure as their attendants : 
 a naked exhibition of the human body was fre- 
 quently substituted for those exact imitations of 
 costume and armour peculiar to foregoing 
 periods; the five orders of architecture were 
 mixed with Gothic pinnacles and niches and 
 the final result began to have that unappropri- 
 ateness and want of character, which is com- 
 monly the consequence of imitation. 
 
 Besides these two monuments, the Chapel of 
 the Virgin contained the Gothic tombs of the 
 Archbishops of Rouen, each of whom lay in his 
 episcopal robes and ornaments ; but they have 
 been all demolished, Dieu sait pourquoi, within 
 these few years, as well as those of Richard 
 Coeur de Lion, of Henry, his brother, and 
 Queen Eleanor, which were placed before the 
 high altar. Their site is marked by inscriptions 
 on the pavement, which merely record their 
 names and burial j but the simple name of 
 " Ricardi Cor Leonis * dicti," supersedes the 
 necessity of a more splendid epitaph. Behind 
 the choir, an inscription marks the burial place 
 of John, Duke of Bedford, who died at the 
 
 * It was the " Lion heart" only that was buried at Rouen ; 
 his body was entombed at Fontevraud. 
 
 12 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 31 
 
 chateau of Rouen in 1435. His epitaph, as 
 preserved by Camden in his « Remains," is as 
 follows : — 
 
 Cy gist feu de noble memoir e haut et puissant 
 prince Jean, en son vivant regent du Royaume de 
 France, Due de Bethfort, pour lequel est fonde 
 une messe estre par chacun jour perpetuellement 
 celebree en cest autel par le College des Clemen- 
 tins incontinent apres prime : et trespassa le 
 13. Septembre 1435. Auquel 13 jour sembla- 
 blement est fonde pour luy un obit en ceste eglice, 
 Dieuface pardon d son ame. 
 
 Camden adds, that " when a French gentle- 
 man advised Charles the eighth French king, 
 to deface his monument, as being a monument 
 of the English victories, he said, « Let him rest 
 in peace now he is dead, whom we feared while 
 he lived.' " Remains concerning Britain, p. 509. 
 
 In the chapel of the southern transept, is the 
 tomb of Rollo, first Duke of Normandy. His 
 effigy, in a recumbent posture, is of stone, co- 
 loured: the feet are broken off, and seem to 
 have been made of plaster. He wears a long 
 robe with open sleeves, fastened with a brooch 
 on one shoulder. ^ His countenance has a cast 
 of effeminacy little suited to a captain of pirates. 
 The inscription tells us, that the monument was 
 placed in its present situation by Archbishop 
 Maurillus, when he repaired the church, and 
 who, as well as William Long-sword, the son 
 and successor of Rollo, have their tombs in it. 
 
 In observing on the general effect produced 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 by the interior of this venerable pile, the first 
 impression is, I think, that a quantity of light is 
 admitted which takes from its appropriate so- 
 lemnity. This is produced partly by the bar- 
 barism which has daubed all the walls and 
 pillars with yellow — a thorough French idea of 
 improvement, and partly by the want of stained 
 glass in the windows ; the superb roses over each 
 of the entrances being almost the only ones which 
 possess this advantage, so essential to the im- 
 posing gloom of Gothic edifices. These defects 
 are trifles, however, when weighed against the 
 general magnificence of this cathedral, which is 
 well entitled to rank among the most interesting 
 of those temples, which the genius of rude, but 
 energetic times, consecrated to the most domi- 
 neering feeling of the human heart. 
 
 The Abbey of St. Ouen was founded by 
 Clotaire I., and rebuilt by Richard, Duke , of 
 Normandy : it is now, however, a modern edi- 
 fice, and, since the Revolution, has been convert- 
 ed into an hotel-de-ville, museum, and public 
 library. The church was completed as it stands 
 at present, in 1319, by John Roussel, surnamed 
 Silver-mark; the twenty-third abbot. The 
 facade was ne^ver finished; but a lofty tower 
 rises above the transept, and terminates in a 
 number of pinnacles, in the fashion of a radiated 
 coronet. The interior is a model of Gothic 
 effect; the walls retain their venerable grey; 
 the light, streaming with dim richness through 
 each " storied pane," falls upon unbroken 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 33 
 
 ranges of clustering columns and pointed 
 arches, of the most delicate symmetry: the eye 
 strays down the depth of " long-drawn aisles," 
 which, as they recede round the choir, seem of 
 an indefinite extent j while the splendid windows 
 of " Our Lady's chapel," which forms the east- 
 ern extremity of the edifice, give the termin- 
 ation of the prospect the radiant, yet awful, 
 appearance of a sanctuary 
 
 In which a God might dwell. 
 
 I never passed near this church without em- 
 bracing the opportunity of indulging in the sen- 
 sations a walk through it never failed to excite. 
 So completely, when our footsteps sound amid 
 these monuments of past ages, does the present 
 die within us j so mean, fleeting, and unimport- 
 ant seem our daily occupations, that we begin 
 to doubt, in this pitch of fancy, if they, whose 
 everlasting rest is set up beneath these venerable 
 roofs, enjoy not a destiny at once more glorious 
 and enviable than such of their breathing fellow- 
 mortals as still toil in the day-light of vice, 
 vanity, and sorrow : but the many-linked chain 
 of circumstance is too strong to be snapped by 
 such moody imaginings ; — we come out among 
 the crowd, and our darker fancies perish. 
 
 The Church of St. Macloud is a Gothic 
 edifice, remarkable for its superb portals, espe- 
 cially that towards the Rue Martainville. They 
 were sculptured in the reign of Henry III., 
 
 vol. r. D 
 
34 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 either by the hands of the famous John Goujon, 
 or under his direction. The detail, delicacy, 
 and precision of the innumerable figures, and 
 other ornaments, are truly astonishing. 
 
 The Church of St. Vincent is an elegant 
 Gothic structure, enriched with windows of the 
 most brilliant colours, but defaced in parts by 
 the modern barbarism of French taste. 
 
 Besides these churches, several others, little 
 inferior to them in architectural magnificence, 
 are either walled up, or converted into remises, 
 stables, and warehouses. 
 
 The Palais de Justice, in which the an- 
 cient parliament of Normandy held its sittings, 
 was finished in 1499. It consists of a qua- 
 drangle, surrounded on three sides by buildings 
 of various dates and orders : an embattled wall, 
 with two antique gates, closes it towards the 
 street. Several flights of steps conduct to the 
 Salle des Procureurs, a Gothic room 170 feet 
 long, and 50 wide. Its wooden roof re- 
 sembles the inverted hull of a ship, and its 
 whole style and appearance forcibly remind 
 one of Westminster Hall, to which it answers, 
 not less in its use and arrangements, than in 
 its architectural features. 
 
 The stranger's first impulse, when he arrives 
 at Rouen, is to enquire for some monument of 
 the heroic Maid of Orleans : he is directed to 
 the Place de la Pucelle, sl market-place sur- 
 rounded by ancient edifices, and having a foun- 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 85 
 
 tain in its centre, crowned with her statue, by 
 Paul Stodts, of very little merit. It was here 
 the barbarous sentence of the Inquisitorial 
 Court, in which the Bishop of Beauvais pre- 
 sided, was carried into effect. 
 
 During the whole course of the vexatious in- 
 terrogatories, imprisonments, and insults, to 
 which this heroine had been subjected, both 
 by her spiritual and temporal judges, her 
 courage never forsook her; and although she 
 offered to submit herself without reserve, in 
 matters of faith, to the See of Home, she could 
 never be induced to cast any stigma on those 
 impulses which, whether of divine or earthly 
 origin, had wrought the restoration of her king, 
 and the salvation of her country. On the morn- 
 ing of the 24th of May, 1430, she was placed 
 on a scaffold in the church-yard of St. Ouen> 
 to be preached at by one Erard, a monk, who 
 took that opportunity of pouring every species 
 of abuse upon King Charles ; upon which Jeanne, 
 in the true spirit of chivalry, had the courage 
 to interrupt him, and exclaimed aloud, " With 
 " your leave, I dare say, and swear, on pain of 
 " my life, that my king is the noblest of Chris- 
 " tians, most devoted to the faith and the 
 " church, and in no respect such as you please 
 " to represent him. ,, It was this act of magna- 
 nimity which especially hastened her end: 
 after having signed a recantation of her divine 
 revelations, and engaged no more to assume 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 BOUEN. 
 
 man's apparel, she was, contrary to the term* 
 promised her, again thrown fettered into a 
 dungeon ; and when she was once more sum- 
 moned to appear before the Bishop of Beauvais, 
 this prelate had the perfidy to contrive she should 
 be furnished with none but male apparel, on her 
 appearing in which, he judged her relapse, incor- 
 rigible, and to be delivered over to the secular 
 arm. Accordingly, on the morning of the 29th, 
 she was brought into the market-place, and 
 placed on a scaffold, to be again preached at by 
 one Dr. Nicholas Midi; after which, the Bishop 
 pronounced her sentence, and the zealous divine 
 cried out, " Jeanne, the Church cannot pro- 
 *' tect you, but abandons you to the secular 
 " arm." On hearing which, the Pucelk knelt 
 on the scaffold, devoutly commending herself 
 to God and the saints : she then requested 
 her confessor to procure her a cross ; an Eng- 
 lishman, who was by, made one with a stick 
 he held in his hand, and gave it her ; she kissed 
 it, and placed it in her bosom; and having 
 come down from the scaffold, the Bishop, with 
 some canons of Rouen, drew near to look upon 
 her ; but on perceiving him, she cried aloud, 
 " that he was the cause of her death ; that, 
 " having promised to deliver her to the church, 
 " he had betrayed her into the hands of her 
 " bitterest enemies." The executioner then 
 proceeded to do his office, amid the^ tears and 
 groans both of English and Norman spectators: 
 
ROUJEN, 
 
 37 
 
 even the Bishop himself was hypocrite enough 
 to join in the general sympathy, and shed tears, 
 with which, it might have been well said, 
 
 Could the earth teem, 
 Each drop would prove a crocodile. 
 
 Miracles were related in proof of her inno- 
 cence. The spectators had seen a white dove 
 ascend from the pile, when she had ceased to 
 invoke the name of Jesus amidst the flames ; and 
 the executioner declared no fire he could make 
 would consume her heart, which was thrown, 
 entire, with her ashes, into the river. The 
 slow gratitude of Charles ennobled the family 
 of the victim he had made no effort to save :.. 
 they took the name of Du Lys, and bore for 
 arms — a shield, azure ; two Jleur-de-Hs, or ; with 
 a sword, argent, erect, passing through a crown. 
 Those who are pleased to discover the agency 
 of Providence interposing in our temporal con- 
 cerns, will read with satisfaction, that Dr. Midi, 
 the zealous preacher of arbitrary power, died of 
 leprosy a few days after the execution : that 
 Destroit, another of her most violent accusers, 
 was found dead for want in a pigeon-house ; 
 while the Bishop, pre-eminent in villainy, after 
 being expelled by the inhabitants of Beauvais, 
 was, through the favour of the English, esta- 
 blished in the bishopric of Lisieux, whither the 
 public hatred pursued him till his death, twelve 
 years after the execution. 
 
 In one corner of the Place de la Pucelle is 
 d 3 
 
38 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 an ancient building, the facade of which, to- 
 wards the street, dates as far back as the time 
 of Charles VII. It was long the habitation of 
 the Intendanls of Rouen, and is said to have 
 been the temporary residence of Francis I. ; in 
 honour of whom Diana's car drawn by stags, the 
 well-known device of Diana of Poitiers, and the 
 salamander, which was his own, were carved 
 over the principal entrance, and in different 
 parts of the building, where they are still to be 
 seen. But the most curious piece of carving is 
 on the wall of the building on the left of the 
 court-yard. It consists of a series of groups 
 and figures, which antiquarians have decided 
 to represent the interview of Francis with 
 Henry VIII., an idea first suggested by the Abbe 
 Noel in 1726, and adopted by Montfaucon, who 
 has given an engraving of the whole in the fourth 
 volume of his Monumens de la Monarchie Fran- 
 gaise. 
 
 The Museum of Rouen is on the second floor 
 of the Hotel-de-ville, and consists of a picture- 
 gallery divided into two large apartments, 
 which contain a considerable collection of the 
 1. French, 2. Flemish, and 3. Italian masters. 
 
 1. The merit of the productions of the French 
 school is by no means proportioned to their size 
 and number. There are however some pleasing 
 pictures ; among which may be particularised 
 No. 25. A Landscape by Gasper Poussin. The 
 forest and foliage are treated in his bold manner; 
 but the sky is harsh, and the whole effect heavy. 
 
ROUEN". 
 
 89 
 
 Nos. 38. and 42. Roman Ruins, and A Sea View; 
 by Vernet. In the latter a storm is rising above 
 the distant edifices of modern Rome, and begins 
 already to sway the agitated ocean in front of 
 the picture, where barks are seen preparing to 
 brave, or elude its vengeance. 16. The Cascades 
 ofTivoli, by Robert. 92. A Sea View during a 
 Fog, by the same. 31. The Interior of a Cave 
 at Dieppedalle, near Rouen ; by Houel. 174. A 
 Landscape ; by Michault. 44. A Kitchen-Table 
 spread with Pot-herbs, he. ; by Simon Chardin. 
 47. A Basket of Game overturned, with a Cat 
 surprised by a Dog in the act of pilfering it i by 
 Bernaert. 51. The Portrait of a Princess of the 
 House of Rohan, by Largilliere : interesting in 
 spite of a hideous costume. 73. The Portrait 
 of Jean Jouvenet, painted by himself with his 
 left hand, with great vigour and expression. 
 81. That of Benedict XIV., by Lavallee-Poussin j 
 remarkable for the imitation of velvet in the 
 robe. 100. The Mass of ^ the League is curious, as 
 being a collection of portraits of the principal 
 actors in those times. It is painted by Mastee, 
 with force, but harshly. 194. Plutarch compos- 
 ing his Lives, by Fragonard, is a good imitation 
 of Rembrandt's chiaro-oscuro in his smaller 
 pictures. Nos. 4. 26. and 227. A Head of Christ, 
 a Virgin and Infant Jesus, and an Ecce Homo, by 
 Mignard, are pleasing specimens of that artist's 
 talent for imitating the great masters of the 
 Flemish and Italian schools. The first is in 
 the manner of Vandyck ; the second a beautiful 
 
 d 4 
 
40 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 imitation of the style of Raphael. 67. A Holy 
 Family, by Vanloo, is another instance of a simi- 
 lar talent. 
 
 A considerable space is occupied by the Scrip- 
 ture pieces of Messrs. Le Tellier, Lemonnier, 
 and Jouvenet, most of which are as tiresome 
 and insipid as the legendary subjects and alle- 
 gories they represent. In No. 63. The Virgin 
 of the Rosary, by the former, there is a ludicrous 
 idea of a dog's holding the torch of Faith, with 
 which the globe is supposed to be enlightened. 
 No. 147. The Death of St. Francis, by Jouvenet, 
 is both superior in execution and effect to most 
 of his own pictures, and is connected with a 
 curious anecdote of the artist's professional zeal. 
 Having lost the use of his right hand, he had 
 employed his nephew and pupil Restout on this 
 picture ; but perceiving, as he watched over its 
 progress, the inadequate manner in which his 
 own ideas were expressed by his assistant, in a 
 fit of enthusiastic impatience he seized the pen- 
 cil with his left hand, and gave those bold finish- 
 ing strokes to the head of the saint and the 
 whole picture, which place it among the first 
 of his productions. 
 
 2. As the spectator walks up the first apart- 
 ment of the gallery, two portraits flash out from 
 amid the surrounding pictures, with the dis- 
 tinctive evidence of immortal genius. These 
 are Isabella, the Wife of Albert of Austria, and 
 Albert himself (Nos. 20. 24.) ; both by Rubens. 
 They are drawn in the rich and stately habits 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 41 
 
 of their time, with large ruffs, jewels, and other 
 ornaments : the princess leans on the back of 
 an arm-chair, the prince on a table, in attitudes 
 of quiet and conscious dignity. 30. The Por- 
 trait of Andrew Doria, by Go vert Flinck, a dis- 
 ciple of Rembrandt, more interesting for its 
 subject, is not unworthy, from its execution, to 
 be placed near the foregoing. The counte- 
 nance is full of energy, with something of a 
 comic cast, arising perhaps from the loss of a 
 lower tooth, and the fantastic air of a little cap, 
 stuck on one side of his grey locks. 90. The 
 Continence qfScipio, by Peter Van Mol, a disciple 
 of Rubens, is well painted ; but Scipio himself 
 has too much the air of a burgomaster. 18. A 
 Sea-port in the Levant, by Minderhout ; 79. A 
 Landscape, by James Vander Does ; I67. A 
 Storm, by John Parcelles ; 171. The Ferry 
 Utrecht, by John Van Goyen; and 172. A Land- 
 scape, by James de Heus, are all pleasing pro- 
 ductions of the Flemish pencil. 208. An Alle- 
 gory, by Lucas de Ley den; and 141. Christ 
 before Pilate, by Gherado Honthorst, called 
 Gherado dalle notte, have also merit, particularly 
 the chiaro-oscuro of the latter ; but the most 
 curious picture, perhaps, in the whole gallery, is 
 22. The Virgin presiding at an Assembly of 
 young Saints and Martyrs, by John Van Eyck, 
 the inventor of oil-painting. The Virgin, in 
 a long robe of deep blue, with a crown on 
 her head, and her long hair descending on her 
 shoulders, is seated in an arm-chair, with the 
 
42 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 infant Jesus in her lap, amusing himself with a 
 bunch of grapes : on each side of her is a com- 
 pany of virgin saints and martyrs, with their 
 appropriate emblems ; and above are two angels 
 with outstretched wings, playing, one on the 
 guitar, and the other on the mandoline. No- 
 thing can be more stiff and formal than the atti- 
 tudes and grouping of this company, who are all 
 on the same plane ; but their countenances, flesh 
 and hair are beautifully soft and delicate. The 
 colouring is rich and highly finished, as is parti- 
 cularly observable in the illuminated missal 
 which one of the virgins is reading from. 
 
 3. Nos. 53. 58. Landscapes, by Salvator Rosa, 
 represent that wildness of scenery and savage- 
 ness of effect in which this sublime artist de- 
 lighted. 56. The Interior of a Farm-yard, by 
 James Da Ponta, is well painted, but seems too 
 sombre in its colouring to be a pleasing picture. 
 78. A View of the Porto de Ripetti at Rome, 
 with a papal procession, by Van Vitelli, combines 
 a beautiful effect of perspective with rich mi- 
 nuteness of detail. 150. The Ecstacy of St. 
 Francis, by Annibal Caracci, is a curious combi- 
 nation of the sublime and ridiculous. The 
 countenance and attitude of the saint, as he 
 sits before his cave, and listens to celestial me- 
 lody, is grand and expressive ; while the musi- 
 cian, an ugly cub of an angel, who is fiddling to 
 him, is such a figure as might, without degra- 
 dation, have been employed at a Dutch wake. 
 176. A Visitation, attributed to Guercino, is a 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 43 
 
 heavy picture, though the countenance of the 
 Virgin is fine. 170. The Virgin supporting 
 Jesus in the midst of a Glory of Cherubim, attri- 
 buted to Raphael. The Virgin, seated in the 
 clouds, holds the infant Jesus in her arms. On 
 her right hand, a little below her, a prelate in 
 a rich cope, is kneeling in an attitude of en- 
 treaty : opposite to him, on the left hand of the 
 Virgin, the female figure of a youthful saint is 
 in the same position ; and at the bottom of the 
 picture two cherubim are leaning on a wall, and 
 looking upwards at the group. The first ques- 
 tion which arises on a view of this painting is 
 its originality : we know that an undoubted ori- 
 ginal of the same subject exists in the Dresden 
 Gallery, and has been engraved by Desnoyers ; 
 but Raphael is said to have multiplied copies of 
 it, which were executed by his scholars, under 
 his own inspection, and with his own finish. 
 There seems no internal evidence against this 
 being one of these repliques : but whether it be 
 so, or not, it is, in any case, a superb picture ; 
 and if merely a copy, such a copy as might, 
 leave little to regret in the want of the original. 
 The faces of the Virgin and Child look the beau 
 ideal of art ; and the up-raised countenance of 
 one of the cherubim beams with super-human 
 intelligence. It perhaps diminishes the effect 
 of the latter, that they have no apparent con- 
 nection with the subject-matter of the piece, 
 but seem merely divine spectators. The che- 
 rubim too in the back-ground resemble a tapes- 
 
 m 
 
ROUEN. 
 
 try of faces ; and the figure of the prelate, in his 
 embroidered pontificals, seems much too heavy 
 for the clouds by which he is supported : but 
 these are faults which belong rather to the sub- 
 ject than the painter;, when lusty clergymen 
 are to be hoisted into the air, it is no easy mat- 
 ter to find a celestial vehicle which would not 
 break down under them. Nos. 146. 149- 152. 
 are three Scripture subjects, attributed either 
 to Raphael in his youth, or to Perrugino : they 
 have all the stiffness, mixed with graceful sim- 
 plicity, which characterises the works of the 
 revivers of the art, as well as the early produc- 
 tions of some of those who carried it to its per- 
 fection. 
 
 m 
 
45 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN* 
 
 Designing to make an excursion as far as 
 Lillebonne, I procured one of those hackneys 
 with which strangers are accommodated, upon 
 the principle that no usage can deteriorate, nor 
 any profligacy tempt to steal them. After pass- 
 ing the barrier, I found the suburb of the city 
 prolonged as far as the little valley of Deville ; in 
 which there is a cluster of manufactories and 
 water-mills, ministered to by a little river of the 
 same name, which afterwards trails, like a great 
 silver snake, through flat green meadows, to the 
 Seine. The road ascends steeply, above this 
 village, up a copse-clad height, which the 
 eye immediately recognises to be the ancient 
 boundary of that river, from which it is now 
 about a mile distant. 
 
 Pause we here to gaze on the lovely land- 
 scape. The terrace on which we stand is pro- 
 longed, till, sweeping round Rouen, it closes the 
 eastern extremity of the city with the white 
 cliff of St. Catherine's, about 380 feet in height; 
 and thence continues the bold line of chalky 
 heights, which forms the left bank of the river. 
 
46 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 
 
 The Gothic spires and pinnacles of Rouen rise 
 within this semicircular basin, the chord of which 
 is the Seine, with its many wooded islands. On 
 our right hand, and immediately beneath us, this 
 beautiful river descends a rich valley, whose green 
 woods and villages are each moment partially 
 obscured by the broad sails of schooners and 
 merchant ships beating round the angles of its 
 current. After crossing about five miles of 
 country partially wooded and broken, the road 
 again comes out upon the river, beneath a range 
 of perpendicular chalk-cliffs, and runs upon a 
 superb terrace to the village of Duclair.. — • 
 From Duclair to Caudebec, the distance is about 
 nine miles ; the first six of them through en- 
 closures and apple-orchards ; when, emerging 
 from leafy lanes, I found myself upon a magni- 
 ficent elevation, with the woods and chateau of 
 Maillerai, on the opposite side of the river, on 
 my left ; the course of the Seine, traversing a 
 delightful country before me ; and the white 
 buildings of Caudebec lying in sharp relief, at 
 the water's edge, under the distant cliffs of the 
 right bank. 
 
 Caudebec was anciently a place of strength; 
 but the fortifications were finally demolished in 
 the time of Henry IV. It was also the prin- 
 cipal entrepot of the Seine fishery; on which ac- 
 count it bore for arms, three smelts argent on a 
 field azure. — There are still handsome houses in 
 it; but the principal object of attraction is the 
 church, the Gothic spire of which is encircled 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 4Tj 
 
 by fillets of roses, beautifully carved in stone, 
 and continued to the very summit of the 
 steeple. The principal portal too is sculptured 
 with no less richness and delicacy than that of 
 St. Macloud at Rouen. Its interior length is 
 about 250 feet by 7& of width.* The central 
 aisle is flanked on either side by ten massive cir- 
 cular columns, the capitals of which represent 
 vine leaves and other decorations, more fanciful, 
 and not less rich, than the Corinthian Acanthus. 
 This order of columns, which we call Saxon, 
 because seldom found in our cathedrals of later 
 date, seems, in France, to have held its place 
 conjunctively with the most florid decorations of 
 Gothic architecture ; if, indeed, in such cases 
 we may not suppose Gothic spires and other 
 ornaments to have been subsequent additions to 
 the massive edifices already in existence. In 
 one of the chapels there is a rude monumental 
 effigy of the original architect of this church. 
 It consists of a small skeleton, drawn in black 
 lines, against a tablet in the wall: a mason's 
 level and trowel, with the plan of a building, 
 are beside it, and an inscription in Gothic cha- 
 racters, relating that the architect endowed the 
 church he had built with certain lands, and 
 died anno 1184. The body of the edifice is 
 probably, therefore, of much greater antiquity 
 
 * This measurement I took merely by stepping. On all 
 such occasions, I mark the probable inaccuracy by the quali- 
 fying adjunct " about." 
 
48 
 
 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 
 
 than the date ascribed to the present building, 
 which is said to have been begun in 1416, and 
 completed in 1484. It is worth observing, that 
 the famous Talbot was governor of Caudebec 
 in 1442 j so that the work was carried on under 
 English auspices, though we have no reason to 
 conclude, by English architects. The windows 
 are almost all richly coloured, with scriptural 
 histories. The inscriptions round some of 
 them indicate them to have been the votive 
 offerings of pilgrims and warriors, who had 
 escaped the perils of the sea, and distant coun- 
 tries. In one of them is an escutcheon, gules ; 
 two baralets or; probably belonging to the family 
 D'Harcourt. 
 
 It was fair day when I arrived in Caudebec. 
 Horses w T ere the principal article of trade. The 
 little inn at which I alighted was crowded with 
 farmers and dealers, who were noisy and good- 
 humoured, with a curious expression of rustic 
 shrewdness. I should say, there were more 
 acute angles in their faces, than probably would 
 have been discovered in the broad physiogno- 
 mies of as many English farmers ; but in other 
 respects they much resembled them, even to 
 their love of brandy. I rode towards Lillebonne, 
 after dinner, in company with several of them. 
 They were civil, but plainly little curious about 
 foreigners or their country. 
 
 Caudebec has a very pleasant terrace, or 
 public walk on the edge of the Seine, which was 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 49 
 
 now crowded with trinket-stalls, merry-andrews, 
 punches, dancing-dogs, and all the multiform 
 gaieties of a country fair. 
 
 It was night-fall when I descended the heights 
 above Lillebonne, and presently dipping into 
 a close hollow lane, imagined myself in the high 
 road to the village, the lights of which I plainly 
 saw before me. Having followed my nose, how- 
 ever, for near half an hour, I began to think the 
 fairies had been amusing themselves at my ex- 
 pense ; for the lights which had seemed every 
 moment nearing, suddenly glimmered feebly in 
 the distance, and the mingled sounds which had 
 foretold the outskirts of a village, were suc- 
 ceeded by the monotonous rush of waters, ap- 
 parently close to me. The night too was now so 
 dark, that I could scarcely distinguish my horse's 
 ears. At this moment I came to a fork in 
 the road: it ascended and descended; I tried 
 to mount, but a few steps plunged me in such 
 impenetrable obscurity, that my steed came im- 
 mediately to a resolution to make no further 
 experiment, so began quietly to browse on the 
 leafy branches which hung close over his head: I 
 could not eat leaves, so wheeled about to try 
 the other turning : it descended rapidly, and 
 the increased sound of waters plainly indicated 
 I was on the brink of a mill-stream, which 
 would prove but indifferent travelling through 
 in the dark : I accordingly turned about, and was 
 halting in ludicrous perplexity, when the clatter 
 of a pair of wooden-shoes • promised my deliver- 
 
 E 
 
50 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF BQUEN. 
 
 ance. The owner of the sabots soon came up, 
 and it was quickly understood betwixt us, that I 
 had lost my way, and that he would enable me 
 to find it, in consideration of the sum of half a 
 franc, to be paid on our arrival at the door of the 
 auberge. The terms agreed on were fulfilled 
 with a punctuality not undeserving the imita^ 
 tion of contracting parties far more exalted. 
 My guide had knocked at what seemed no pro- 
 mising house of entertainment ; when I en- 
 quired of him if that was the best inn in the 
 place, " What!" said the landlord, appearing 
 at the same instant, " are you the best man* 
 U that you want the best inn?" Then, per- 
 ceiving I was an Englishman, he began to apo- 
 logise, lest his joke should have cost him a 
 customer: certainly however, my merits are 
 infinitely small, if they were exactly measured 
 by my evening's entertainment. 
 
 Early in the morning I bent my steps towards 
 the chateau of Lillebonne, the principal object 
 of my excursion. This castle, raised most pro- 
 bably on the site of the Roman tower which 
 once watched the entrance of the Seine, was a 
 fortress of considerable note under the Dukes 
 of Normandy, several of whom, and among 
 them William the Conqueror, here held their 
 courts, and grand councils of the Duchy. * In 
 its present ruined state it is the property of the 
 
 * The council was held heye in which William decided 
 on the invasion of England. 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD Of ROUEN. 5\ 
 
 Duke D'Harcourt, whose tiomme d'affaires, or 
 land-steward, resides in a small house, built 
 within the circuit of the mouldering battle- 
 ments. The ditch, though dry, and overgrown 
 with large trees, is still crossed by a bridge; and 
 I knocked at the principal gate, where the stern 
 wardour and his ban-dog once held their guard; 
 But silence was in the halls of Moina. 
 
 The family was not yet up; so I strolled round 
 the moat to take a view of the majestic ruin 
 from without. Few scenes could be more beau- 
 tiful. A brilliant morning sun lighted up the 
 sharp foliage, above which one grey tower rose 
 unimpaired in massive rotundity; while a second, 
 which had been cloven by storm or time down 
 the middle, exhibited the inner vaultings of its 
 several stories, with the Gothic windows of the 
 side still standing. Beyond these towers, in a 
 retiring angle of the picture, the walls of the 
 Hall of State rose above the fosse, and its 
 thick foliage ; while still further back a few 
 houses of the town were seen peering through 
 orchards, and poplars, high above which shot 
 up the white stone spire of the church, elegantly 
 pierced, and enriched with Gothic pinnacles, 
 The wooded heights, which surround the vil- 
 lage, formed a dark back-ground, which brought 
 out, and relieved the whole picture. 
 
 By the time I had satisfied myself here, the 
 garrison was stirring within the castle, and I 
 procured admittance. 
 
 1 found the great court-yard surrounded by 
 e 2 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 
 
 the several buildings I had noticed from with* 
 out. The massive round-tower was once the 
 donjon keep. The stair- case is still entire, as 
 well as the vaulted roofs of the three lower 
 stories ; that of the upper is fallen in. I ob- 
 served the key-stone lying where it had fallen, 
 among the ruins ; on it was carved an escutcheon 
 bearing quarterly \ 1 and 4, three manacles upon 
 baralets ; 2 and 3, Jive bosses, (perhaps besants,) 
 with an escutcheon of pretence, three baralets. 
 
 The rent tower is hexagonal, very lofty, and 
 from the pointed form of its windows, was pro- 
 bably part of the chapel, and built at a later 
 period than the rest of the castle. The great 
 hall is roofless ; but the side-walls, with the two 
 rows of windows, and one gable end, are entire. 
 The upper windows are double arches, divided 
 by two small columns ; the lower are simple cir- 
 cular arches: ivy every- where wreathes itself 
 round them, and hangs in fanciful festoons 
 among their broken apertures. This plant, which 
 obtained a sacred character among the ancients; 
 from its supposed connection with the inspira- 
 tions of wine and poetry, has earned a similar 
 distinction in modem times, from very opposite 
 associations : it is the guardian of our ruins ; and 
 part of the melancholy respect we attach to the 
 grey walls of our forefathers is reflected on the 
 ivy, whose close embrace preserves, and bright 
 foliage adorns them, as with a green vest of 
 immortality. The bottom of the hall is over- 
 grown with bushes, and the broad shining leaves 
 of the spleenwort. The battlements which 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 53 
 
 surround the court-yard are tolerably entire. I 
 leaned over them, to gaze in listless enjoyment 
 on the charming prospect. The opposite town 
 and promontory of Quillebeuf ; the Seine ex- 
 panding majestically in its approach to the 
 ocean ; the adjacent meadows, and blue misty 
 distance; the fosse below, overgrown with a 
 variety of trees, upon the tops of which I 
 looked down, as into a thousand nests and 
 caverns of verdure ; the historical greatness and 
 ruined majesty of the whole edifice, all combined 
 to lap meditation in most sweet fancies, and 
 create that feeling which Lord Byron has 
 so excellently expressed j 
 
 There is given 
 Unto the things of earth, which time hath bent, 
 A spirit's feeling ; and where he hath leant 
 His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power 
 And magic in the ruined battlement. 
 
 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv. § 129. 
 
 After quitting the chateau, I visited the 
 Roman Theatre, within a quarter of a mile of 
 it, and close to the town. It is not long since 
 this interesting ruin was discovered ; and so 
 much of the earth has been now removed, as to 
 show several portions of the exterior circum- 
 ference, together with two of the entrances : 
 the end walls of the stage, with the passages to 
 it, are also distinct. A house is built within 
 one of them, the inhabitants of which, most 
 probably, lived there long without suspecting 
 
 they occupied the stage of the Roscii and 
 
 e 3 
 
«54 
 
 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 
 
 JEsopi of ancient days. The height of these 
 walls appears to be nearly fifty feet j they are 
 built throughout with stones, of the shape and 
 size of bricks, with layers of red tiles, at in- 
 tervals of about three feet, carried round every 
 part of the building. The area contains pro- 
 bably an acre, and was now literally red with 
 apples. In the following plan, the dark lines 
 indicate walls already discovered ; the dotted, 
 such appearances, or situations, as make it pro- 
 bable a wall has existed there, or still exists* 
 though undiscovered. I am sorry to observe 
 the research is discontinued. 
 
 80 to 90 yards. 
 
 A, and B, Entrances 20 feet wide. 
 
 C, Farm-House. 
 
 D, and E, Entrances 9 feet wide. 
 F, Wall 40 feet wide. 
 
 On my way back to the village, I enquired of 
 my young guide, if there were any of the coins, 
 or other curiosities said to have been dug put of 
 the ruin, yet to be seen : most of t^hem, jie said, 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 5$ 
 
 were dispersed or lost ; but he conducted me to 
 a little pot-house, and after explaining to the 
 hostess the purport of my visit, she turned to 
 a cupboard, and emptying the contents of a 
 broken tea-cup, among old buttons, old nails,, 
 bad money, and such like gear, I picked out 
 two or three Roman coins, which she said I 
 might have, if I pleased, for they were of no 
 value, and make the boy a trifling present. The 
 coins were of Adrian, one of the Valentinians 
 and Tetracus ; the theatre was therefore most 
 probably in use during the period of their 
 reigns, and probably fell to decay on the com- 
 plete establishment of Christianity. 
 
 The discovery of this theatre can leave 
 little doubt, that Lillebonne is the Julia bona of 
 Ptolemy and Antoninus, — a conjecture which 
 had been before warranted by ancient tradition, 
 the direction of Roman roads, and the disco- 
 very of coins, arms, and various Utensils in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 Returning from Lillebonne, I crossed the 
 ferry to visit the park of La Maillerai, which 
 proved scarcely worth the trouble. It is com- 
 pletely French, with nothing to praise about it 
 but its agreeable situation, and the liberality of 
 the latdy to whom it belongs, who opens it 
 every Sunday for the recreation of all classes of 
 Visitors. I found it thronged with groups Of 
 villagers, whose stiff Norman costume, com- 
 bined with the artificial distribution of the 
 g&rdens, gave the scene an appearance rather 
 
 e 4 
 
56 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 
 
 high Dutch than French ; so that the Vanders 
 and the Woiivers, the Jansens and the Butter* 
 mans, superseded in my imagination the Estelles 
 and Isabelles of pastoral romance. 
 
 Turning from the stiff avenues of La Mail- 
 lerai, I bent my way towards a more interesting 
 object, the Abbey of Jumieges. I was di- 
 rected through a wood bordering the Seine, and 
 followed an unfrequented bridle road amid over- 
 hanging verdure, which terminated in a rugged 
 descent, covered with copse-wood, whence I 
 beheld the bright river with its lovely valley 
 beneath me, and the ancient Abbey-towers, 
 ruddied with the setting sun, on the opposite 
 banks. I crossed the ferry, and found the Abbey 
 and village about half a mile from it. 
 
 I had anticipated a ruin in the style of that I 
 had been visiting in the morning, " the ivy- 
 mantled tower the mouldering arch ; the de- 
 solate cloister, wasting in the slow decay of 
 ages : but I found every thing the reverse of 
 this. The Abbey had been suppressed during 
 the Revolution, and the work of destruction 
 was now in full vigour ; walls were tearing down, 
 and houses building up with the spoil: the 
 auberge at which I stopped was niched into 
 part of the dilapidated cloisters. I proceeded to 
 the church over heaps of the finest Gothic 
 carved work, which had been broken down, and 
 was piled into a loose wall, to keep cattle in or 
 out of the ruins. The lofty towers at each end 
 of the fat^ade were still uninjured ; they are of 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 
 
 57 
 
 that severe and simple style of Norman archi- 
 tecture, which appertains rather to the fortress 
 than the church: on entering, I found the 
 central aisle unroofed, but the walls and side 
 aisles entire : the length, as far as I could judge 
 by stepping it, is about 220 feet ; the columns 
 which divide the nave are plain, and about 
 three feet in diameter ; their capitals angle-cut, 
 and without ornament : the arches are all cir- 
 cular ; the corbels of the roof terminating in 
 heads of lions, eagles, and other animals, well 
 carved. The Virgin's chapel was evidently of 
 a later date, and richly finished with Gothic 
 sculpture, as delicate as if fairy hands had 
 wrought it. The painting was yet fresh upon the 
 walls, but the pavement was torn up, and it would 
 have been vain to have sought on the dilapidated 
 pavement for the stone which once bore the 
 following inscription : — " Here lies the damsel 
 " Agnes Seurelle, during her life-time Lady of 
 " Beauty, of Issoudun, and of Vernon-sur-Seine, 
 " merciful to the poor; who died on the 9th 
 " of February, in the year 1449." * She died 
 
 f " Cy gist damoiselle Agnes Seurelle, en son vivant 
 " Dame de Beaute, d'Issoudun, et de Vernon-sur-Seine, 
 " piteuse aux pauvres, laquelle trepassa le 9 C jour de Fevrier, 
 ** en Tan 144-9." — " The Lady of Beauty" was a territo- 
 rial designation, derived from a chateau so called, near 
 St. Denis, presented her by her lover. In the museum of 
 ancient monuments, the following lines are to be seen, on a 
 marble slab ; the poet was one I. J. Batif : — 
 
 Ci gist la belle Agnfes — O Mort ! cette beaute 
 Devait, de sa douceur, flechir ta cruaute ; 
 
58 NEIGHBOURHOOD OP ROUEN. 
 
 either in the Abbey, or in the neighbouring 
 castle of Melin, while her royal lover was pre- 
 paring for the siege of Honfleur. It must be 
 observed, that her heart only was buried at 
 Jumieges ; her body was interred, and her tomb 
 raised, in the choir of Notre Dame, at Loches. 
 
 The mixture of the Gothic and corrupted 
 Roman styles observable in the church, pre- 
 vails in other parts of the Abbey. At one en- 
 trance, the first portal arch is pointed, and 
 enriched with the zig-zag moulding ; the second 
 is circular. The massive columns of the refec- 
 tory have capitals richly ornamented. 
 
 The whole mass of these buildings presents 
 an imposing spectacle of ruined grandeur: in 
 the place, however, of that tranquil melancholy 
 with which we are wont to regard those gradual 
 workings of time and destiny, which hallow 
 the desolation they create, something like a 
 feeling of irritation is apt to arise when we 
 see the business of destruction thus carried on 
 before our eyes. We are disposed to fancy a 
 
 Mais, la lui ravissant en la fleur de son age, 
 
 Si grand qu tu cuidais n'a ete ton outrage : 
 
 Car, si elle eus fourni l'entier nombre du jours, 
 
 Que lui pouvait donner de la nature le cours ; 
 
 Ses beaux traits, son beau teint, et sa belle charnure* 
 
 De la tarde vi ell esse auraient senti l'injure. 
 
 Mais de la belle Agnes durera le surnom, 
 
 Tant que de la beauts, Feaute" sera le norh ! 
 
NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEN. 59 
 
 kind of natural life in these stately productions 
 of human industry, and feel, that thus with 
 brute violence to cut short the number of their 
 days, is like robbing us of an ancient friend, 
 who formed a link betwixt us and past genera- 
 tions. I would not, however, be thought to 
 blame the principle of casting out the holy 
 drones, for whose use such edifices were erected : 
 all the reasonable mind could ask in such cases, 
 would be the preservation (by appropriating 
 them to some useful purpose) of such build- 
 ings as are either interesting specimens of an- 
 cient architecture, or connected with historical 
 remembrances, which should make them pre- 
 cious in the eyes of the nation to which they 
 belong. 
 
 Every body knows Normandy to be famous 
 for apples j but every body may not be aware of 
 the economy observed in planting orchards, 
 which are formed into hedge-rows, and bound, 
 ary lines betwixt different fields, so that a 
 very trifling proportion of each is taken from 
 cultivation, The roads especially are bordered 
 with apple and pear trees, but their fruit, like 
 those of the Dead Sea, " though tempting with- 
 " out, are full of bitterness within." The for- 
 bearance of travellers, therefore, is easily ac- 
 counted for; though, were they pippins of 
 Paradise, there is such a deluge over all the 
 country, that I have no doubt every passer-by 
 would be welcome to cool his lips with them. 
 
60 NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ROUEK. 
 
 The Normans are a very distinct people from 
 the rest of the French nation, and still retain a 
 sufficient taint of their Saxon mixture, to give 
 a degree of gravity and steadiness to their cha- 
 racters, rarely to be found among their more 
 lively compatriots. There needs no better 
 proof of this, than the costume of the middling 
 and lower classes, who are always the most 
 faithful repositories of nationality. The women 
 appear to this day in the same raised, conical, 
 or cylindrical linen caps, as were the fashion- 
 able head-dresses in the days of Froissard and 
 Monstrelet, in the prints of whose chronicles 
 they are delineated to the life of the present 
 fashion. It is odd enough, but no fashions seem 
 so lasting as those which are most contrary to 
 grace and nature. The hair is gathered into a 
 thick club behind these well-starched pyramids ; 
 while the long stiff stays, bundling petticoats, 
 and staring trinkets, display the attachment of the 
 lower orders of females to a hideous costume, 
 which has established itself from the Zuyder 
 Zee to the Mediterranean. Whenever the 
 French are accused of fickleness and mutability, 
 they cannot do better than produce a Norman 
 female at the bar of the critical assembly. 
 
61 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 London is to England, what the heart is to 
 the body — the seat of life and motion ; re- 
 ceiving and rendering back, with incessant 
 action, the alimentary streams which circulate 
 through the whole frame. The high roads, 
 which branch from it in every direction, are its 
 main arteries : to stop up one of them, would be 
 to throw the whole system into confusion. No- 
 thing, in this respect, can less resemble London 
 than Paris. No suburbs spread over the ad- 
 jacent country : the avenues to the metropolis 
 are as dull and silent as those of a country 
 village: a few waggons and peasants may be 
 seen plodding to market along the broad paved 
 roads, which stretch out betwixt endless files of 
 meagre-looking trees; and now and then, an 
 English travelling equipage, piled with trunks 
 and imperials, is whirled along by half a dozen 
 chevanx de poste, with whips cracking, and 
 rope-ends flying, as in utter disdain of the sur- 
 rounding stillness. The blank wall, which con- 
 nects the barriers, and the exterior boulevards 
 
62 
 
 PAitrs. 
 
 which surround it, augment the impression 
 of seclusion, which is little diminished by tra- 
 versing the quiet fauxbourgs which surround the 
 inner boulevards. Here, indeed, the scene ra- 
 pidly changes, and the busy bustle of life conti- 
 nues to increase, till it glows at its height in the 
 centre of the hive, round the palace of the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 Paris is a little nation within itself, of which the 
 court is the capital ; and as all its moral import- 
 ance centers in the court, so all its beauties 
 of art and architecture seem drawn together 
 within the same sphere of attraction : almost 
 all of them are thus within a few minutes* 
 walk of each other. The stranger, turning 
 out of the crowded Boulevard des Capucines, 
 passes down the noble Rue de la Paix, to the 
 Place Vendome, with its bronzed column, im- 
 mediately opposite to the garden of the Tuille- 
 ries ; through which he reaches the Place de 
 Louis XV., and Pont de Louis XVI. ; at the op- 
 posite end of which rises the classical fa9ade of 
 the Palais Bourbon, with the gilt dome of Les 
 Invalides a little behind it. Returning thence 
 along the Quai des Tuileries, he arrives at the 
 Pont Royal, close to the Palais des Tuileries, 
 passes the Louvre Gallery and palace, to the 
 iron Pont des Arts; and crossing the court of the 
 palace into the Place du Carrousel, finds the Tri- 
 umphal Arch and Tuilleries before him : thus 
 having in a walk of less than fifteen minutes,. 
 
/ 
 
 PARIS. (53 
 
 included all the mast interesting objects of Paris, 
 except the Pantheon, Palais de Luxembourg, and 
 Church of Notre Dame. 
 
 There is, however, no city in the world which, 
 in such a space, contains so much of the external 
 splendour of political existence. The quais, in- 
 tended rather for ornament than business, are 
 spacious and elegant. The bridges are hand- 
 some enough to leave no regret but that they 
 have not a nobler current ; but in summer the 
 Seine is so diminutive, that one fancies it would 
 have been cheaper to have filled it up than 
 bridged it over: at all times it looks like a 
 very lucky ditch to be thus running under arches 
 of the most graceful symmetry, betwixt palaces 
 and gardens, the admiration of Europe. It was 
 standing on the Pont de Louis XVI., in a clear 
 moonlight, that I felt the magnificence of this 
 portion of Paris in its fullest force. The faults 
 of detail were lost; while the white edifices shone 
 in bolder relief from the contrasting depths of 
 shadow, and the blue vaulting of the sky. Nor 
 could any limit be discerned to this magni- 
 ficence : it might have been a city of palaces, 
 and the whole host of lights scattered on either 
 side the river, the torches of masque and re- 
 velling ; since all sounds and sights of vulgar 
 occupation and distress had vanished. Day- 
 light, however, gives a different colouring to a 
 picture, in which extremes meet most offensively 
 to the eye of moral feeling* A royal palace is 
 a political goitre, which absorbs the juices des- 
 
64 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 tined to support the health and vigour of the 
 entire frame : it is curious, however, that, na- 
 tions should pride themselves on such excres- 
 cences, and be content to live in filth and 
 debility to maintain them. Whatever in Paris 
 is not connected with royal pride, or royal 
 convenience, is dirty, disagreeable, and gloomy. 
 The pedestrian, as every body has heard, slides 
 through the mire with a movement both per- 
 plexed and hazardous, being indebted every 
 moment to some friendly post for the safety of 
 life and members. The narrowness of the streets 
 considerably increases his difficulties ; and as 
 this narrowness is a tolerable criterion of anti- 
 quity, we find the most striking instances of it 
 in the original location of Paris, Vile de la 
 Cite, with those quarters which lie immediately 
 opposite to it, on either side of the river. 
 
 The Pont Neuf, which connects this island 
 with either bank of the Seine, is adorned with a 
 bronze equestrian statue of Henry IV., as suc- 
 cessor to one of a similar character erected in 
 16 14. The fate of this latter image is no unfair 
 instance of Parisian mobility. At the com- 
 mencement of the Revolution, the mob insisted 
 upon every passenger's pulling off his hat to the 
 good king, who wished every one of his subjects 
 might have la poule au pot ; but as royalty con- 
 tinued to go out of fashion, this truly pious wish 
 was no longer permitted to excuse his having 
 exercised so odious a trade, and Henry was 
 tumbled down, with the rest of the Capulets. 
 
 1 1 
 
PARIS. 
 
 65 
 
 Uoyalty being again a-la-mode, this monarch 
 looks once more all golden towards the towers 
 of Notre Dame, which, if things inanimate can 
 feel, may be supposed equally to rejoice in the 
 happy change. 
 
 It is in this neighbourhood we must look for 
 the most ancient monuments of Paris. Within 
 the island are the cathedral of Notre Dame, 
 the Hotel Dieu, and Palais de Justice, all con- 
 nected with the remotest ages of the monarchy: 
 but still more venerable than these is the hall 
 of Julian's Thermal Palace, now a cooper's 
 work-shop, in the Rue de la Harpe. It is fifty- 
 six feet long, fifty-six wide, and forty feet high, 
 counting from the present surface. It is lighted 
 by an arched window, opposite to the entrance. 
 The roof is a vault of so solid a construction, 
 that it has for many years supported a small 
 garden, with several feet of mould/ The mate- 
 rials are brick-shaped stone, with parallel layers 
 of red tile at intervals of two or three feet. 
 There is a double range of cellars or conduits 
 beneath ; but the edifice is so encumbered, that its 
 design and arrangement must, in great measure, 
 be guessed at. Elsewhere, individuals would be 
 found to redeem it from its degradation, and 
 preserve with respect the only vestige in Paris 
 of the Roman Lutetia, and the philosophic Em- 
 peror who delighted in its tranquillity, and the 
 grave deportment of its inhabitants. 
 
 The recollections which in Paris attach them- 
 selves to particular spots are almost all of a tra- 
 
66 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 gical description, — records of massacre and as- 
 sassination. In the Veille Rue du Temple, near 
 the Rue des blancs-Manteaux> the Duke of Orleans, 
 brother of Charles VI., was poignarded by the 
 agents of his uncle the Duke of Burgundy ; a 
 crime for which all France bled. In the Rue de 
 Bethizy, the house is to be seen in which Coligni 
 was murdered ; and against a wall in that of La 
 Ferronerie, a bust marks the spot of Henry IVth's 
 assassination. It is needless to mention the 
 Place de Louis XV. The Champ de Mars offers 
 associations of a nature scarcely more consoling 
 to humanity. The turf-banks are still green 
 round the area, in which the assembled nation 
 swore its first homage to constitutional freedom, 
 calling the deity, it shortly dethroned, to witness 
 the engagement. Here too it was gathered to- 
 gether to accept the Acte additionelle, and cele- 
 brate a resurrection of free government, — but 
 there was no resurrection of feelings. On the 
 former occasion the popular devotion was sin- 
 cere; but they worshipped liberty, as they had 
 been accustomed to worship their tyrants, with 
 human victims : their oaths became curses, and 
 their libations blood. In the latter instance, 
 they perjured themselves to give effect to the 
 spectacle : their worship was stage-mummery ; 
 and when the banners and insignia of liberty 
 were taken back to the Tuilleries, they consi- 
 dered their parts as played, and became again 
 the cringing slaves of circumstance. Excldat 
 
PARIS. 
 
 67 
 
 ilia dies. — The manly heart sickens to remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 § 1. THE CHURCHES OP PARIS. 
 
 The churches of Paris may be conveniently 
 divided, according to their styles and dates, into 
 four classes. 1. Gothic churches; the principal 
 of which are, Notre Dame, St. Germain-des-Pres, 
 St. Germain VAuxerrois, St. Gervais, and St. 
 Genevieve. 2. Churches in a style betwixt Go- 
 thic and Grecian ; such as St. EustacJw and St. 
 JEt&nne-du-Mont. 3. Churches in the revived 
 Grecian style of Louis XIII. and XIV.'s time ; 
 the principal of which are St. Rock, St. Sulpice> 
 and the Church des Invalides. 4. The purified 
 Grecian, as exhibited in the Pantheon, or new 
 church of SU Genevieve. 
 
 Notre Dame. — The cathedral of Notre 
 Dame was commenced in 1010, by Robert the 
 Pious. Maurice de Sully, Bishop of Paris, con- 
 tinued the work in 1165; destroying, for this 
 purpose, the old church erected by Childebert, 
 on the site of the present choir. . Odo de Sully, 
 his successor, carried it on till his death in 1208, 
 when Peter de Nemours finished it, with the 
 exception of the transepts, about 1220: the lat- 
 ter were added about 1257, as appears by an 
 inscription over the southern portal. 
 
 Anno Domini MCCLVII. mense Februario Idas ij 
 Hoc fuit incoeptum Christi genetricis honore 
 Kallenw Lathomo vivente Johanne Magistro. 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 r The western fa$ade looks upon the Place de 
 Parvis, surrounded by streets and houses whose, 
 antique shabbiness reminds us of what was once 
 the neighbourhood of our Westminster Abbey. 
 Its breadth betwixt the two lateral towers is 
 120 feet ; and as the faces of these towers are 
 each -40 feet wide, the whole front presents a 
 breadth of 180 feet. The portal consists of 
 three doors, set in deep arches, richly sculp- 
 tured; above them is a range of niches, con- 
 taining 28 statues of the kings of France, from 
 Childebert to Philip Augustus : over these is a 
 beautiful marigold window, set in a round arch, 
 with the zig-zag ornament. A fret-work gal- 
 lery unites the facade with the towers, the 
 height of which is 204 feet : they terminate in 
 a flat roof, and are somewhat heavy. The in- 
 terior has an aspect of ponderous magnificence. 
 Its extreme length is reckoned at 390 feet, its 
 breadth at 140. The nave is flanked by a dou- 
 ble aisle, and 45 chapels ; but the enect of this 
 quadruple range of columns is diminished by 
 the mixture of the clustered Gothic, with the 
 massive and clumsy corrupted Roman. A 
 double arcade surmounts the nave. The cir- 
 cular windows of the fagade and transepts 
 being the only ones of coloured glass, the quan- 
 tity of light generally admitted into the build- 
 ing is out of keeping with its massive character. 
 The exterior of the choir is ornamented with a 
 curious series of ancient bas-reliefs, representing 
 Scripture histories, by Jean Ravy, and his.ne- 
 
PARIS. 
 
 69 
 
 phew Jean le Boutelier, who completed them in 
 1351. The high altar, and interior of the choir; 
 were repaired and ornamented for Bonaparte's 
 coronation ; but as these improvements were 
 made without any reference to the general style 
 of the building, it suffices to say, they are as 
 fine as marble, gilding, and tall candlesticks can 
 make them. The stalls are handsomely carved 
 in wood j above them are eight large Scripture 
 pieces by Halle, Jouvenet, Philippe de Cham- 
 pagne, La Fosse, Louis Boulongne, and An- 
 toine Coypel. On each side of the altar , are 
 colossal statues of Louis XIII. and XIV. in 
 white marble, by Coustou and Coyzevox ; each 
 monarch is on his knees, and supposed to be 
 offering his crown to the Almighty, — an affecta- 
 tion of humility very common in royal sinners. 
 
 In a chapel to the left of the choir, near the 
 bottom of the church, is a recent monument to. 
 the memory of the Cardinal de Belloy. The 
 whole is of white marble : the figures are of 
 colossal proportions. The Cardinal, seated in 
 an arm-chair, placed on his tomb, is represented 
 as bestowing alms on a poor woman, supported 
 by a young female, whose countenance ex- 
 presses gratitude and respect : in the prelate's 
 left hand is an open Bible, with the inscription, 
 " Beatus qui intelliget super egenum et pauper em: 
 In die maid liberabit eum Dominus." On the 
 same side appears St. Denis, standing on a 
 cloud, with a scroll in his left hand, bearing the 
 names of the Bishops of Paris, his successors, 
 
 f 3 
 
70 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 and precursors of the Cardinal, to whom he is 
 pointing with his right hand. The sculptor is 
 M. de Leine, of Paris. The execution is noble 
 and delicate. There is an awkwardness in St. 
 Denis's cloud, which is spread upon the basis of 
 the tomb, as if a quantity of thick milk had 
 been spilt there ; but the chief fault is in the 
 design : the quiet occupation of the Cardinal, 
 in his arm-chair, is wholly at variance with the 
 effect which must have been produced on him 
 by the apparition of St. Denis; except, indeed, 
 they were upon much more intimate terms than 
 are usual betwixt the living and the dead : in 
 fact, as the saint seems wholly overlooked by 
 the good prelate, we must take him, with his 
 muster-roll, for a kind of prolocutor for the be- 
 nefit of the spectators, to whom he may be sup- 
 posed to reveal the important secret, that the 
 Cardinal, like himself, was once Bishop of Paris. 
 Among the Monumens Frangais, there is a mau- 
 soleum belonging to Notre Dame, of a much 
 higher character, especially in its design, which 
 is truly awful. It is that of Henri-Claude, 
 Conte d'Harcourt, Marshal of France, who 
 died in 1769. At the foot of his opening coffin, 
 his wife bends forward in an attitude eager and 
 supplicatory : the Marshal is raising himself 
 feebly, and looking towards her with a counte- 
 nance of living death: his grave-clothes have 
 partly fallen off, and discover his emaciated 
 body : a shrouded skeleton at the head of the 
 coffin, is immediately recognized as the grisly 
 
PARIS. 
 
 71 
 
 king of terrors, who stretches out a minute- 
 glass, as if to limit the period of resuscitation, 
 and again claim his victim. The sculptor is 
 Pigalle. The design was suggested by a dream 
 of Madame d'Harcourt, the night after her hus- 
 band's death. 
 
 The Abbey-Church of St. Germain-des- 
 Pres. — This church is remarkable for its an- 
 tiquity. It was founded by Childebert in 558, 
 in honour of St. Vincent's shirt, which this 
 monarch brought as a trophy from Saragossa, 
 together with a large cross from Toledo : it 
 was known at this period by the name of St. 
 Germain-le-Dore, from the gilding employed on 
 its roof : Childebert was himself buried in it, as 
 well as St. Germain; and part of the western 
 tower is believed by antiquaries to belong to the 
 original edifice.* The principal part of the 
 building had, however, been three times burnt 
 by the Normans, when Abbot Morard began to 
 restore it in 990, and completed it, nearly as it 
 now stands, in 1014. " The lower walls of the 
 " choir and nave, the eight eastern chapels* 
 " most of the columns and arches of the nave, 
 " and all the columns and arches of the choir, 
 " are undoubtedly'' (says Mr. Whittington) 
 *' parts of this ancient structure." Consider- 
 able repairs were made in 1646, when the roof 
 was, for the first time, vaulted with stone, the 
 
 * " Boullart, the historian of the abbey, is of thi* opk 
 joion."— -Whittington's Historical Survey, p. 103. 
 
 F 4 
 
72 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 windows enlarged, the columns • ornamented 
 with capitals, and other changes made, which 
 did not, however, extend to any essential alter- 
 ation in the character of the edifice. Its ap- 
 pearance is gloomy and mean ; the arches are of 
 course round, except in the semi-circular ar- 
 cade at the eastern end, where they are pointed, 
 in consequence of the contracted space betwixt 
 the pillars : — " And this" (observes Mr. Whit- 
 tington) " is among a number of instances 
 " where the pointed arch was used from acci- 
 " dent and necessity, before it became an ob- 
 " ject of taste." P. 111. 
 
 The following tombs, once belonging to this 
 church, are now in the Musee des Monumens 
 Frangais; but as these monuments are for the 
 most part returning whence they came, I men- 
 tion them where they will most probably be 
 soon to be found. 
 
 1. The tomb-stone of Childebert I. who died 
 in 558. He is represented holding in one hand 
 a sceptre, and in the other a model of the 
 church which he founded. 
 
 2. The tomb of Cherebert, ornamented with 
 vine leaves. It was supposed, when discovered, 
 to contain the body of Abbot Morard, who died 
 about 1000. Cherebert died in 571. His 
 daughter Bertha married Ethelbert, King of 
 Kent. 
 
 3. A sepulchral-stone, bearing the figure of 
 the infamous Fredigonde, in mosaic work. 1 
 
 4. That of Clotaire II. her son, who died in 
 628. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 73 
 
 5. That of his Queen Bertrude. 
 
 6. That of Childeric IT. murdered with his 
 wife and son, in 673, in the forest of Haucouis, 
 near Chilles : their three bodies were found in 
 two stone coffins, during the repair of the abbey. 
 The confusion which ensued in France after 
 their deaths was so terrible, that it was generally 
 believed the reign of Anti-christ was come. 
 
 7. The mausoleum of John Casimir V. King 
 of Poland; successively jesuit, cardinal, king, 
 and Benedictine abbot. He is represented in 
 priest's garments, in the act of offering his 
 crown to heaven, — a sacrifice not without 
 grandeur, had it been the result of philosophy 
 triumphing over ambition, but which excites 
 only contempt, when the monarch exchanges 
 the diadem for a friar's cowl. He died in 1672, 
 and should have been canonised. 
 
 Besides the above, the sarcophagi of Mont- 
 faucon and Mabillon, both Benedictines, as 
 also the sepulchral urn of Boileau, and the 
 mausoleums of the two Douglases, belong 
 to this church, and will probably be restored 
 to it. 
 
 The Abbey Church of St. Genevieve is 
 reckoned among the most ancient edifices of 
 France ; part of the existing building being re- 
 ferred to the age of Clovis, by whom it was 
 founded under the name of St. Peter and St. 
 Paul, though the greater part of it was re- 
 built in 1177. It is a mean structure, without 
 transepts ; the columns of the nave are Lombard, 
 
7* 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 and of unequal size : the windows lancet- 
 shaped, It contained the sepulchre of Clovis, 
 whose figure was placed on his tomb-stone, with 
 his diadem and sceptre, and the marks of con- 
 sular dignity conferred on him, according to the 
 general belief, by the Emperor Anastasius. 
 
 St. Germain L'Auxerrois is a Gothic edifice 
 of the eleventh century; but has no peculiar 
 merit, except that it contains the tombs of the 
 Count de Caylus, the Chancellor Olivier, Mal- 
 foerbe the poet, Madame Dacier, as well as of 
 several artists, and other celebrated characters. 
 The superb mausoleum of Louis de Poncher, 
 counsellor of state, who died in 1521, is about 
 to be restored to it from the Monumens Fran- 
 
 Saint Gervais presents a curious specimen of 
 the treatment to which Gothic edifices were 
 subjected on the revival, as it was called, of the 
 arts. This church was rebuilt in 1212, and re- 
 paired in 1581. Its style is Gothic, with a con? 
 siderable degree of elegance ; but instead of 
 entering it by a Corresponding facade, one is 
 surprised to see a towering pile of porches, 
 rising story above story, to the height of above 
 150 feet: the lower columns are Doric, the 
 central Ionic ; and four of the Corinthian order, 
 supporting a circular pediment, terminate this 
 ingenious mask, which was put upon the old 
 building in 1(319. 
 
 The Churches of St. Eustache and St. 
 Etjenne-du-Mont exhibit the degeneracy of 
 
PARIS. 
 
 75 
 
 Gothic architecture, when it was supposed to 
 be improved by a mixture of Grecian orna- 
 ment. The former was built in 1532 j the latter 
 was not finished until 1616. 
 
 The sanctuary of St. JEustache is ornamented 
 with five scriptural pieces, by Charles Vanloo, 
 and a Virgin, in white marble, by Pigalle. 
 
 This church has reclaimed the mausoleum of 
 Colbert, who is represented kneeling on a tomb 
 in the robes of the Order of the Holy Ghost. 
 A figure of Abundance is on one side, and one 
 of Faith, or Religion, on the other. — The two 
 first are the work of Coyzevox, the latter of 
 Tuby. The dust of Voiture, Benzerade, La- 
 mothe-Levayer, Vaugelas, of the painter La 
 Fosse, and of the chymist Homberg, is also 
 within this church ; but no inscription designates 
 their resting place. 
 
 The church of St. Etienne-du-Mont, though 
 clumsy in its general style of architecture, is rfir 
 markable for the boldness of the screen, which 
 separates, in the form of an arch, the nave 
 from the choir. Two spiral stone staircases at 
 either end of it, look as if suspended in air, 
 notwithstanding their fretted massiveness. The 
 epitaph of Paschal, and the tomb of Racine, are 
 here. That of Descartes is to be restored : 
 it is remarkable for its simple inscription : " Les 
 " Restes de Rene Descartes mort en Suede en 
 " 1550." It is thus great men dare entrust their 
 ealogium to posterity. In the cloisters of this 
 church is some beautifully painted glm* by 
 
76 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Pinargrier. Many of the countenances, parti- 
 cularly those on board the ship of the Gospel, 
 have the air of portraits. 
 
 The churches of the third class are almost all 
 of them announced by a species of decoration, 
 which marks the infancy of taste. Their 
 facades are composed of porch raised above 
 porch, and of columns piled upon columns ; 
 combining every order of architecture into 
 forms of overwhelming insipidity and heaviness. 
 Such are the facades of St. Gervais already 
 mentioned, so much admired by Voltaire ; and 
 that of St.Eustache. Those of St. Roch, St. 
 Louis, St. Paul, St. Sulpice, and L'Eglise de 
 L'Abbaye royale da Val-de-Grace, are all in the 
 same taste. 
 
 The church of St. Roch is rich in decora- 
 tion 5 but the most curious part of it is the 
 Chapel of Calvary, at the bottom of the build- 
 ing, which is fitted up to represent a dark 
 cavern, with the incidents of the Crucifixion. 
 Groups of figures, rocks, and trees, are ar- 
 ranged as we sometimes see hermits' grottoes in 
 tea-gardens. It is, however, a good thing in 
 that way, and the light is very theatrically 
 thrown upon a marble figure of Christ on the 
 Cross. There is a picture of this chapel in the 
 Luxembourg Gallery, by Bouton, perhaps more 
 pleasing and impressive than the original. 
 
 St. Sulpice is a most elaborate effort of bad 
 taste. The facade is composed of a portico 
 flanked by two towers j the former is conse- 
 
PARIS. 
 
 77' 
 
 (piently not a projection, but a recess, of two 
 stories ; of which the lower entablature rests 
 upon four Doric, the upper upon as many Ionic 
 columns. The towers are totally dissimilar in 
 design, and are at once heavy and meagre : that 
 of the right, 210 feet high, consists of two 
 stories; the lower of which is a square, pre- 
 senting on each of its sides four Corinthian 
 columns, supporting a triangular pediment : 
 the upper is a circular tower, surrounded by 
 nine Corinthian columns, and terminated by a 
 balustrade. The other tower is smaller, and 
 something too clumsy for description. The ex- 
 treme length of the interior is estimated at 336 
 feet. The height above the choir at 99 feet ; the 
 width of the latter is 42. The manner in which 
 the light has been made to fall upon a statue of 
 the Virgin at the eastern extremity of the 
 building, has been much admired. The trick 
 is, however, of the same kind with that in the 
 Chapel of Calvary, and is to be admired only 
 as a trick — a French trick of theatrical effect. 
 
 The church or rather Dome des Invalides> 
 may be considered as the chef-d'oeuvre of church 
 building in the age of ^ouis XIV., and though 
 certainly a magnificent edifice, is strongly cha- 
 racterised by the architectural defects of that 
 time. The facade, 180 feet in width, and 96 
 high, is composed of two stories, ornamented 
 with Doric and Corinthian columns, and sur- 
 mounted by a triangular pediment. The dome 
 is also divided into two stories, round the lower 
 
78 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 of which there is a series of columns, arranged 
 in the form of little porticoes, to support the 
 heavy buttresses of the second story, which is 
 crowned with a balustrade. The cupola is sur- 
 mounted by a lantern ; the lantern by a slender 
 pyramid, the pyramid by a ball, and the ball by 
 a cross ; the latter 300 feet from the ground. 
 On each side of the principal entrance are the 
 statues of St. Louis and Charlemagne, by Cou- 
 stou and Coyzevox. The first defect observable 
 in this exterior, is the clumsiness of the double 
 stories ; the second is the blankness arising from 
 the want of a portico, in consequence of which 
 the double range of columns look stuck against 
 the wall a 'pure perte. The projecting buttresses 
 of the upper story of the dome take greatly 
 from the boldness and simplicity which are the 
 chief grace of such elevations. The whole is 
 besides much too high and massive for the body 
 of the church, which seems less to support 
 than to be crushed beneath it. The gilding of 
 the cupola is a puerility easily effaced ; but its 
 tawdry effect is the more displeasing from the 
 general plainness of the whole building. The 
 interior, which forms kind of supplement to 
 the very simple church of the hospital, is mag- 
 nificent in the best sense of the word. It is 
 beautifully paved with variegated marble, formed 
 into compartments and figures, representing the 
 lilies and arms of France, and other appropriate 
 emblems. The cupola is painted by La Fosse, 
 with the apotheosis of St. Louis. The chapel* 
 
PARIS. 
 
 and aisles are also decorated with the produc- 
 tions of Jouvenet* Boullogne, and Coypel. The 
 only monuments it contains at present are those 
 of Vauban and Turenne ; but why saints Alipe, 
 Satyre, Marcelyne, Silvie, Emilienne, &c. &c. 
 should figure in their company, is a question of 
 no easy solution. Doubtless, they were worthy 
 people in their day, but, most probably, had 
 very little connection with bastions and stra- 
 tegics. 
 
 The Pantheon is the happiest effort of 
 French architecture. It is built in the form of 
 a Greek cross, 340 feet long, and 250 wide. 
 The porch of the principal entrance is composed 
 of a triple range of Corinthian fluted columns, 
 58 feet high, and 5§ in diameter, supporting a 
 triangular pediment : the front of this porch 
 is 120 feet long. The dome is composed of two 
 stories, the lower of which is surrounded by 30 
 Corinthian columns, supporting a gallery and 
 balustrade : the upper story is plain, and sur- 
 mounted by the cupola, which is 62 feet 8 inches 
 in diameter : it is lighted by a small circular 
 lantern, the height of which from the interior 
 pavement is 282 feet.* 
 
 Our first impression, on viewing this edifice, 
 is of the superiority it derives from its portico 
 of a single story, projecting with an impressive 
 
 * The diameter of the dome of St. Paul's is 108 feet ; pf 
 St. Peter's 139|; and of the Pantheon 144 feet. The height 
 of St. Paul's is 330 feet ; of St. Peter's, 412. The length of 
 the former 500, of the latter 606 feet. 
 
80 
 
 PARIS* 
 
 depth of shade, and magnificence of columns $■ 
 while the transepts behind it, give a breadth 
 and solidity to the whole edifice, which preserve 
 its proportions with the superstructure. 
 
 The dome is light and graceful, but it can 
 scarcely be said to approach sublimity ; against 
 which, nothing in architecture seems more to 
 militate than gradations and divisions, of which 
 there are four in this dome. 1. The lower 
 story, with its gallery. 2. The upper story. 
 3. The cupola. 4. The lantern ; an ornament 
 itself subdivided into gallery, tower, and cupola; 
 and necessarily unhappy in its effect, from being 
 very like a miniature temple, or classical pepper- 
 box. 
 
 To judge from the Pantheon at Rome, the 
 original intent of a dome, was so to cover the 
 interior of the temple, that the aperture, which, 
 in ancient edifices, admitted both light and rain, 
 should answer this end with the least possible 
 inconvenience ; nor can we imagine any lantern 
 capable of producing an effect equally sublime 
 with the depths of a bright blue sky over the 
 heads of the worshippers ; but as an arrange- 
 ment of this kind forms no part of the intention 
 of modern architecture, and certainly would be 
 ill-suited to any but southern climates, the 
 dome, as now employed, is a superstructure 
 purely ornamental, and its disposition becomes, 
 in consequence, a kind of caprice referable to 
 no certain rules of judgment. 
 
 Viewing the Pantheon angularly, there 'is g 
 
 13 
 
PARIS. 
 
 81 
 
 plainness in the sides and transepts, when con- 
 trasted with the magnificent portico, which 
 gives the body of the edifice an appearance' of 
 unfinished poverty. The basso-relievos of the 
 pediment are political allegories, which, toge- 
 ther with the half-effaced inscription on the 
 frize, " Alloc grands homines la patrie recon* 
 noissante" mark the revolutionary destinies of 
 the Pantheon. Such heretical phrases as, " Les 
 droits de Vhomme" and « La lot est I' expression 
 de la volonte generate" are still discernible j 
 and though the latter has been severely criti- 
 cised, as containing a definition of law applica- 
 ble to no existing political system, it is still a 
 noble intimation of what the law ought to be, 
 which is probably all that was intended by it; 
 right or wrong, however, this, as well as all 
 other revolutionary emblems, will shortly dis- 
 appear from the church of St. Genevieve, to be 
 succeeded by martyrological insignia, and pious 
 falsehoods, in honour of a saint, of whose merits 
 or existence, " nobody knows, and nobody 
 cares." — I " mark them ere they fade," because 
 these phrases and sculptures, together with 
 Dessaix's monument in the Place Dauphine, are 
 the only traces left in Paris of republican 
 France. The latter forms a fountain, over 
 which is a figure of Victory crowning the bust 
 of the young hero : the pedestal bears the 
 chronicle of his exploits, and the last words 
 with which his gallant spirit parted, in the 8th 
 year of the Republic, under the consulship 0 f 
 
 G 
 
8« 
 
 PARIS, 
 
 Bonaparte. This simple mention of great deeds 
 and great men presents a gratifying contrast to 
 those effusions of adulation and hypocrisy, amid 
 which the sacred voice of freedom was too 
 speedily extinguished. — The interior of the 
 Pantheon is eminently graceful in its effect, in 
 spite of the four massive buttresses, which have 
 been substituted, in the place of columns, for 
 the support of the dome. The style of decora- 
 tion is rich ; the pillars are Corinthian, and the 
 vaulted roof finished with basso-relievos. There 
 is, however, an air of vacancy arising from the 
 yet indefinite application of the edifice: the 
 heroes are moving off, and the saints have not 
 yet arrived : the only statue it now contained, 
 was that of General Le Clercq, Bonaparte's 
 brother-in-law, who died at St. Domingo ; but 
 the French revolution has abundantly shown, 
 that the instability of human fortune extends 
 beyond the grave : the General had been dis- 
 lodged from his pedestal, and shoved towards a 
 side door of the building :— " He will not stay 
 here?" said I to the sachristan : " Oh no," he 
 replied, drily, and with a significant nod, " we 
 are moving him off." Even of a monumental 
 niche, it may be said in Paris, erit nulli proprius. 
 — Setting aside political prejudices, it might 
 have been worth considering whether the appro- 
 priation of a building like the Pantheon, to a 
 purpose similar to that for which it was intended 
 during the Revolution, would not have been 
 more consistent with th^e rules of good taste, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 83 
 
 and even of Christian piety, than the method 
 now followed, of decorating churches with the 
 monuments of departed greatness. Monuments 
 may be divided into two classes, each of which 
 has a character wholly irreconcileable with that 
 of the other, though they continue to be perpe- 
 tually confounded. — First, and according to 
 their primary intention, they are records of 
 mortality, raised to protect, or contain the re- 
 mains committed to them : such were the an- 
 cient tumuli, and are still the turf-heaps of our 
 country church-yards ; these being the simplest 
 forms by which man can commemorate the 
 decay of man. The inscribed stone, sculptured 
 sarcophagus, and votive urn or altar, were the 
 next steps by which affection sought to perpe- 
 tuate its recollections, and not unfrequently 
 to excite the sympathy of strangers by a recital of 
 the talents or the virtues of the deceased. But 
 with whatever care and expense the ancients 
 may have enlarged and decorated the recep- 
 tacles of death, they seem never to have forgot- 
 ten, or overstepped the purpose for which they 
 were erected. They placed no emblems of life 
 and triumph by the side of corruption : these 
 they reserved for their temples, forums, gar- 
 dens, and other places connected with the occu- 
 pations or enjoyments of existence. The rude 
 Christians, who established their empire on th» 
 ruins of Roman and Pagan grandeur, appear to 
 have long followed a course equally natural. 
 Their kings and chieftains were honoured with 
 
 g 2 
 
PARIS. 
 
 coffins of more durable materials, than the in- 
 glorious commonalty ; but their statues, if they 
 had any, were placed in front of the edifices 
 they had founded, or restored, while their mor- 
 tal remains rotted with £ those of their humbler 
 brethren in the common church-yard. Even 
 when the practice was introduced of burying 
 withinside of churches, and taste and vanity 
 began to be exerted in displays of monumental 
 splendour, a character was adopted in these 
 structures, which admirably united their original 
 intent with the feelings of Christian belief. 
 Warriors and prelates lay in their magnificent 
 chauntries, in attitudes of rest and humiliation, 
 which told they were brought down to the dust, 
 and that their glory had passed from them: 
 the figures sculptured round their tombs, were 
 the silent representatives of that Christian con- 
 gregation, whose prayers and masses they begged 
 for the repose of their souls. Such is the uni- 
 versal character of Gothic monuments, which 
 seem on all occasions to adhere strictly to the 
 original design of such structures: the effect 
 they produce, and the feelings they excite, are 
 consequently always appropriate. They are 
 records of the grave, triumphant over the prin- 
 cipalities of earth. 
 
 A second class of monuments was designed 
 to perpetuate the memory of such deeds and 
 characters, as might rouse the emulation, or had 
 a claim to the gratitude, of posterity. The pur- 
 port of such memorials, is evidently the reverse 
 
PARIS. 
 
 8S, 
 
 of that of the former class ; and the distinction; 
 betwixt them was studiously observed, both by 
 the ancients, and by the modern nations of 
 Europe, previous to the introduction of the 
 arts from Greece and Italy. But it is to the old 
 Greeks and Romans, we must especially refer 
 for good taste in this particular : justly con- 
 sidering such monuments as no longer referring 
 to a fleeting and perishable state of being, they 
 separated them from the spot which marked the 
 triumph of mortality. The breathing forms of 
 demigods and sages stood erect amid such 
 scenes, and in such situations, as had been 
 once consecrated by their living presence, or 
 were deemed most forcibly to recall their me- 
 mories. Even when adulation had learnt to 
 deify imperial vices, the temple was not erected 
 over, bones and ashe*s, but consecrated to a 
 being who shared the board and quaffed the 
 nectar of immortal agencies. The Egyptians 
 alone among the ancients, seem to have had a 
 taste for mummies and skeletons. 
 
 The revival of the arts in Europe, first intro- 
 duced a confusion of these two classes of monu- 
 ments, which has continued to increase ever 
 since ; a consequence of which is, that churches 
 which every day resound with the nothingness 
 of human grandeur, and the emptiness of our 
 proudest achievements, the temples in short of 
 humility and self-abasement, are filled with 
 gorgeous commemorations of worldly exploits, 
 and proud personifications of our most anti- 
 
 g 3 
 
86 
 
 christian feelings. What have fame, glory, and 
 victory, to do with a religion which teaches, that 
 with our best efforts, we are unprofitable ser- 
 vants ? What means this sepulchral pomp set 
 up over the remains of " miserable sinners ?" 
 Are men taught " to take no thought for to- 
 " morrow," by erecting trophies to human 
 foresight and exertion ? What example of de- 
 votion, prostration of the understanding, and 
 renunciation of worldly vanities, is enforced by 
 the mausoleums of warriors, statesmen, and 
 philosophers, many of whom are known either 
 to have despised the influence of religion, or to 
 have prostituted its name for secular purposes ? 
 Yet nations, their epitaphs tell us, weep over 
 them; their memories are hallowed; their 
 names live for ever.— -The truth is, the spirit of 
 the age is at war with the spirit of religion ; but 
 why force them into an unnatural connection, 
 which serves but to illustrate their discord? The 
 apotheosis of human nature belongs to philoso- 
 phy •, it is for religion to preach its impotence and 
 degradation. The appropriation therefore of a 
 building, like the Pantheon, to the reception of 
 monuments of the second class, seems an idea de- 
 serving the patronage of any government, what- 
 ever might be its political or religious sentiments. 
 
 The vaults and galleries beneath the Pan- 
 theon are admirably arranged as places of sepul- 
 ture. There is literally " snug lying in the 
 " abbey." Each vault is fitted up to contain 
 several rows of stone coffins, or sarcophagi, in 
 
PARIS. 
 
 87 
 
 which many dignitaries of the empire and king- 
 dom are already installed: among them are 
 General Regnier, Admiral de Winter, and 
 Marshal Lasnes ; who have probably been join- 
 ed by Cambaceres, and the Duke of Feltre. 
 The remains of Voltaire and Rousseau are in 
 separate vaults, but their wooden tombs are in 
 a state of decay ; nor is it improbable they may 
 be themselves destined to a further pilgrimage. 
 Nothing can more sensibly mark Parisian ver- 
 satility, than that, after having torn Voltaire 
 from his repose at Ferney, and Rousseau from 
 his beloved " Isle of Poplars," to immure them 
 in these splendid dungeons, their bones should 
 have been left without the ordinary protection 
 of a stone coffin. There is a statue of Voltaire, 
 very .much out of place in these vaults ; though 
 it is probable the bigots think him not yet low 
 enough. 
 
 § %. THE BURYING GROUND OF PERE LA CHAISE.. 
 
 When the stranger has examined the stately 
 sepulchres of the Pantheon, in architectural: 
 arrangement the first probably in the universe, 
 let him direct his steps towards the cemetery of 
 Fere la Chaise. Its site is a commanding emi- 
 nence, called Mont Louis, to the north of the 
 city, being a prolongation of the heights of 
 Mont Martre. It covers a considerable extent 
 of ground, the surface of which is irregular 
 and undulating, and shaded in places with 
 
 g 4 
 
88 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 clumps of trees, very much in the manner of 
 an English pleasure-ground. Winding gravel- 
 walks divide it into plots of graves and tomb- 
 stones: each of these is the cherished property 
 of a family, and each stone gleams over a bed 
 of flowers, surrounded by a light hedge, or trellis- 
 work. At the period of my visit, the soil was 
 literally glowing, and the air perfumed, with 
 these numberless patches of sweets and colours. 
 Pots, containing rare and delicate plants, were 
 set round many of the tombs ; garlands and 
 votive offerings were suspended on others, by 
 the hands of parental sorrow, filial affection, 
 or youthful companionship. It may be, that 
 in many cases, this was but the affectation of 
 feeling ; a parade of sentiment, got up to look 
 like sorrow. Our baser nature is but too apt 
 to believe this ; yet of all affectations, that 
 surely is the most pardonable, which comes 
 upon, us in the guise of a mourner, watering 
 flowers round the tomb. It is difficult, more- 
 over, to imitate feelings of so sacred a character, 
 without becoming, in a certain degree, suscep- 
 tible of their influence ; it is difficult to plant 
 a rose-bush on the grave of parent, child, 
 friend, or mistress, and see its blossoms expand 
 in a returning summer-sun, without directing a 
 thought towards that mortal wreck upon which 
 no sun shall shine again. ' It is difficult to have 
 thoughts occasionally so bestowed, without some- 
 what disdaining our every-day selfishness, and 
 feeling convinced to what a pitiful end we urge 
 
PARIS. 
 
 89 
 
 the toilsome march of vanity and passion. — Thou 
 art sleepless, O Avarice! care-worn, and hast 
 no man's blessing ; yet 'twere well done if thy 
 ingots could redeem one friend from this " cold 
 " obstruction 1" As it is, what profits it to have 
 made life a torment ? — Ambition has desolated 
 the earth ; but, unless the kingly ermine be 
 proof against the " icy fingers" of mortality, 
 'twere better to have left the cottage unscathed, 
 and the vineyard unblasted. 
 
 I observed the most conspicuous monuments 
 in this church-yard, to be piled over the bones 
 of some vieux negotiant, or banquier ; but no 
 one had been bold enough in affectation of 
 sorrow to plant a flower, or suspend a wreath, 
 round their ponderous hiding-places : a poor 
 policy too is theirs, to raise such massive forti- 
 fications against sunshine, and dews, and the 
 starry eyes of heaven. Two stone sarcophagi 
 contain the bodies of Moliere and La Fontaine : 
 " Moliere est dans ce tombeau," is epitaph suf- 
 ficient for the former: there is a simple hu- 
 mour, such as we find in his own fables, in that 
 of the latter, " Jean s'en alia comme il etoit 
 venu :" 'tis a quiet satire on the world, as con- 
 taining nothing capable of changing or in- 
 fluencing a philosopher. Delille, Fourcroy, 
 Sonnini, and other literary characters, are* also 
 buried here : among them Madame Cottin. 
 Here, too, without a stone or name, sleeps 
 Michel Ney, Prince of Moskwa, "the bravest 
 " of the brave." I am not disposed to consider 
 
 t 
 
90 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 at any length the legality of the sentence by 
 which he was consigned to this resting-place ; 
 there is, however, one view of the question 
 sufficiently simple : — if the allies took possession 
 of Paris by a convention purely military, what 
 meaning should be attached to that part of the 
 xiith article, which guarantees all individuals 
 from being " disturbed or called to account, as 
 to their conduct or political opinions?" The 
 allies, as foreign enemies, could have no concern 
 with the political sentiments of French indivi- 
 duals : this was a matter solely betwixt them 
 and their government. The allies could have 
 no pretext for intermeddling in questions of in- 
 ternal politics, than so far as they might be con- 
 sidered acting in concert with Louis XVIII. 
 Either, therefore, this article was an ensnaring 
 nullity, or Louis violated an engagement to 
 which he must be considered a party. Again, 
 when Louis, who, with his faithful Frenchmen, 
 seems always to have considered the baggage as 
 the post of honour, was preparing to re-enter 
 Paris, he proclaimed pardon to all who had been 
 * misled" in the late transactions ; thereby 
 drawing a line of distinction betwixt such, and 
 those, if any, who had plotted the return of 
 Bonaparte : but, that Ney was ever engaged in 
 such a plot, not the slightest proof was offered ; 
 his behaviour was that of a weak man, whose 
 confident assurances in the first instance, only 
 rendered his subsequent weakness in yielding to 
 the torrent of circumstances, and ascendancy 
 
PARIS. 
 
 91 
 
 of Bonaparte's character, more conspicuous and 
 disgraceful ; but, in this species of inconsis- 
 tency, nobody more resembled Marshal Ney 
 than King Louis himself, who, on the first news 
 of Bonaparte's arrival from Elba, declared his 
 resolution to die in his good city of Paris, rather 
 than fly before the face of the foe ; on whose 
 nearer approach he was, however, prevailed 
 upon to desist from so bloody a resolution, and 
 preferred picking his capon in safety at Ghent, 
 to the chance of a more intimate acquaintance 
 with St. Louis, and other his holy relatives : a 
 natural infirmity, with which few would have 
 been so rigorous as to reproach him, had it 
 taught him to make some allowance for the 
 weakness of others ; nor, do I believe his 
 throne would have been more insecure than it 
 is at present, if, instead of sending to death a 
 man, whose name was inwrought with the glory 
 of the French arms, he had frankly pardoned 
 him, with a good-humoured remark, that they 
 ought both to be more cautious in future of 
 making rash protestations : — but this is a matter 
 now gone by ; though probably there are thou- 
 sands living, who would as readily choose the 
 soldier's grave, as the monarch's indigestion. 
 
 Of all the monumental records which re- 
 membrance has consecrated, not only in the 
 Cimetiere of Pere la Chaise, but in any age or 
 country, there is none to which attention is 
 more willingly rivetted, than to that of Heloise 
 and Abelard. It consists of a Gothic mauso- 
 
92 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 leum, each side of which presents a triangular 
 pediment, surmounted by an ornamented cross, 
 and resting on open arches, supported by light 
 columns, approaching the style of Corinthian: 
 at each corner is an elegant pinnacle, finished 
 with crockets, ; a graceful spire of open arch- 
 work rises from the centre of the roof, and is 
 terminated by a rich pinnacle, and finial, re- 
 sembling a pine-apple. A tomb is in the centre 
 of the edifice, on which the statues of the 
 lovers are placed in a recumbent posture : several 
 images of saints are niched on either side of it: 
 it bears this inscription ; " Les testes d'Heloise 
 " et d'Abelard sont reunis dans ce tombeau" 
 This monument was saved from the ruins of 
 Paraclete, and transferred from the Musee des 
 Monumens, to its present situation, in a verdant 
 corner of the cemetery, where we may rea- 
 sonably hope, neither rage nor party will 
 trouble it further. * Nearly seven centuries 
 have gone by, since the bones and ashes it en- 
 shrines " lived and moved, and had their 
 " being yet their loves and sufferings are as 
 green in our memories, and have as powerful a 
 hold upon our sympathies, as though they had 
 
 * Abelard died at the priory of Saint Marcel, near 
 Chalons-sur- Sadne : his body was secretly removed from 
 ,. thence by Peter de Clugny, who sent it to Eloise, then 
 Abbess of Paraclete; by whom it was placed in the cloister 
 of her convent. She survived her lover 20 years, and was 
 placed by his side in 1163. It is probable the present 
 -mausoleum is, in some degree, the work of M.Lenoir. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 93 
 
 died } r esterday : nor can this celebrity be as- 
 cribed to the rank they held, and the space they 
 occupied in the eyes of the generation with 
 which they lived. With whatever envy or ad- 
 miration the literary attainments and philosophic 
 genius of Abelard may have been regarded by 
 his contemporaries ; however he may have 
 rested on them his hopes of future glory, it is 
 very long since they have ceased even to excite 
 curiosity. It is as the lover of Heloise, Abelard 
 descends to posterity : the passion with which 
 he probably reproached himself, as a weakness, 
 and considered, in some respects, as a bar to 
 his celebrity, is now all that can be said to have 
 survived him ; — a curious instance of the man- 
 ner in which fortune sports with fame, yet one 
 by which nature is justified. It is by human 
 feelings only human sympathy can be strongly 
 thralled ; but, when these have been set into 
 powerful action, they sway through all climes 
 and ages ; they become the romance and poetry 
 of existence; so that whatever is great, glorious, 
 or beautiful, in mortal agency, " 'tis to these we 
 " owe it." — I several times visited this cemetery 
 during my stay at Paris : when a bright sun was 
 shining on its tombs and flowers, I could almost 
 fancy the cheering influence extended to those 
 who slept, and that the features of the death- 
 angel grew less repulsive while contemplated in 
 unison with the loveliness of nature. 
 
94 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 § 3. THE CATACOMBS. 
 
 There is, in the southern fauxbourg of the 
 city, a third receptacle of mortality, wholly 
 different, both from the stately vaults of the 
 Pantheon, and the garden of Pere la Chaise. 
 The subterranean quarries, which had immemo- 
 rially furnished stone for the buildings of Paris, 
 were appropriated, in 1786, to receive the bones 
 collected from the various burying grounds, 
 which had exhaled a pestilential vapour in the 
 very heart of the population ; their suppression 
 was, therefore, an admirable regulation of po- 
 lice : but, to make it the occasion of an exhi- 
 bition, and to build the relics of their ancestors 
 into a subterranean temple, was an idea worthy 
 of Parisian genius. 
 
 There is no external appearance to designate 
 the site of the Catacombs. A mean building, 
 like a toll-house, covers the well stair-case, by 
 which, having been previously furnished with 
 tapers* you descend 90 feet, into this mighty 
 magazine of mortality. After this close, toil- 
 some descent, long low-browed caverns, the dark 
 brown sides of which glimmer feebly, as the 
 taper-lights fall upon the moisture constantly 
 trickling down them, here meet the eye. These, 
 as you continue to advance, seem to branch 
 out into endless labyrinths and ramifications. 
 Having been casually separated from the com- 
 pany who descended at the same time, I had an 
 
PARIS. 
 
 95 
 
 opportunity of taking up poor Juliet's appre- 
 hensions, and considering, for some minutes, 
 the situation of a solitary human being, left to 
 explore an exit from their dreary mazes. The 
 flickering light of my taper, pierced but a few feet 
 through the surrounding darkness : the damp air 
 gathered round it like a smoke : the echoes of 
 the footsteps of my companions quickly died 
 into silence, and were succeeded by the heavy 
 plashes of water from the walls, now fearfully 
 audible, when " other sounds were none." — 
 Each dismal aperture and turning presented an 
 equal chance of error; nor could reason give 
 any assurance that I might not wander " fathoms 
 " deep" in darkness, till I became qualified to 
 join the ordinary occupants of this " palace of 
 " dim night." I indulged this fancy the more 
 willingly, because there was little chance of its 
 being realised ; our guide following in our 
 rear to pick up stragglers and introduce us into 
 the vaults, strictly called The Catacombs, which 
 are at some distance from the stair-case, and 
 kept locked. On either side of this entrance 
 is a Tuscan pilaster, supporting an entablature, 
 on one of which is inscribed ; " Arretez mortels! 
 " c'est I' empire de la Mort." — and on the other, 
 " Has ultra metas requiescunt, beatam spem ex- 
 " pectantes." 
 
 The scene now presented is highly curious : 
 walls of bones, piled with masonic regularity, 
 extend through seemingly endless avenues ; 
 here and there chapels, altars, and crucifixes, 
 
96 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 are built of the same materials*; 2,400,000 
 skulls are formed into various figures, and archi- 
 tectural embellishments : the wise, the mighty, 
 and the beautiful, are thus all confounded into 
 rhomboids, parallel lines, and circles : but 
 one cranium has obtained an honorary distinc- 
 tion : it is placed singly on a pedestal, and was 
 declared by Dr. Gall, to have once adorned 
 the shoulders of a witty and beautiful woman. 
 The craniologist triumphs here : those dry jaw- 
 bones will never wag to give the lie to his hypo- 
 thesis. Be it true, however, it profits nothing ; 
 since wit and beauty must come " to this 
 " favour." 
 
 But what feeling is inspired by this collection 
 of human relics? Does it dispose us to abjure 
 our worldly vanities, and grow wise with the 
 idea of one day joining this goodly assembly ? — 
 " Not a jot." The disproportion betwixt our 
 breathing forms, and these dry disjointed ana- 
 tomies, is too great to excite our sympathies. 
 In vain do numerous moral inscriptions remind 
 us, that as these are, we shall be. The pride 
 of life rejects, with a degree of scorn, such 
 loathsome claims of relationship. Were all these 
 skulls to hammer out the chorus of " voi sarete 
 come noi" such an admonition, but for its no- 
 velty, would only tempt our laughter : nor was 
 it possible to consider the small respect inspired 
 by these, our forerunners in the high road of 
 non-entity, without recalling the sentiment so 
 admirably expressed by Sir Thomas Brown, in 
 
PARIS. 
 
 97 
 
 his Religio Medici. « I am not so much afraid 
 *< of death (says he) as ashamed thereof: 'tis 
 " the very disgrace and ignominy of our na- 
 t£ tures, that in a moment can so disfigure us, 
 " that our nearest friends, wife and children, 
 " stand afraid and start at us. The birds and 
 " beasts of the field, that before in a natural 
 " fear obeyed us, forgetting all allegiance, 
 *' begin to prey upon us." There is in one of 
 the recesses of these caverns, a small chapel, 
 with an altar of expiation : on the wall is in- 
 scribed, " £d September, 1792" — a thrilling 
 record, more awful than these assembled mil- 
 lions of bones, about whose destinies we are 
 both ignorant and uninterested. 
 
 § 4. MUSEE DES MONUMENS FRANCAIS. 
 
 Though this collection is on the point of 
 being dissipated, it is no unsuitable conclusion 
 to a ramble through the tombs, to notice some 
 of its most remarkable monuments, which have, 
 as yet, no precise place of destination ; the reli- 
 gious houses to which they belonged having 
 been destroyed. Such as were saved from St. 
 Denis, and other churches, have most of them 
 been restored. This is no matter of regret: 
 they lost half their natural interest by being 
 brought together in show-rooms, patched and 
 ticketed, like antiquities and old china at an 
 auction. It should not, however, be forgotten, 
 that for their existence in any state, France is 
 indebted to the zeal and exertions of M. Lenoir, 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 who saved them, at considerable expense and 
 personal hazard, from the barbarous fanaticism 
 which would have wiped France out of history. 
 
 No. 105. A column of white marble, richly 
 adorned with sculpture, formerly erected in the 
 Celestine Convent to the memory of Anne of 
 Montmorency, Constable of France, under 
 Francis L, whose prudent and skilful conduct 
 saved his country, during an invasion of 
 Charles V. in 1521. After many noble exploits, 
 he was shot through the body by Robert Stuart, 
 a Scotch gentleman, at the battle of St. Denis, 
 in 1567, Though mortally wounded, he re- 
 tained sufficient prowess to knock out several of 
 his antagonist's teeth before he fell. He died 
 the next day, and was buried with royal honours. 
 His reply to a cordelier, who was teasing him 
 during his last moments to make a good end, is 
 well known — "Do you think," said he, " I 
 have lived eighty years without having learnt to 
 die for a quarter of an hour." * 
 
 * The picture given of him by Brantome has so much of 
 true old baronial courage, superstition, and harshness, that 
 I cannot refrain from transcribing it: — " Parlons a cette 
 " heure de ce grand Monsieur le Connestable, Messire Anne 
 « de Montmorency. II portoit le nom d'Anne\ pour estre 
 " filleul de cette brave Anne" de Bretagne, Reyne de France, 
 " et celuy que Ton dit avoir este le premier gentil-homme 
 <f et Baron Chrestien de la France, ce qui lui redonde a un 
 c < tres-grand honneur. Aussi a-t-il bien sceu en soy entre- 
 « tenir ce Christianisme tant qu'il a dur£, et n'en a jamais 
 u deroge : ne manquant jamais a ses devotions, ny k ses 
 « prieres; car tous les matins, il ne failloit de dire et entre- 
 
PARTS. 
 
 99 
 
 108. The mausoleum of Rene Birague, Chan- 
 cellor and Cardinal of France, and of his wife 
 Balbiani ; from the Abbey of Val-des-Ecoliers. 
 Birague united with the Guises, and Catherine 
 of Medici, to effect the massacre of St. Bar- 
 tholomew : the following epitaph therefore well 
 becomes him : 
 
 Quid tibi opus statua est ? satis est, statuisse Bibrage, 
 Virtutis passim tot monumenta tua?. 
 
 His arms are — a shield semee de trefles, three 
 bars battled, and counter-embattled. The statue 
 of his wife, in a richly flowered habit, reclines on 
 a couch, ornamented in the same manner. Be- 
 low, a bas-relief represents her in all the ghast- 
 
 « tenir ses Patenostres, fust qu'il ne bougeast du logis, ou 
 « fust qu'il montasta cheval, et allastparmy les champs, aux 
 " armees : parmy lesquelles on disoit, qu'il se falloit garder 
 " des Patenostres de Monsieur le Connestable ; car en les 
 disant ou marmotant, lors que les occasions se presen- 
 " toient, comme force debordements et desordres y arrivent, 
 «' maintenantil disoit : < Allez-moy prendre un tel: attachez 
 2 celuy-la a un arbre : faites passer celuy-la par les picques 
 *' tout ^ cette heure, ou les harquebusez tous devant moy. 
 <£ Taillez-moy en pieces tous ces marauts qui oht vouhi 
 « tenir ce clocher contre le Roy. Bruslez-moy ce village. 
 <l Boutez-moy le feu partout k un quart de lieue a la ronde:' 
 <c et ainsi-tels ou sembiables mots de justice et police de 
 " guerre proferoit-il selon ces occurrences, sans se desbau- 
 <{ cher nullement de ses Paters, jusques a ce qu'il les eust 
 4< parachevez ; pensant faire une grande erreur, s'il les eust 
 *' remis a dire a une autre heure, tant il estoit conscien- 
 * e tieux." Vie des Hommes iltustres, etc. Discours 62. 
 
 H c > 
 
100 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 liness of the last stage of consumption, of which 
 disease she died. The sculptor is Germain 
 Pilon. 
 
 159. Against the garden wall of the museum, 
 and still used as a fountain, is the monument of 
 Pomponne de Believre, taken from the Hotel 
 
 d'O— , in the Vielle Rue du Temple, where it 
 
 was erected for a similar purpose. Pomponne 
 de Believre was minister to Henry III., and 
 surnamed the Nestor of his age. He died in 
 1607. His bust is very ably executed : under 
 it is written, 
 
 Culpa nocet private paucis, at regia multrs— 
 
 an inscription worthy of every palace gate in 
 Europe, even at the risk of teaching the young 
 dauphins and infantas, that the first syllable in 
 paucis is a short one. 
 
 165. The mausoleum of the De Thous, com- 
 prising the bust of Christopher de Thou, Lord 
 of Bonueil, first president of Paris, who died in 
 1584 : the statue of his son, James Augustus 
 de Thou, the historian, who died in 1617 : 
 those of his two wives, and a fine allegorical 
 bas-relief in bronze, with the motto, Quid nos 
 patria ? 
 
 168. A kneeling statue in alabaster of Wil- 
 liam de Montmorency, father of the Constable 
 Anne. A Knight Templar, and the friend of 
 the last grand master, James Molay, whose fate 
 he shared. The cross is sculptured on his sur* 
 coat. 
 
PARIS. 101 
 t 
 
 174. The mausoleum of the Cardinal Riche- 
 lieu, designed by Lebrun, and considered as the 
 chef-d'ceuvre of Giradon. The cardinal is dying 
 in the arms of Religion : the muse of history 
 weeps at his feet. Two genii support his arms 
 — a shield with three ch&vronels. This monu- 
 ment was rescued from the destruction of the 
 Sorbonne, by M. Lenoir, who actually lost a 
 finger in warding off a blow aimed at one of the 
 figures. 
 
 186 and. 204. A mausoleum and marble 
 column in honour of the Rostaing family, from , 
 the Feuillans. The arms of Tristan, Marquis 
 of Rostaing, who died in 1591, are — per Jess in 
 chief, a castle embattled with three towers: in 
 base a Catherine wheel. His son Charles bears 
 quarterly, 1. a castle embattled with three- 
 towers ; 2. upon a bend sinister a chain between 
 three mullets of 5 points, one and two; 3. a 
 Catherine wheel; 4. a cross between 4 estoilles of 
 six points, pierced. 
 
 4t4?7. . The monument of Villiers de I/Isle 
 Adam, grand master of the order of Malta, 
 famous for his defence of Rhodes : he died in 
 1534. His mailed effigy reposes upon a tomb, 
 on which is inscribed — Cest ici que repose 
 la vertu, victorieuse de la fortune. His arms, as 
 sculptured beneath, are, quarterly 1 and 4 
 Malta ; % and 3, quarterly, 1 and 4, a hand and 
 manche ; % and 3, semee de trefles, two dolphins 
 hauriant adosse. This monument is from the 
 Temple Church. 
 
 h 3 
 
W°2 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 458. The statues of Henry II. and Catherine 
 de Medicis, stretched on their tomb, naked, and 
 seeming to have been embalmed, for their 
 bodies have been sewed up : their appearance 
 is ghastly, and cadaverous ; one almost expects 
 to smell corruption while looking at them. The 
 sculptor is Germain Pilon. 
 
 541. The mausoleum of the Chancellor de 
 L'Hopital (or Chancellor of the Hospital, as 
 one of my countrymen, who was looking over 
 the monuments at the same time with myself, 
 ingeniously interpreted it). He is kneeling on 
 his tomb, which is adorned with a fine relief, 
 representing the Judgment of Solomon, and the 
 bust of Michel Hurault, his son : below is his 
 device : Si Jractus illabatur orbis, impavidum 
 ferient ruince. He was said to have borne a 
 strong resemblance in countenance to Aristotle ; 
 but Brantome observes : " To have seen him 
 " with his long white beard, his pale face, and 
 " grave deportment, one would have said he 
 " was a true picture of St. Jerome ; as was ob- 
 " served by many about court." This monu- 
 ment is also the work of Pilon. 
 
 466. The mausoleum of Diana of Poictiers, 
 Duchess of Valentinois, from the chapel of her 
 chateau of Anet. Her statue is lying on a 
 tomb of black marble, supported by four 
 sphinxes' heads, which are again resting on a 
 pedestal, supported by four nymphs ; the latter 
 are the work of Germain Pilon, but are an ad- 
 dition of M. Lenoir's, as well as the beautiful 
 
 *1 
 
PARIS. 
 
 103 
 
 enamels, and many other ornaments of this 
 monument. It bears these verses, one of which 
 I could not entirely decypher; but it is cer- 
 tainly not hiatus valde deflendus : 
 
 Opibusque potens gelido tamen ecce Diana 
 
 Marmore proteritur, vermibus esca jacens. 
 
 Terra cadaver habet, sed mens tellure relict^ 
 Morte novans vitam regna beata petit. 
 
 In the garden is a charming group in white 
 marble, also brought from Anet, the work of 
 Jean Goujon, representing this lady as Diana, 
 with one arm thrown over the neck of a stag, 
 and two hounds crouching near her. Her 
 figure and countenance are of Grecian beauty, 
 and readily explain by what sorceiy ("for so 
 she was charged withal") she fascinated the 
 hearts and intellects of two kings. According 
 to Brantome, her beauty retained all its fresh- 
 ness to her 70th year, in which she died. 
 " C'est dommage" (adds this gallant historian) 
 " que la terre couvre ce beau corps." " C'est dom- 
 mage /" I should rather say, that to a full 
 allowance of the frailties of her sex, she did not 
 unite those softer feelings by which they are 
 usually accompanied, and not unfrequently re- 
 deemed. Besides being " the spunge which 
 soaked up all the king's authority," and the 
 enemy of such men as the Chancellor de L'Ho- 
 pital, she contrived, like the Empress Theodora, 
 to unite profligacy of manners with the orthodox 
 zeal of a persecutor, carrying her scruples of 
 
 h 4 
 
104 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 conscience so far as not even to hold converse 
 with persons suspected of heresy.* 
 
 M. Lenoir has preserved the following copy 
 of verses, as a specimen of her poetic talent. 
 
 Voici vraisment, qu'amour un beau matin, 
 S'en vint m'offrir flourette tres-gentille, 
 — La se prit-il, aournez vostre teint, 
 Et vistement violiers et jonquille, 
 Me rejettait, a tant, que ma mantille 
 En £tait pleine et mon cceur en pasmait, 
 (Car, voyez-vous, flourette si gentille 
 Estait gar$on frais, dispos et jeunnet.) 
 
 Ainsi tramblottante et destournante les yeux 
 
 Nenni .... disoi-je — Ah ne serez de^ue, 
 
 Reprit amour et soudain a ma vue 
 
 Va pr£sentant un laurier merveilleux. 
 
 — Mieux vault, cui dis-je estre sasge que Royne 
 
 Ains me sentis et fraimer et trembler, 
 
 Diane faillit, et comprendrez sans peine 
 
 Du quel matin je praitends reparler. 
 
 546. A marble column erected to the memory 
 of Philip Desportes, canon of the Abbey of 
 Bonport, a celebrated poet in the time of 
 Henry III. and IV. ; with his medallion in 
 bronze. He is the author of the following 
 charming lines, placed in the museum, opposite 
 to Diana's epitaph by Francis I. 
 
 * Theodore de Beza attributes the persecution of the 
 Protestants during the reign of Henry II. chiefly to the 
 counsels of three persons, — the Cardinal of Lorraine, the 
 Duchess of Valentinois, and the Marshal Saint Andre\ 'Twas 
 to be yoked in a sorry triumvirate. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 105 
 
 O sommeil, doux repos des travaux ordinaires, 
 Charmant par ta douceur les pensers ennemis ! 
 Charme ses yeux d' Argus qui me sont si contraires, 
 Et retardant mon bien faute d'etre endormis. 
 Je voudrais ttre roi, pour faire une ordonnance, 
 Que chacun dut, la nuit, au logis se tenir : 
 Les amoureux, sans plus, d'aller auraient licence. 
 Si quelque autre sortait, je le ferais punir. 
 
 The three following copies of verses are 
 graven in different parts of the museum. They 
 are estimable for their simple pathos, so unlike 
 the frigidpomposity which generally distinguishes 
 French poetry : — 
 
 i. The Queen of Scots' " adieu to France,'* 
 by herself. 
 
 Adieu plaisant pays de France, 
 
 O ma patrie 
 
 La plus cherie ! 
 Qui a nourri ma jeune existance; 
 Adieu France, adieu nos beaux jours : 
 La nef qui dejoint nos amours 
 N'a eu de moi que la moitie\ 
 Une parte te reste, elle est tienne 
 J e la fie a ton amiti£, 
 Pour que de l'autre il te souvienne. 
 
 & The epitaph of Margaret of Valois, first 
 wife of Henry IV. written by herself, and 
 copied by M. Lenoir, from a manuscript in her 
 own hand in the king's library.* 
 
 * This ex-queen kept a court in Pari* till the time of her 
 death. Mezeray thus describes her in it : — " Ce fut 
 
106 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Ceste brillante fleur de l'arbre de Valoys, 
 
 En qui mourust le nom de tant de puissans roys, 
 
 Marguerite, pour qui tant de lauriers fleurirent, 
 
 Pour qui tant de bouquets chez les M uses se firent 7 
 
 A vu fleurs et lauriers, sur sa tete s£cher, 
 
 Et, par un coup fatal , les lys s'en detacher. 
 
 Las ! le cercle royal dont l'avoit couronnee, 
 
 En tumulte et sans ordre un trop prompt hymenee, 
 
 Rompu du mesme coup devant ses pieds tombant, 
 
 La laissa comme un tronc degrade par les vents. 
 
 Espouse sans espoux, et royne sans royaume, 
 
 Vaine ombre du passe, grand et noble fantosme, 
 
 Elle traisna depuis les restes de son sort, 
 
 Et vist jusqu'a son nom mourir avant sa mort. 
 
 3. An epitaph for Mary of Medicis, Henry 
 IVth's second wife, who died miserably at Co- 
 logne, in 1642, a victim to the intriguing am- 
 bition of Cardinal Richelieu.* — The author is 
 not known. 
 
 Le Louvre de Paris vit eclater ma gloire : 
 
 Le nom de mon epoux, d'immortelle memoire, 
 
 " qu'elle tint sa petite cour le reste de ses jours, entremelant 
 " bijarrement les voluptez et la devotion, l'amour des lettres 
 " et celui de la vanite ; la charity chretienne et l'injustice, car 
 " comme elle se piquoit d'etre vue souvent a l'eglise, d'en- 
 " tretenir des hommes scavans, et de donner la dixme de 
 " ses revenus aux moines, elle faisoit gloire d'avoir toujours 
 " quelque galanterie, d'inventer des nouveaux divertisse- 
 " mens, et de ne paier jamais ses dettes." — Abrege Chronol. 
 t. iii. p. 516. 
 
 * " The widow of Henry the Great," says Voltaire, " the 
 mother of a King of France, the mother-in-law of three 
 kings, was often in want of the necessaries of life." — Essai 
 sur hs Mceurs et VEsprit des Nations, c. 176. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 107 
 
 Est plac£ dans le ciel comme un astre nouveau. 
 
 Pour gendres j'eus deux rois ; pourfils ce clair flambleau 
 
 Qui, par mille rayons brillera dans l'histoire. 
 
 Parmi tant de grandeur (lepourra-t-on bien croire ?) 
 
 Je suis morte en exil ; Cologne est mon tombeau ! 
 
 Cologne, ceil des cites de la terre allemande, 
 
 Si jamais un passant te demande 
 
 Le funeste r£cit des maux que j'ai soufferts ? 
 
 Dis : ce triste cereueil chetivement en serre 
 
 La reine dont le sang coule en tout l'univers, 
 
 Qui n'eut pas en mourant, un seul pouce de terre ! 
 
 § 5. Palaces and Galleries. 
 
 The palaces of Paris may be classed like the 
 churches, according to their dates and styles. 
 
 The Palais de Justice is the only specimen 
 of the Gothic period. It was the usual resid- 
 ence of the French kings until Charles V., since 
 whose time it has been used as a Wesminster 
 Hall, thus characterised by Boileau ; 
 
 Entre ces vieux appuis, dont l'affreuse Grand' Sale 
 
 Soutient l'enorme poids de sa voute infernale, 
 
 Est un pilier fameux, des plaideurs respecte", 
 
 Et toujours de Normans a midi fr£quent6. 
 
 La sur des tas poudreux de sacs et de pratique, 
 
 Heurle tous les matins une Sibylle etique : 
 
 On l'appelle Chicane, et ce monstre odieux 
 
 Jamais pour 1'equite" n'eut d'oreilles ni d'yeux. 
 
 La Disette au teint blfime, et la triste Famine, 
 
 Les Chagrins devorans, et 1'infame Rui'ne, 
 
 Enfans infortunez de ses raffinemens, 
 
 Troublent l'air d'alentour de longs gemissemens., 
 
 Sans cesse feuilletant les loix et la coutume, 
 
 Pour consumer autrui, le Monstre se consume, 
 
 Et devorant maisons, palais, chateaux entiers, 
 
 Itend pour des monceaux d'or de vains tas de papiers. 
 
108 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 The round towers, terminating in conical 
 roofs, and the ancient walls by which they are 
 connected, were raised by King Robert, about 
 the year 1000. Within the court is' La Sainte 
 Chapelle, a Gothic structure of exquisite archi- 
 tectural beauty. The occasion of its building 
 deserves to be remembered. It was raised, at 
 an immense expense, by St. Louis, for the re- 
 ception of the crown of thorns, sponge, and 
 holy lance, with which he had been presented 
 by Baldwin II. a very needy Emperor of Con- 
 stantinople, in consideration of a present of 
 10,000 marks of silver. Nor did these relics 
 prove barren, since in little more than 400 years 
 after their installation, that is A. D. 1656, a 
 touch of one of the holy prickles cured the 
 niece of the celebrated Pascal, of an ulcer in her 
 finger, and thereby saved the institution of Port 
 Royal, which was sustaining at the time a pole- 
 mical siege by the Jesuits. This was a miracle 
 worth a legend, being attested by the presence 
 of Pascal himself, as well as of Drs. Arnaud, 
 and Nicole ; and recorded by Racine, to the 
 confusion of the Jesuits, who with all their 
 sagacity were unable to invalidate it. Voltaire, 
 indeed, (Siecle de Louis XIV. c. 33.) sneers at 
 the idea of God's working a miracle on a little 
 girl's sore finger, in favour of the doctrines of 
 Cornelius Jansen, while he works none to pro- 
 duce the conversion of the three-fourths of the 
 human race, who are still overshadowed with 
 heathen darkness ; but believers might reply to 
 
PARIS. 
 
 109 
 
 this observation, that God is not limited in the 
 exercise of his undoubted prerogative by human 
 notions of fitness and propriety: that when a 
 miracle is so well authenticated by eye-witnesses 
 of undisputable talent and probity, as to be 
 admitted, even by the enemies of those in 
 whose favour it is w r orked, to set up against such 
 evidence, our own ideas of fitness as to the 
 occasion of working it, is to destroy the belief 
 of miracles altogether. Some portion of this 
 crown, as well as of the other relics, is still 
 preserved in the church of Notre Dame ; but 
 their miraculous virtues, except the new regime 
 should resuscitate them, may be considered as 
 dormant for some time to come. 
 
 La Sainte Chapelle has another, and in pro- 
 fane eyes, a stronger claim to celebrity, by 
 being the principal scene of action in Boileau's 
 Lutrin. It is at present shut up, and the 
 genius of French reparation seems busy about 
 it, with most ominous activity. 
 
 The Palace of the Tuileries, commenced 
 by Catherine of Medicis, and completed by 
 Louis XIV. is probably as disagreeable a pile 
 of building as even the age of Louis XIV. has 
 given birth to. It presents a fagade of 1070 
 feet ; composed towards the Place du Carrousel 
 of seven discordant parcels of building, capped 
 with high Dutch roofs, and tall chimneys, and 
 decorated with all sizes and orders of columns : 
 towards the garden the discrepancy of parts is 
 equally striking and preposterous ; nor, if we 
 
110 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 except its size, has the whole palace a single 
 claim to admiration. 
 
 To describe the gardens is but to give the 
 proportions of a certain number of diagrams, 
 filled with trees and flower-beds, and edged 
 with cauliflower-headed orange-trees, in large 
 tubs. There are, however, some good pieces of 
 sculpture, principally copies from the antique, 
 and the walks are always enlivened by crowds of 
 idlers of all classes, parading the long alleys, or 
 lounging under the trees, and reading news- 
 papers ; and be it known, a man must be indeed 
 idle who can find occupation in the insipidity of 
 a French newspaper. 
 
 In the centre of the Place du Carrousel, and 
 fronting the entrance of the Tuileries, (a sight 
 hateful to legitimate orbs of vision,) stands the 
 triumphal arch of Napoleon. Its height is 4>5 
 feet, its breadth 60, its thickness 20£ : its chief 
 beauties are its graceful proportions, the 
 richness of its materials, and delicacy of its 
 sculptures : its defects are want of simplicity, 
 and want of grandeur. The first arises from 
 its mixture of colours and materials ; its differ- 
 ent sorts of marble, bronze, and gilding; and 
 in some degree, perhaps, from the needless use 
 of columns, four of which are employed on 
 each front, to support almost nothing. Its want 
 of grandeur is rendered more conspicuous by 
 the wide circumambient space, and masses of 
 the Louvre and Tuileries round it. The Porte 
 St. Denis, raised by Louis XIV. is on the whole 
 
PARIS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 a happier effort : its design is simpler, and its 
 proportions larger, being J 3 feet high, on a 
 front of : its principal defect is want of 
 depth. Bonaparte seems to have been aware of 
 the defects of his first arch, when he planned 
 that of Neuilly, at the Versailles entrance of 
 Paris. It was intended to commemorate his 
 nuptials, that is, his unfortunate vanity ; and 
 little dreamt he the trophy would not have risen 
 ere he should be held in captivity under the 
 superintendence of his imperial father-in-law* 
 Its height was to have been 135 feet, and to 
 judge from the portion of it already raised, both 
 the style and execution would have been grand 
 and simple. That the Emperor had no penchant 
 for the diminutive in architecture is evident, 
 from his model of an elephant fountain, 40 
 feet high, intended to be erected in the Place 
 de la Bastille : one of the fore-legs will contain 
 a staircase, for the purpose of ascending to an 
 immense reservoir on the animal's back. It is a 
 substitution of the gigantic for the sublime. — 
 The bas-reliefs, representing the most remark- 
 able victories of the French arms, have been 
 effaced from the arch of the Place du Carrousel, 
 as if so pitiful a precaution could erase them 
 from history also. With what feelings can the 
 French nation behold the restoration of a family, 
 whose interests are at open war with its most 
 glorious remembrances ? 
 
 The Louvre Palace is indisputably an ele- 
 gant pile of architecture. The interior of the 
 
PARTS* 
 
 quadrangle is splendidly finished : the front to- 
 wards the river is rich and graceful, and the 
 eastern colonnade has been justly considered 
 one of the most elegant ornaments of Paris. 
 The coupling of the columns has been censured ; 
 but they contribute to its general magnificence, 
 and are well brought out by the depth of the 
 gallery behind them: the ground-story is, per- 
 haps, too plain for the upper, a defect particu- 
 larly observable in the principal entrance ; the 
 wings too somewhat heavily terminate each end 
 of it ; but these are blemishes which require 
 examination to become sensible ; its beauties 
 strike without effort. The whole of this palace 
 was repaired, at a great expense, by Napoleon, 
 who contrived to introduce so many N's and 
 eagles among the decorations, that the pollution 
 is scarcely yet eradicated ; though one cannot 
 see why the eagle might not easily have been 
 converted into a good fat capon, and so have 
 been an emblem still. Whilst he was at Elba 
 they were economical enough to turn Jove's 
 bird into Minerva's on the cushions and furni- 
 ture of St. Cloud. 
 
 The Louvre Gallery, which connects this 
 palace with that of the Tuileries by the south side 
 of the Place du Carrousel, is 1332 feet in length, 
 and 42 wide. Its distant effect is injured by the 
 alternation of circular and triangular pediments ; 
 but on a nearer view this defect is swallowed up 
 in the more glaring absurdities of its jumbled 
 architecture. The building corresponding to it 
 
PARIS. 
 
 on the opposite side of the quadrangle, was com- 
 menced by Bonaparte, completely to unite the 
 two palaces : 570 feet are already built. 
 
 The ground-floor of the great gallery, with 
 part of the Louvre palace, is divided into 18 
 halls and apartments, filled with antique sculp- 
 ture. It was here the Venus and Apollo swayed 
 in the sovereignty of art and beauty : since their 
 removal, an aristocracy of statues has succeeded 
 to their vacated pre-eminence. None of them, 
 indeed, can pretend to that homage, which all 
 beholders once offered to the triumphant powers 
 of Light and Love ; but many have sufficient 
 merit to rivet attention, and captivate the mind 
 with admiration of ancient genius. 
 
 As a collection, this statue-gallery is, perhaps, 
 inferior to that of paintings ; yet the effect it pro- 
 duces on the mind, is by association far more 
 powerful. In the midst of this assemblage of 
 antique forms, we are at once carried back to 
 those periods of society, which our educations 
 have accustomed us to connect with every 
 thing romantic in song, and sublime in history. 
 The bards, warriors, and philosophers, on whom 
 we have gazed with veneration through the dim 
 vista of ages, are here before us, sculptured by 
 contemporary hands, in " their very habits as 
 they lived," as they looked, and were looked 
 upon by their countrymen and relatives : the 
 gods they worshipped, themselves still more 
 godlike ; the altars they consecrated ; their 
 baths, and domestic ornaments; every thing 
 
114 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 connected with the elegance and dignity of their 
 lives, is here collected round us. 
 
 The Vestibule contains a beautiful vase, 
 (14.) enriched with Bacchanalian attributes. It 
 is supported by an hexagonal altar, finely sculp- 
 tured. — A colossal head of Jupiter Serapis (9-)» 
 bearing the Egyptian modins, or attribute of 
 abundance, is grand and severe. 
 
 The Hall of Emperors introduces us to a 
 goodly assemblage of " kings of the world." 
 The statue of Trajan (33.) is noble, and his 
 cuirass of the most delicate workmanship. 
 
 In the Hall of the Seasons we find a 
 charming Venus Genitrix (35.) — A Wounded 
 Warrior (37.) sinks to earth unvanquished, and 
 turns a brow of defiance on his enemy. — A small 
 statue of Euripides (48.) is remarkable for a 
 catalogue of his plays, engraved on the marble 
 table at which he is seated: it enables us 
 (though imperfect) to calculate of how many 
 Time has robbed us. — The alto-relievo of Mithras 
 (59.) is a monument of Eastern superstition, 
 well known to antiquaries. It is curious, that 
 in the catalogue, the dog, who is licking the 
 bull's blood, should be described as a serpent. 
 The execution of this interesting monument is 
 extremely bold and forcible. 
 
 The Hall of Peace contains several ele- 
 gant candelabras. The nomenclature of several 
 of the statues here, as well as in the other 
 parts of the museum, seems purely imaginary. 
 Nos. 1. 31. 42. 69. and 72. are examples. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 115 
 
 No. 67. Hercules Hermes, is described with a 
 countenance of drunken joy, though neither 
 joy nor drunkenness can be seen in it. 
 
 In the Hall of the Romans are (81.) a 
 fine Roman bust, and (83.) a statue, which an- 
 tiquaries have neglected to christen. —The 
 statue of Tiberius (88.) is extremely noble ; it 
 was found in Capri, and forcibly suggests Lord 
 Byron's definition of ancient grandees ; 
 
 Demons in act, but gods at least in face. 
 
 A superb bust of Antinous (100.) represents 
 him with the attributes of Egyptian divinity : 
 <rv V $govo; tm h Alyuyrroo @ e «s„. There is a cavity on 
 the top of the bust, supposed to have held the 
 Lotus, or flower, which, according to Athenajus, 
 was honoured by Adrian with his favourite's 
 name. 
 
 The Hall of the Centaur is distinguished by 
 a group, representing a monster of this descrip- 
 tion, ridden in triumph by a youthful Bacchus 
 (106.) The Centaur's hands are bound behind 
 him, and his head is turned back; but the ab- 
 sence of irritation from his countenance seems 
 to denote him a willing victim to the superna- 
 tural influence of the merry god.— Three busts 
 of Lucius Verus (Nos. 111. 116. 119.), two 
 of Marcus Aurelius (Nos. 109. 117.), and a 
 
 statue of Germanicus, deserve attention. A 
 
 Slumbering Bacchus (118.), supporting himself 
 on the trunk of a tree, his head bound with ivy, 
 and a goat-skin thrown over his shoulder, pre- 
 
 1 2 
 
116 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 sents a graceful expression of indolence and 
 repose. 
 
 The Hall of Diana offers a group of supe- 
 rior excellence. The divine Huntress, with a 
 look of indignant animation, is snatching an 
 arrow from the quiver on her left shoulder ; her 
 hair, drawn round her temples, and fastened in a 
 knot behind, reveals a brow beautiful in anger ; 
 her feet are sandaled, her legs bare : on her left 
 hand bounds a doe, conjectured to represent 
 the consecrated deer, which, at the command 
 of Eurystheus, Hercules pursued and caught 
 near the stream of the Arcadian Ladon : the 
 goddess, though at first indignant at the insult 
 offered to her pet, is said to have yielded her at 
 length to the entreaties of the hero. This 
 statue has been in France since the time of 
 Henry IV. ; it is of Parian marble, and un- 
 blemished.— The statue of Minerva (150.) bears 
 the awful brow and severe majesty of the Athe- 
 nian goddess. — The bust of Demosthenes (157-)> 
 besides being ably sculptured, has all the cha- 
 racter of a portrait. 
 
 The Hall of the Candelabrum is named 
 from an ornament of this description, of superior 
 size and beauty, which forms its central decor- 
 ation: the sculptures are, as usual, Bacchana- 
 lian ; it was brought from the Salviati palace, at 
 Rome, and has been engraved by Rranesi, who 
 intended it to adorn his tomb. — The busts of 
 Venus and Isis (174. 178.) are very delicately 
 
PARIS. 
 
 117 
 
 sculptured. — The figure of Marsyas (190.), 
 stript, and fastened to the trunk of a tree, is 
 executed with admirable vigour, and anatomi- 
 cal precision. — Nor was the genius of the 
 ancients less conspicuous in animals than in 
 the human form. Nos. 179. and 1 87. a Dog and 
 Wild Boar, are exquisite. The catalogue tells 
 us that dogs often barked at the former, when 
 at the Villa Borghese ; nor, while we look at it, 
 do we see any reason to doubt the anecdote. 
 
 The Hall of Tiber is named from a colossal 
 group representing this river-god leaning on 
 his urn, near which the she-wolf is caressing 
 the twin founders of the imperial city. This 
 group, with that of the Nile, now in the Vati- 
 can, are said to have adorned two fountains in 
 the avenue to the temple of Isis and Serapis, 
 near the Via Lata. The workmanship and de- 
 sign are bold. — A statue of Ceres (194.) is re- 
 markable for its drapery. — The bas-relief, below 
 the statue of Flora (195.), is pleasing both in 
 the subject and execution. Under that of Julia 
 Mammia (203.) is placed a sepulchral altar, 
 consecrated to Cornelia Eutychia, on which a 
 lamb is sculptured, with this simple, yet affec- 
 tionate dedication — D. M. C. JE. L. C m . 
 JEmilianus conjugi carissimoe dukissima, ra~ 
 rissimce. 
 
 The Hall of the Gladiator is named 
 from the magnificent statue to which this ap- 
 pellation was once erroneously given. It is that 
 of a naked warrior, bending forward, with his 
 1 3 
 
118 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 left arm raised, and protected by a small buckler, 
 in an attitude of defence ; the right is drawn 
 back in act to strike at an adversary, who, from 
 the warrior's posture, must be supposed on 
 horseback ; every nerve is stretched, and every 
 muscle swelled in an attitude of the most 
 powerful exertion; but the full uplifted brow 
 is stamped with the sublimity of disdain and 
 courage. The whole figure is a glorious per- 
 sonification of martial energy, embodied in an 
 Homeric hero, " equal in combat to the im- 
 " mortal gods." This statue was discovered at 
 Antium, in the beginning of the 16th century, 
 and has the name of the sculptor, Agasias of 
 Ephesus, graven on the support of the figure. — 
 The pretty Cupid disguised as Hercules (217.) 
 is an excellent antipode to the foregoing. — The 
 Venus of Aries (219-) is a charming figure; 
 and the group, 224. A Satyr extracting a thorn 
 from a Fawn's foot, is a pleasing fancy, illustra- 
 tive of the forms and occupations of those rural 
 demi-gods, whose good-humoured countenances 
 redeem their deformity, and almost make us 
 wish to meet them in our forest rambles. 
 
 The Hall of Pallas is named from a co- 
 lossal statue of Minerva, called The Pallas of 
 Velletri, from the place of its discovery, in 
 1797. The countenance, drapery, and attitude 
 are full of graceful majesty. — We gaze with 
 pleasure on the busts of Trajan (233.) and 
 Nerva (234.), as on the portraits of good and 
 great men. We admire the strength and energy 
 
PARIS. 
 
 119 
 
 expressed in that of the Athlete (237.); and the 
 manly beauty of Antinous in 241. — The statue 
 of Polymnia (235.) is admirable for the drapery, 
 drawn in folds round the figure ; nor does the 
 part restored yield in finish to the original. 
 The countenance of young Hercules strangling 
 the serpents, in the little statue 247. is a fine 
 expression of infantine courage. — But two groups 
 especially claim our notice : one, not yet num- 
 bered, consists of two little figures, of Bacchus 
 and Silenus, the latter of whom leans in drunken 
 carelessness, with his left arm on the shoulder of 
 the god, and holds a cork-bottle with his right. 
 The other (261.) is a countryman flaying a kid, 
 which he has hung for the purpose against a 
 tree : 'tis very nature. 
 
 The Hall of the Caryatides is a magni- 
 ficent room j it was built during the reign of 
 Henry II., on the plan of Peter Lescot, and 
 John Goujon, for a guard-room to the palace. 
 Its dimensions are 140 feet by 42 ; the vaulted 
 roof is supported by fluted columns, of an order 
 betwixt Doric and Corinthian: at the upper 
 end is a gallery, resting on four Caryatides, the 
 work of John Goujon; and over it, a semicir- 
 cular bas-relief in bronze, executed by Ben- 
 venuto Cellini, for the great gate of the castle 
 of Fontainbleau. The door below this gallery is 
 also enriched with eight bas-reliefs in bronze, 
 the work of Andrea Kiccio, of Padua* and 
 originally intended to adorn a tomb of the De 
 
 i 4 
 
no 
 
 PAKIS. 
 
 La' Torre family at Verona. The Sleeping 
 Hermaphrodite (306.) is a principal ornament of 
 this apartment. — Five Hermean busts (305. 307. 
 315. 318. 327.) of Socrates, Homer, Hercules, 
 Miltiades, and Epicurus, present expressive por- 
 traits of these illustrious characters. — The statue 
 of Sabina, wife of Hadrian (317.), is reckoned 
 among the best existing representations of Ro- 
 man empresses. — The colossal Torso of Jupiter 
 (350.) is a majestic personification of the father 
 of gods and men. — The group (351.) Silenus 
 caressing an infant Bacchus, is exquisitely 
 finished : the attitude is noble, yet natural, and 
 highly expressive of nursing tenderness. — The 
 Jason (352.), both in the character of the 
 figure, and execution, bears a considerable re- 
 semblance to the Warrior (206.) The hero 
 is stooping to fasten the sandal of his right foot,, 
 while his raised countenance is powerfully ex- 
 pressive of interest and attention : a ploughshare 
 is beside him: this accompaniment, together 
 with the vacant sandal for the left foot, have 
 determined antiquarians to recognise Jason, 
 when summoned from his agricultural occupa- 
 tions, to attend his uncle Pelias, before whom 
 his appearance with one sandal, was the fulfil- 
 ment of an oracle. The conjecture is certainly 
 ingenious, though Apollonius Rhodius ac- 
 counts differently, and more probably, if pro- 
 bability were any object in such matters, for 
 the loss of the sandal. — A Lion of Egyptian 
 
PARIS. 
 
 121 
 
 basalt (812.) is worthy to be placed by the dog, 
 already described. — The Borghese Vase (353.) 
 is a model of delicate beauty. 
 
 The Hall of Melpomene is distinguished 
 by a colossal statue of the Muse of Tragedy ; 
 it is twelve feet high, and finely proportioned. 
 A rich mosaic pavement is railed round in front 
 of it. 
 
 The Hall of Isis is chiefly filled with 
 Egyptian deities, the hard lines of whose lifeless 
 forms afford a striking contrast to the breathing 
 beauty of Grecian workmanship. This part of 
 the collection is very inferior to that of the 
 British Museum, 
 
 The upper story of the Louvre Gallery, in 
 its whole magnificent extent, is filled with paint- 
 ings of all schools, ages, and masters, collected 
 as in a galaxy, which almost dazzles by its splen- 
 dour, and renders discrimination for some time 
 difficult, if not painful. The whole collection 
 is arranged in three grand divisions, or schools ; 
 namely, 1. The French; 2. The Flemish, com- 
 prising the German, Dutch, &c. ; and 3. The 
 Italian. This arrangement has the advantage 
 of being formed in an ascending scale ; so that 
 the best pictures are reserved to crown our 
 passage through intermediate degrees of ex- 
 cellence. It is perhaps the best disposition 
 which could have been selected for so large a 
 number of pictures : in a collection less ex- 
 tensive, to place the finest pieces in the most 
 striking points of view, would be the method 
 
122 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 most productive of effect ; but here something 
 must be sacrificed to simplicity. There are, be- 
 sides, in a long gallery, few conspicuous or even 
 favourable points of view : the cross lights from 
 the opposite windows very frequently rendering 
 it difficult to obtain a tolerable sight of the pic- 
 tures on which they fall, especially when they 
 chance to be highly varnished. 
 
 1. The French School consists of the works 
 of forty-two masters, none of them living. 
 Many of these undoubtedly owe their admission 
 to the chasm made by the allies ; others might 
 justly claim it on the score of indisputable 
 merit. 
 
 In the vestibule, A Concert, by Puget (152.), 
 in which are introduced the portraits of many 
 of the musicians and artists of the age of 
 Louis XIV., is rather curious for its matter 
 than its execution, which is hard and somewhat 
 coarse. —-The first apartment of the gallery con- 
 tains the admired productions of Le Brun, who 
 seems to have been the very Louis XIV. of 
 painters. His portraits (16, 17, 18.) seem his 
 best pieces. — The natural graces of Vernet are 
 an agreeable relief to this artist's pomposity. 
 Nos. 224. to 238. are a series of views, of the 
 several ports of France, executed by order of 
 Louis XV., and completed in ten years. Too 
 much praise cannot be given to the exquisite 
 taste with which the artist has managed subjects 
 often little susceptible of picturesque effect, 
 such as rows of brick-houses, straight walks, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 123 
 
 the long low lines of modern fortifications, rope- 
 walks, &c., all which are made to harmonise 
 by the magic dispositions of light and shade, 
 which are thrown with such judgment and effect, 
 that the bright sun-shine, sweeping clouds, and 
 gathered tempest, seem so many happy acci- 
 dents of nature, for the embellishment of each 
 scene. When left to his own choice of subjects, 
 Vernet's taste frequently approached the graces 
 of Italian landscape, in which he delights to 
 introduce the ruins of ancient edifices ; but his 
 forte lay chiefly in sea-views ; and in these, the 
 effect of his sun-sets, storms, and moonlight, has 
 never been surpassed, rarely equalled. Mos. 240, 
 241. 244. 246, 247, 248, 249, 250. 252, 253, 
 254, are splendid instances. 
 
 Opposite to the views of Vernet, hangs the 
 whole legend of St. Bruno, digested into twenty- 
 two heavy pictures, by Le Sueur ; commencing 
 with the startling adventure of Dr. Raimond, 
 canon of Notre Dame, who, after passing all 
 his life for a great saint, sat upright, during his 
 burial service, and three times declared himself 
 damned ; an event which could not fail of 
 making a lively impression on St. Bruno, who, 
 then a young man, was one of the congregation. 
 These pictures were formerly very properly 
 lodged in the Carthusian convent of Paris, for 
 which they were painted. — Two small whole- 
 length portraits (43, 44.) of Henry II. and 
 Charles IX. by Francis Clouet, who lived in 
 1547, are exquisitely painted ; the finishing is 
 
124 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 like enamel. — The Last Judgment (54.), by John 
 Cousin, who lived towards the end of the six- 
 teenth century, is reckoned one of the earliest 
 specimens of historical painting in France. 
 The composition is ingenious, and the figures 
 spirited : some of the ideas seem borrowed from 
 Dante. — The Holy Ghost presiding at the Union 
 of the Virgin and Joseph (102.), by Charles Van 
 Loo, is beautifully finished. — The Virgin pre- 
 senting the Infant Jesus with a Bunch of Grapes, 
 (108.), by Mignard, is a charming imitation of 
 the Italian school. It is to this talent of bor- 
 rowing Italian beauty Mignard principally owes 
 his celebrity. — The pictures of Claude Lorraine 
 are the stars of the French school, into which 
 he seems somewhat gratuitously adopted, being 
 born a German, having studied under a Nea- 
 politan master, and lived and died in Italy. 
 He pours upon his productions such a richness, 
 of design and colour, that they almost dazzle 
 both the sight and imagination. In 80., the 
 Sun is actually painted as he pours his parting 
 rays in a golden flood upon a harbour, covered 
 with ships and gondolas, and surrounded by 
 palaces. 83. A View of the Campo Vaccino, 
 brings together all the architectural magnifi- 
 cence of ancient Rome. The Village Fete, 
 (79.) andNos. 81. 84, 85. Sea Views, have all 
 the charm and splendour which characterise his 
 genius. — Nicholas Poussin was little more 
 French than Claude Lorraine y Norman by birth, 
 he was Italian by education, in his life, and 
 
PARIS. 
 
 j m 
 
 death. In the rich collection of hjs productions, 
 here assembled, we distinguish the gloomy 
 grandeur, and terrible picturesque of The De- 
 luge (120.) The ark floats amid obscurity in 
 the stormy distance ; towards the centre of the 
 picture the waters, bursting in a cascade over 
 mountain crags, have overwhelmed a solitary 
 boat, the crew of which vainly struggle with 
 destruction : among them a mother is en- 
 deavouring to save her infant, with a love 
 triumphant over danger. Other images of uni- 
 versal ruin occupy the foreground. The Deluge 
 is a subject upon which many artists have ex- 
 ercised their talents ; but it is one of not less 
 difficulty than interest. No combination of 
 images can reach our preconceptions of the 
 horror of such a catastrophe : the artist, in- 
 stead of creating objects, has to select from such 
 as already exist in the mind of the spectator; 
 nor is the selection void of perplexity : if he 
 crowd his canvass with too many, the univer- 
 sality of the deluge seems lost sight of; if he 
 introduce but few, it is difficult so to select them, 
 that they may be adequate illustrations of the 
 general devastation. I remember a Deluge 
 piece, some years ago, in the British Gallery, 
 which seemed in this respect happily imagined. 
 A single rock rose amid a troubled ocean, on 
 which a famished and solitary wolf sat baying 
 at the descending tempest. The only objects 
 in the foreground were two large dead snakes, 
 which, from their amphibious nature, and pe- 
 
126 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 culiar tenacity of life, seemed to express the 
 supernatural strength of that destruction which 
 even they were unable to resist. Poussin's 
 Death of Eurydice (145.) is painted with great 
 effect, but rather harshly. Arcadian Shepherds 
 (146.) is highly poetical in design : the tomb, 
 simply inscribed " Et in Arcadia ego," tells a 
 whole tale of pathos. The Landscape of 150. 
 is in this artist's grandest manner : there is, how- 
 ever, in almost all Poussin's pictures a hard- 
 ness and sombre cast of colouring, which render 
 the pleasure they excite very inferior to the re- 
 putation of the painter. — No. 65. The Interior of 
 a Cottage, by Martin Drolling, is a perfect 
 miracle of effect, in the style of the modern 
 French school : not an utensil or article of fur- 
 niture but is laboured with the most minute 
 exactness and attention to effect ; the figures 
 are rounded so as to swell from the canvass ; it 
 is peeping into a cottage, not looking at a 
 picture. 
 
 2. The Flemish, German, and Dutch 
 Schools, comprising the works of 132 masters. 
 One is chiefly and agreeably surprised, in this 
 extensive division of the gallery, to perceive 
 how small a proportion the bad, or even in- 
 different pictures bear to the good; and to see 
 how rarely the artists of these schools fall below 
 themselves. The same exact imitation of life 
 and nature, the same tone of richness and finish, 
 are every where conspicuous; and, if they do 
 not often attain the sublime, the truth and 
 
 t 
 
PARIS. 
 
 127 
 
 beauty which flow abundantly from their pen- 
 cils go far to supply the deficiency. The 
 charming landscapes of Berghem admirably 
 illustrate this remark: broad, rich, yet espe- 
 cially natural, his colouring is repose to the eye, 
 as his scenery to the imagination. Nos. 293, 
 294. 298. 302. are examples. — The scenery of 
 his contemporary, Ruysdael, is scarcely less 
 beautiful. 632. A Storm at Sea, is particu- 
 larly forcible. — The Terrestrial Paradise of 
 Breughel (321.) is a rich composition. — A small 
 whole-length of Charles I. (347.), by N. Coning, 
 is very delicate and curious: the monarch is 
 habited in a rich suit of black velvet, with 
 crimson stockings, and large roses in his shoes ; 
 a costume very much resembling that of Mr. 
 Kemble in Hamlet. The finishing is exquisite. — 
 A small portrait, supposed to be that of John 
 Frederick, Elector of Saxony (351.), by Luc de 
 Cranach, is very powerfully painted in the old 
 manner : this artist flourished in the 15th cen- 
 tury. — The eleven pictures of Gherard Dow, 
 (363. to 373.) are in his best style. In 368. A 
 Dropsical Patient, his talent goes beyond itself, 
 by a powerful association of natural feeling, 
 with unrivalled finish and richness. The sick 
 old lady is seated in her easy chair; her cada- 
 verous complexion, bloated frame, and languid 
 attitude, forcibly depict the inanition w r hich 
 marks the last stages of her malady j but her 
 looks are directed with placid tenderness to- 
 wards her daughter, who is weeping at her feet : 
 
128 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 a physician is holding a phial up to the light, 
 and examining its contents, with looks profes- 
 sionally indifferent and void of sympathy. The 
 various rich articles of furniture, declare his 
 patient to be a person above the common ranks 
 of life ; a circumstance which explains the con- 
 tinuance of his attendance on a case evidently 
 hopeless. No. 373. is a curious imitation of the 
 manner of Rembrandt, in which the scholar 
 may be said to have excelled his master, even in 
 the latter's peculiar power of chiaro-oscuro. A 
 philosopher is meditating before a window, from 
 which the light falls upon his figure, and on a 
 circular staircase at the further end of the apart- 
 ment. Rembrandt, in treating nearly the same 
 subject (582.), seems to have been less happy 
 in the effect, by the introduction of a double 
 light from the window, and from a fire in the 
 corner of the room. — The compositions of 
 Metzu, who imitated Gherard Dow, well de- 
 serve a place near those of his prototype. 
 485. The Herb-market of Amsterdam, is very 
 pleasingly enlivened by the attitudes of a Dog 
 and Cock ; the cock has escaped from his basket, 
 on which he stands bristling, betwixt fear and 
 anger, at a spaniel, who is eyeing him with no 
 less attention. — The pictures of the elder Mieris, 
 Gherard Dow's pupil, and of William Van Mieris, 
 his son, are exquisitely finished. 514. The 
 Seller of Game, by the latter, will bear a com- 
 parison with the pictures of Dow himself. — 
 Among the admirable portraits of Van Dyke, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 129 
 
 (382.), that of a Governor of the Low Countries, 
 under Philip IV., is remarkable for the re- 
 semblance of its composition to the mounted 
 figure of Charles I. at Windsor. — 431. Sir 
 Thomas Moore, by Holbein, is excellent; but 
 433. William Warham, Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury, is still more impressive: it was painted 
 in 1528, when the archbishop was 70 years of 
 age. 435. That of a Lady of Rank, in a rich 
 red dress, is in his hard, stiff manner, and re- 
 minds one of the portrait of the Earl of Surrey 
 at Windsor. — The Flight into Egypt (398.), by 
 Adam Elsheymer, deserves to be noticed for the 
 striking effect of the stars seen through the 
 foliage of the landscape. — 401. The Virgin 
 crowned by an Angel, by John Van Eyck, is a 
 fine specimen of the genius of this father of the 
 art - — To judge by two pictures of Lucas de 
 Ley den (475, 476.), it made no great progress 
 in the course of the succeeding century. The 
 former of these is the Descent jrom the Cross, 
 painted on a gold ground : the latter, A Saluta- 
 tion, is beautifully finished in the costume artd 
 detail, which are as ridiculous as can ^ well be 
 imagined. Holbein, who was Lucas de Ley- 
 den's contemporary, seems to have been the 
 connecting fink betwixt the ancient and modern 
 styles ; and in another half century, the perfec- 
 tion of colouring was seen in Rubens.— It would 
 be unfair to estimate the talents of this great 
 master, by the twenty-two overwhelming allego- 
 ries, by which he has illustrated the life of Mary 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 de Medicis. His genius evidently sunk under the 
 insipidity of the subject. In 605. there is 
 fine whole length of Henry IV.; and the Lions,, 
 in 603, are admirable ; but they were probably 
 the production of Sneyders. A juster specimen 
 of the genius of Rubens is beheld with rapture 
 in 588, The Prophet Elias succoured by an 
 Angel in the Desert. The angel seems glowing 
 with divinity, and the prophet to have imbibed 
 a portion of his celestial visitant's brightness. 
 In the gilded columns, which finish either side 
 of the picture, we may observe the love of rich 
 colouring betraying the painter into an impro- 
 priety of ornament. Diogenes seeking a Man 
 (596.) is a fine painting. The Scripture pieces 
 587. 5 90- 5 93- and the portraits 618. 621, 622. 
 as also The Rainbow, (627.) are excellent. 625. 
 A Village Fete, is painted with great vigour, 
 but coarse both in design and execution. — Nos. 
 703. and 704. by John Weenix, are charming 
 specimens of dead Birds and Game. A pea- 
 cock, in the latter, exhibits in perfection the 
 bird's beautiful neck, and plumes slightly ruffled 
 by death. 
 
 The interior of churches and ancient edi- 
 fices was a favourite study of many Flemish 
 artists. Peter Neefs devoted himself exclu- 
 sively to such subjects. 529. The Interior of the 
 Cathedral of Antwerp, is an excellent specimen 
 of his talent ; 657. and 659. similar subjects, by 
 Henry Van Steenwick the younger, are equally 
 excellent. 658. A Gothic Hall, by the same 
 
PARIS. 
 
 131 
 
 hand, in its perspective and the distribution of 
 light, is admirable. The figures of Christ, 
 Martha, and Mary, by Pcelenberg, are intro- 
 duced, not very aptly, with reference to the 
 style of the apartment. — 7^8. The Interior of a 
 Kitchen, by Zorg, is remarkable for the fine 
 effect of the metal pots and other utensils. - — 
 The genius of Wouvermans was truly martial : 
 hawking, hunting, and fighting were his de- 
 lights; but he chiefly excelled in the latter. 
 His Charge of Polish Cavalry (7 18.) is all hurry, 
 fire, and exertion. His combats are never on 
 too large a scale to exclude individual prowess ; 
 every man in them looks and fights as if aware of 
 the importance of his single arm. This is in 
 fact the only way to make a battle-piece in- 
 teresting ; and one might almost add, a battle 
 too. — The Ostades and Teniers are the most 
 finished delineators of common life, and every- 
 day incident : they are in painting, what our 
 Crabbe is in poetry, and share with him the 
 merit of never violating nature for the sake of 
 exalting subjects, to which dignity would be in- 
 applicable, — a fidelity which falls into error 
 where the subjects are naturally of a loftier 
 character, as in the Denial of Christ, by Te- 
 niers (667.) where the solemnity of the event is 
 diminished by the introduction of soldiers play- 
 ing at cards, as in a Dutch guard-room. — 541. 
 The Family of Adrian Van Ostade, is very na- 
 ture without flattery : the stiff disagreeable cos- 
 tume, particularly of the children, renders the 
 
 k 2 
 
PARIS. 
 
 painter's talent still more conspicuous. The 
 Schoolmaster (542.) and Inside of a Cottage, or 
 Farm-House (544.) are good. 550. and 551. 
 two Winter Pieces, by the younger Ostade, are 
 very lively representations of ice-locked, snow- 
 clad scenery. It is superfluous to distinguish 
 amid the excellent productions of David Te- 
 niers. 668. The Prodigal Son, is a curious in- 
 stance of the inveteracy with which the best 
 Flemish artists applied the costume and imagery 
 of their own country to nations however re- 
 mote and dissimilar. The prodigal son of the 
 land of Canaan is wasting his substance like 
 a frolicsome young burgo-master of Amsterdam 
 or the Hans Towns. 
 
 I have no intention of entering upon a con- 
 sideration of the peculiar circumstances, whe- 
 ther of climate, education, or national manners, 
 which may have contributed to confine the 
 genius of Flemish artists to the correct deli- 
 neation of familiar objects, without soaring into 
 the sublime of ideal expression ; but it is cu- 
 rious to observe from what distinct fountains 
 the bards and painters of northern regions have 
 drawn their inspirations. It is impossible, in- 
 deed, to imagine two relatives with fewer fea- 
 tures of similarity than the sister-muses m these 
 countries. , The poetry of the North is passion- 
 ate, metaphysical, and characterised by all the 
 features of the wildest sublimity; while it is 
 scarcely possible to ^discover an instance of a 
 German or Flemish painter borrowing a single 
 
PARIS. 
 
 133" 
 
 idea or feeling from this kindred art ; on the 
 contrary, when their subject chances to be in 
 itself of a more elevated and poetical cast than 
 usual, they do their best endeavours to tame it 
 down to the prose of common life, either by 
 taking from the principal figures the dignity be- 
 longing to their situation, or by blending them 
 with vulgar incidents and accessories. Rubens 
 is but occasionally an exception to this observa- 
 tion. 
 
 3. The Italian School contains the works 
 of 139 masters. The proportion of good 
 pictures to those of middle rate is not so great 
 here as in the Flemish school ; the superior 
 merit of the few is such, however, as probably 
 to make this difference seem greater than it 
 really is ; which will be readily understood, by 
 conceiving the difficulty of finding pictures to 
 place beside those of Raffaello, Guido, and 
 Titiano, which shall not suffer by the com- 
 parison. Breaking the general order of arrange- 
 ment, the most astonishing picture in the 
 Gallery faces the spectator, as he enters it from 
 the anti-room: it is The Marriage of Cana, by 
 Paul Veronese. It is, probably, the largest piece 
 of painting extant, and indisputably includes 
 the richest collection of portraits. All the emi- 
 nent characters of Europe are collected at this 
 Galilean festival: among the male guests are 
 Charles V., Francis L, Solyman II., and the 
 Marquis of Guasto : among the ladies, the 
 Queen of Scots bears the palm of beauty, and 
 
 k a 
 
134 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 tasteful costume ; she is drest in yellow : Paul 
 Veronese himself, with all the great painters of 
 his day, are grouped as musicians in the fore- 
 ground of the picture. The architecture of the 
 banqueting-room, and all the decorations, are in 
 a style of magnificence better suited to the im- 
 perial state of Charles V. than to the probable 
 condition of a person in a middling rank of life 
 in the land of Cana. Every part of the picture 
 seems to have been finished with great care, 
 even to the sculptured vase on the floor, round 
 which a cat is playfully clinging. 
 
 Dividing the productions of the Italian pen- 
 cil according to dates, we find but two masters 
 of the 14th century, both Florentines, Andrea 
 Orcagna, and Fra Giovanni da Fiesoli ; the 
 latter of whom was born about the time of the 
 former's death, in 1389. No. 909. is a curious 
 Scripture piece, by Fiesoli, to which he has 
 joined seven small pictures, representing the 
 Legend of St. Dominic — The end of the 
 14th and commencement of the 15th century, 
 furnish a splendid host of names; of whom we 
 may particularise Perugino, Andrea del Sarto, 
 Corregio, Sebastian del Piombo, Andrea Solari, 
 Gentile da Fabriano, Garofolo, Leonardo de 
 Vinci, Julio Romano, Bernardino da Luino, Ti- 
 tiano, and the divine RafFaello. —779. Charity, by 
 Andrea del Sarto, is remarkable for being one 
 of the first pictures transferred in France from 
 pannel to canvass. — 864. Christ crowned with 
 Thorns, by Corregio, presents a countenance of 
 
PARIS. 
 
 135 
 
 divine resignation ; yet pale and even deadly, as 
 if inwardly imploring the bitter cup might pass 
 from him. — 1103. A Portrait of Baccio Ban- 
 dinelli, by Sebastian del Piombo, is painted with 
 astonishing force of expression. Bandinelli was 
 a Florentine sculptor, and is here represented 
 holding the model of a Venus, which he re- 
 gards with fixed attention. There are but two 
 pictures of this artist in the gallery. 991. Was 
 formerly attributed to him, but is now given to 
 Bernardino da Luino. 990. Jesus caressing the 
 Virgin, is also by the latter. The heavenly 
 Mother is of surpassing beauty and delicacy. — 
 The Virgin of Solari, in No. 1107, is also charm- 
 ing ; she is suckling the Infant Jesus, who is 
 drawn with red hair. 1106. The Daughter qf 
 Herodias, with the Head of John the Baptist, 
 also by Solari, is a very forcible picture. — The 
 rich finishing of Garofolo is well displayed in 
 914. A Lamb presented to the Virgin and Infant 
 Jesus by St. Elizabeth and St. John: the coun- 
 tenances are finished like miniatures. — From 
 their evident inequality, it is probable that all 
 the Titians in the Gallery are not the produc- 
 tions of this great master ; but there are enough 
 of them, by their commanding force and beauty, 
 to bear witness of his genius. 1122. is curious 
 for the dispute which has been stirred, whether 
 the persons depicted, are the painter and his 
 mistress, or Alphonso Duke of Ferrara, and 
 Laura Bianti ; but no dispute can be raised that 
 that exquisite countenance, and the long fine 
 k 4 
 
136 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 tresses she confines in her right hand, once be- 
 longed to one of the loveliest of her sex — to a 
 living beauty, on which earth looked with admi- 
 ration. The nine portraits which follow (1123 . 
 to 1131.) are faces upon which succeeding ages 
 will gaze with endless admiration. It is, per- 
 haps, in their portraits that the masters of the 
 art most strongly impress us with a sense of 
 their infinite superiority, and throw back to an 
 
 immeasurable distance, the efforts of subordinate 
 
 i. 
 
 talent. 1072. The Portrait of Joan of Arragon 9 
 Vice-queen of Naples, by Raffaello, is a splendid 
 instance. Her rich crimson costume, and taste- 
 ful Spanish hat, are the work of Julio Romano ^ 
 but who but Raffaello, or Titiano, could have 
 painted such a countenance? Yet, admirable as 
 it is, it yields, perhaps, to 1074. The Portrait of 
 a Young Man, who is leaning his head upon 
 his hand, in an attitude of meditation. Nothing 
 can- be simpler than the countenance of this 
 picture, or seemingly less studied than the ex- 
 pression cast into its features ; but a divine force 
 of intellect looks through them, with a penetra- 
 tion from which the spectator almost starts : yet 
 there is no passion, no perturbed vehemence of 
 feeling ; all is calm and energetic, a perfect em- 
 bodiment of soul and genius. La belle Jardi- 
 niere (1079«)> 'is one °f ''those charming compo- 
 sitions, full of delicacy, and sweet feeling, 
 which we would, if possible, look at every 
 morning, to attune us for the fit enjoyment 
 either of physical or moral beauty, during the 
 
£aris. 
 
 137 
 
 day. The Head of the Infant Jesus, in. 1080. is 
 sublime — ''tis the infancy of the Godhead. — The 
 period betwixt the middle of the 16th and 
 the end of the 17th centuries, gives us Paul 
 Veronese, Albano, the Caracci, Domenichino, 
 Guercino, Guido, Salvator Rosa, Sasso Ferrato, 
 Schidone, Tintoretto ; and the Spaniards, Ribera, 
 Murillo, and Velasquez. The pencil of Albano 
 is justly celebrated for its softness and delicacy ; 
 yet these qualities have sometimes, perhaps, im- 
 paired its vigour; nor are his tints always hap- 
 pily combined. In 76I. the naked forms of the 
 sleeping cupids are so strongly contrasted with 
 the verdure of the landscape, that they re- 
 semble bright spots on a green carpet. In 76O. 
 however, it is impossible not to admire these 
 charming divinities, while employed in forging, 
 and polishing their arrows. The Landscape and 
 Cascade of 762. are delightful. Daphne pursued 
 by Apollo (766.) is soft and pretty ; but 7^4* 
 The Repose in Egypt, claims pre-eminence even 
 over its exquisite neighbours. Angek are offer- 
 ing fruit and flowers to the Holy Family, of 
 whom Jesus is seated on his mother's knees ; 
 St. Joseph is leading an ass to drink at a river; 
 an incident in which the artist has made a cu- 
 rious change in 755. (a repetition of the same 
 subject), where an angel Is honoured with this 
 employment. — Of the 24 pictures of Annibal 
 Caracci, only two impressed me strongly with 
 their excellence, viz. 882. The Virgin hushing 
 St. John, lest he .-should disturb the slumbering 
 
138 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Jesus ; and 842. A Landscape, with a Saint's 
 Box by the road-side. It would argue, however, 
 great temerity in me to pronounce against the 
 remaining majority, as if not equally entitled to 
 the praise justly assigned to this artist's genius. 
 When we judge of pictures not by the rules of 
 art, but by the impression we passively receive 
 from them, a variety of causes will render our 
 judgment inaccurate and variable. It will be 
 swayed by associations not necessarily connected 
 with the merit of the picture in question ; by 
 the state of our health and spirits; by the pic- 
 tures we may have been previously examining ;, 
 by fatigue or novelty, and finally by caprices 
 which admit of no explanation : and for these 
 reasons, probably, is connoisseurship a talent so 
 often and so ridiculously at fault. 
 
 Among the Domenichinos, 873. David play- 
 ing on the Harp, for grandeur of expression; 
 877* The Virgin appearing to St. Francis, for 
 graceful sweetness ; and 883. The Car of Love, 
 for poetic design ; are most remarkable. — To 
 select one of Guido's compositions, is to pick a 
 star out of a constellation ; but 948. The Vir- 
 gin with the Infatit Jesus sleeping on her Lap, is 
 pre-eminently a specimen of the mild, angelic 
 charm with which his figures and faces are in- 
 vested. I should say, no painter in the gallery 
 was worthier to stand beside him than Sasso; 
 Ferrato : 1097* and 1098. the only pictures of 
 this artist in the collection, have all Guido's de- 
 licacy, especially the last, in which the Virgin 
 
PARIS. 
 
 139 
 
 is borne up by cherubim to the mansions of 
 bliss : 
 
 Her meek hands, folded on her modest breast, 
 
 her raised eyes, and floating figure, reveal all 
 we can imagine of a divinized form of flesh 
 and blood. — 1118. A Portrait, and 11 14. Su- 
 sannah in the Bath, by Tintoretto, are pictures 
 worthy of Titian's pencil, if not of his jealousy. 
 ■—1094. A Landscape, by Salvator Rosa, is dash- 
 ed in his bold manner, with wild rocks, ragged 
 woods, and bandit-looking soldiers. — There is 
 but one picture of Ribera J s, The Worship of 
 the Shepherds (901.), in which the countenance 
 of the Virgin is finely expressive. — 1020. A 
 Young Beggar, by Murillo, has a force ap- 
 proaching to hardness, such _as we represent to 
 ourselves in the Spanish character. 
 
 I have thus inadequately set forth some por- 
 tion of the contents of this immense treasury of 
 genius — in spite of all the deductions which 
 have been made from it, still the richest in the 
 world. For my own part, instead of regretting 
 its losses, were it to be so far reduced that each 
 chef-d'oeuvre might stand in a certain degree 
 isolated, I should think the pleasure of the 
 spectacle thereby increased ; certainly the at- 
 tention would be less distracted, and the eye 
 less dazzled, by the profusion of forms and 
 colours, which are now poured upon it with 
 fatiguing brilliancy. This is, indeed, an ob- 
 jection applicable to all considerable collections; 
 
140 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 but it is worth considering, if we desire to 
 estimate the comparative advantages of having 
 the finest pictures in Europe congregated into 
 one gallery ; and of re-distributing them accord- 
 ing to their original destinations, and places of 
 nativity. ; 
 
 The Palais de Luxembourg, in which the 
 Chamber of Peers now holds its sittings, 
 though justly chargeable with heaviness, in com- 
 mon with all French edifices of the same date, 
 is on the whole a majestic pile of building, much 
 more so than the Tuileries. This is, probably, 
 to be ascribed to its having- been built on the 
 Italian model of the Pitti palace at Florence : 
 its quadrangular arrangement gives it depth ; 
 nor is its massive character injured by an inter- 
 mixture of architectural flourishes : the Tuscan 
 and Doric orders reign throughout, and the ge- 
 neral effect is harmonious and imposing, if not 
 graceful. Rubens painted his series of alle- 
 gories to adorn this palace, while in the occupa- 
 tion of Mary de Medicis ; but since these have 
 been removed to the Louvre, the Luxembourg 
 Gallery has been assigned for the reception of 
 the works of living artists. It is here, therefore, 
 in the absence of the annual expose at the 
 Louvre, equivalent to our Somerset-House, the 
 stranger is to form his judgment on the modern 
 French school of painting, and to consider whe- 
 ther the Davids, the Guerins, Gerards, and 
 Girodets of the present day, have left Raffaello 
 and Rubens as far behind them as their country- 
 
 15 
 
PARIS. 
 
 141 
 
 men sometimes imagine. The first impression 
 I felt on entering the Gallery was that of a 
 brilliant and dazzling play of lights and colours, 
 producing an effect novel, and therefore, to a 
 certain extent, pleasing; but this pleasure al- 
 ways diminished as 1 more narrowly and re- 
 peatedly examined the productions which gave 
 birth to it: it was clearly a pleasure not 
 founded in an excelling delineation of natural 
 beauty : the illusion was a species of stage-effect, 
 or the brilliancy of an illumination compared 
 with sunshine. I should mention, as the most 
 striking and favourable specimens of it, No. 16. 
 The Interior of Julian's Palace, partially re- 
 stored, by Charles-Marie Bouton. — No. An 
 Eruption of Mount Vesuvius, by the Count 
 Auguste de Forbin. The artist has selected the 
 eruption of the year 79, which overwhelmed 
 Pompeii and Herculaneum. — 29. The Slumber 
 of Endymion, on whose beautiful countenance 
 a moon-beam plays through the trees, by Giro- 
 det : and 33. The Lightning of Divine Ven- 
 geance flashing upon Cain and his Family, after 
 the Murder of his Brother Abel, by Paulin 
 Guerin. — In 20. The Knighting of Francis I. 
 by Bayard, by Ducis, the glitter of the colour- 
 ing confounds the subject 
 
 In the drawing and expression of human 
 lineaments, the modern French school seems to 
 have fallen into two extremes. The one of 
 waxiness and effeminacy ; the other of over- 
 wrought ferocity. The simple energy, which 
 
142 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 seems to flow from the deep fountain of the soul, 
 and which RafFaello, Titiano, and Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, have infused into their portraits, 
 seems altogether unknown to them : their 
 heroes are either opera-dancers, or revolu- 
 tionary bandits. The former defect is espe- 
 cially conspicuous in 32. Eneas relating his Ad- 
 ventures to Dido, by Pierre Guerin. The wea- 
 ther-worn hero, " Multum ille et terris jactatua 
 et alto" has all the smooth roundness of limb 
 and softness of features which might become 
 Paris on Mount Ida : it is even more than the 
 softness of flesh, and is less the picture of a 
 man than of a waxen image. There are similar 
 defects in a similar subject by M. Lafond, at the 
 museum of Rouen. He has represented Eneas 
 escaping from the sack of Troy, 
 
 Like some gay dancer from the public show, 
 
 with sandals freshly embroidered, and a new 
 blue ribbon to confine his drapery. Of the op- 
 posite defect, namely, of over-wrought expres- 
 sion degenerating into ferocity, we meet with 
 several instances: the most remarkable are, 
 28. The Revolt of Cairo, by Girodet. What the 
 artist could discover in this carnage, which 
 should render it worthy of this triumphant re- 
 cord, it is impossible to imagine ; but the execu- 
 tion is barbarous to the life, and might have 
 served for the altar-piece of the goddess of Rea- 
 son herself. — 35. The Remorse of Orestes, by 
 Hennequin, is equally an over-doing of terror, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 H3 
 
 and is in painting what the French object to in 
 our drama — a superfluity of the horrible. 
 
 The attitudes and groupings of several of the 
 most prominent pictures seem not sufficiently 
 free and natural, but look to have been produced 
 by the joint efforts of a ballet-master and drill- 
 serjeant. 12. The School of Apelles, by Jean 
 Broc, and 18. The Oath of the Horatii, by 
 David, are instances. The countenance of 
 Brutus after the execution of his sons, in 
 No. 17, also by the latter, is deficient in dignity, 
 and looks too French to be Roman : it is not, 
 however, unlike the Brutus of Mr. Kean. — The 
 subject of the Deluge has been treated by Gi- 
 rodet with considerable effect in No. 27* A 
 single family has climbed the summit of a rock, 
 still peering above the flood ; the husband has 
 grasped the branch of a tree, which breaks in 
 his hand j his wife and children have already lost 
 their footing, and are sinking backwards in the 
 waters ; the lean form of his aged parent clings 
 round his throat and shoulders with a convul- 
 sive struggle : the expression of both their counte- 
 nances, is that of unmixed agony and terror. The 
 figures are for the most part naked j but there is 
 a loose drapery floating above them, which would 
 probably have had a more apposite effect had 
 it clung heavily round their limbs, as if drenched 
 by the descending tempest. — 30. The Burial of 
 Attala, by the same artist, almost redeems the 
 faults of the whole collection. I know not how 
 far the recollection of M. Chateaubriand's 
 
144 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 affecting tale might influence my imagination ; 
 but to me this composition seemed full of na- 
 tural pathos. The lifeless form of Attala, borne 
 betwixt Father Aubrey and her lover, may be 
 described in the words of Lord Byron : 
 
 So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
 We start — for soul is wanting there. 
 , Hers is the loveliness in death, 
 That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
 But beauty, with that fearful bloom, 
 That hue which haunts it to the tomb — 
 Expression's last receding ray, 
 A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
 The farewell beam of feeling past away ! 
 
 What greater commendation can be given to 
 the artist, than to say he has painted this de- 
 scription ? Her lover, with his long raven hair, 
 bends over her knees with 
 
 A grief which knows not consolation's name; 
 
 while nature struggles with devout resigna- 
 tion in the countenance of the bearded an- 
 chorite.— I applied a criterion to this picture 
 which I have found rarely fail : each time I con- 
 sidered it, I felt my first impression of its merits 
 strengthened. — 54. The Convalescence of Bayard, 
 by Pierre Revoil, is highly interesting both for 
 the subject and execution. At the taking of 
 Brescia, Bayard was wounded, and lodged in the 
 house of a lady, whom, with her daughters, he 
 had protected from the horrors to which a town 
 taken by a assault is subjected He is reclining 
 
PARIS. 
 
 145 
 
 on a couch in the midst of this grateful family : 
 the two young ladies are diverting him with 
 music and singing ; their mother has suspended 
 her occupations to listen to their song, which, 
 from the chevalier's raised head, fixed attitude, 
 and animated regard, is doubtless some strain of 
 chivalry and knightly prowess. Armour is scat* 
 tered about the room, and a standard is seen, to 
 which are affixed these words, " Conqueste en 
 V amour du rot notre sire> Louis le douzieme du 
 nom" — 57. Is a delicate and richly finished 
 delineation of another interesting trait in French 
 Jiistory. Ten years after the execution of the 
 Due de Montmorency, Cardinal Richelieu pass- 
 ing through the town of Moulins, sent a page 
 to make his compliments to the Duchess, who 
 had retired thither, and resided in the Convent 
 of the Visitation, where she had raised a mau- 
 soleum to her husband's memory : her reply was 
 remarkable — « Tell his Excellency," said she 
 to the messenger, " that you found the widow 
 " of Marshal Montmorency, after a lapse of 
 " ten years, still weeping over her husband's 
 " monument." She is represented seated near 
 a prie-dieu, and pointing towards the tomb. 
 
 In the rotunda near the gallery, is a charm- 
 ing statue of a nymph preparing for the bath, 
 by Julien, an artist of the Royal Institute, now 
 deceased. — I have instanced a sufficient num- 
 ber of able productions to disprove every idea 
 of treating the modern French school with con- 
 tempt. Its faults may be generally referred to 
 
146 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 over-ambitious attempts at excellence, pursued 
 less with a patient study of nature, and the old 
 masters, than with bold aims at novelty, and en- 
 deavours, sometimes to bully, at others to cheat 
 us out of our admiration : the first by extrava- 
 gant attitude and expression ; the last by daz- 
 zling combinations of light and colours. But if 
 something has been sacrificed towards the attain- 
 ment of this meretricious excellence, much also 
 has been effected, not only in this particular, but 
 in those higher walks of the art, which alone 
 conduct to the temple of immortal fame. 
 
 The fa9ade of the Palais Bourbon, now the 
 Chamber of Deputies, is classically graceful. The 
 portico is formed by twelve Corinthian columns, 
 supporting a triangular pediment, adorned with 
 political allegories in bas-relief. A magnifi- 
 cent flight of steps leads up to it, at the foot of 
 which are two colossal statues, of Gallia and 
 Minerva. The colossal figures of Sully, Colbert, 
 L'Hopital, and D'Auguesseau, are seated on 
 pedestals, still more advanced, on the line of 
 the wall which surrounds the whole building. 
 Viewed from the bridge of Louis XVI. which 
 it faces on the left bank of the Seine, this front 
 produces a very pleasing and even noble effect 
 Beheld laterally, the whole building is j certainly 
 defective: the fi^ade is put on it like a screen, 
 behind which appears a slender, naked pile, 
 without mass or dignity. This is indeed too 
 commonly the fault of modern edifices: it 
 seems as if all our efforts would go no further 
 
PARIS. 
 
 147 
 
 than something like a scenic representation of 
 architectural grandeur. 
 
 The Palais Royal has a reputation too noto- 
 rious to escape mention'; though but for such 
 notoriety it would neither make much figure 
 among the traveller's memoranda, nor leave any 
 very formidable impression on his recollection. 
 Abroad, and in Paris, it is spoken of as a kind 
 of syren's bower, or Armida's palace, from 
 which wandering knight or squire, is rarely per- 
 mitted to escape without foul discomfiture, and 
 loss, both of cash and character. Why my 
 phlegmatic spirit was so little wrought upon by 
 its witcheries, it were bootless to enquire, if my 
 feelings in this respect should be deemed mere 
 idiosyncrasies : but no one is willingly accounted 
 a monster in his species ; so I shall endeavour, 
 by a faithful delineation of the features and at- 
 tractions of this paradisaical pandemonium, to 
 show that the matter fell out naturally enough. 
 Two small wings or pavilions two stories high, 
 and adorned with Doric and Ionic columns, are 
 united by a wall, pierced with arches and three 
 gate-ways, which forms the front and princi- 
 pal entrance of the palace towards the Rue St. 
 Honore. The first court, at the time of my 
 visit, was in a littered, unfinished condition, as 
 might be expected from the many changes the 
 palace has undergone in following the political 
 destinies of the kingdom. The vestibule to the 
 second court is supported by Doric columns. 
 This court is enriched with Ionic pillars, and 
 
 l 2 
 
14$ 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 rostra, in alto-relievo; nor is it by any means 
 deficient in architectural merit. Here the palace, 
 properly speaking, terminates : you now enter a 
 low close bazaar, lined with petty shops, and 
 divided into narrow alleys, with no pavement, 
 but the bare earth, trodden into numerous in- 
 equalities: this is the entrance to the en- 
 chanted region : you pass through these gloomy 
 fauces into the third oblong court, the centre of 
 which is formed into a garden ; if such a term 
 may be applied to dusty walks, divided by 
 meagre lines of chesnut-trees, with a few flower- 
 beds about the middle, and a circular basin, 
 from the centre of which the waters of the 
 Ourcq are thrown up to the height of 50 feet, 
 and descend in silver showers, which are the 
 only real ornament of the place. The_ style of 
 the building here is elegant: each of the three 
 sides is four stories high, and present an uni- 
 form fa9ade, pierced by lofty arches, between 
 which are Corinthian pilasters supporting a frise 
 and balustrade, decorated with urns. The in- 
 terior of the piazza, which is not unlike that of 
 Covent-Garden, is occupied by shops and 
 coffee-houses: the former are small, in conse- 
 quence of the excessive rents ; but their 
 windows are crowded with the most elegant 
 bijouterie, and various articles of taste and 
 luxury. One cannot, however, imagine that 
 the brilliant exterior of a jeweller's window is 
 likely to become a very fatal snare to the un- 
 wary, or that many men will ruin themselves 
 
PARIS. 
 
 149 
 
 in trinkets, solely from the attractive manner in 
 which they are displayed before them. Pur- 
 chases here, as in Bond-street, are something 
 per cent, dearer than in less fashionable quarters ; 
 but this is an evil of very minor importance to 
 the class of customers by which they are gene- 
 rally visited. The coffee-houses, both in Paris 
 and every part of France, are places of greater 
 resort than in England ; but this proceeds from 
 causes unconnected with any peculiar attraction 
 in those of the Palais Royal ; nor, though the 
 latter possess every seduction of looking-glass, 
 gilding, marble tables, and frequently of elegant 
 presiding females, is the rate of their caffe, eau 
 sucre, and lemonade, so high, or the commodi- 
 ties themselves of so intoxicating a quality, that 
 much danger need be apprehended, either to the 
 heads or pockets of those who indulge in them. 
 Even the splendors of the caffe de mille colonnes, 
 with the countenance of its presiding deity, who 
 is really a very handsome woman, may be en- 
 joyed at the ordinary charge of little more than 
 half a franc. A more serious danger certainly 
 exists in the gaming-houses, which are here to 
 be found of all grades of respectability, and no 
 respectability, from the cellar upwards ; and it 
 ig certainly a peculiarity in the Palais Royal, 
 that the resorts of dissipation adapted to all 
 ranks are brought into immediate contact j that 
 while dukes and princes scatter their fortunes 
 on the first-floor, their lacqueys are accom- 
 modated with tables and sharpers, upon a 
 
 l 3 
 
150 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 scale suited to their means, in the subterraneous 
 estaminets of the same building. St. Giles' and 
 St. James' are thus piled one above the other, 
 with singular economy of space. The resort is 
 certainly increased by this arrangement : but is 
 the temptation also greater ? I should think not. 
 Every capital in Europe affords abundant faci- 
 lities for gaming ; but that the fatal spirit puts 
 on any unusual form of beauty in the Palais 
 Royal, will scarcely be affirmed by any who 
 have taken the most casual survey of her 
 temples. The unfurnished apartments, the suspi- 
 cious precautions, the attendant gens d'armes, 
 the distorted and passion-blighted countenances 
 collected round the tables, though insufficient 
 to deter those whom the strong need of excite- 
 ment, or desire of gain, force into the vortex, 
 are certainly accessories by no means likely to 
 convert a novice, or debauch a saint. All these 
 gambling-houses are licensed and farmed out 
 by the government : a financial expedient bad 
 enough, like that of lotteries, for professed po- 
 liticians, because it argues ignorance ; but 
 worse for a pious government, because it 
 argues both ignorance and hypocrisy. Re- 
 mains it to consider another species of se- 
 duction abounding in, but not peculiar to the 
 Palais Royal. This, inasmuch as it takes a 
 female form, is certainly of a more dangerous 
 complexion than any I have yet noticed ; and 
 here I cannot but wonder at the curious virtue 
 of a very intelligent visitor of Paris, who has 
 
PARIS. 
 
 151 
 
 unmercifully philippized the Parisian filles-de-* 
 joie, for being less immodest than our own 
 stray muttons : — " Nay," observes he, in the vehe- 
 mence of his indignation, " one can scarcely dis- 
 " tinguish them from modest women." A serious 
 charge ; but certainly not applicable to the 
 nymphs of the Palais, who are as much like our 
 lobbyades, as the most domestic, fire-side loving 
 John Bull could desire them to be. Whence I con- 
 clude, that this species of attraction is not greater 
 in the Palais Royal, than in fifty places which 
 might be mentioned in our own brick capital. Not 
 that Mr. Scott has no ground for his remark : but 
 what then? — Vice (say the saints, and it is always 
 the saints who find vice so dreadfully attractive,) 
 becomes less disgusting : the horror with which 
 it should be regarded is diminished ; the bound- 
 ary betwixt the virtuous and vicious portions of 
 the female community is broken down, until 
 chastity and incontinence are made to look so 
 much alike, that nobody will be at the pains to 
 choose betwixt them ; or the majority may be 
 induced to choose the counterfeit commodity, 
 because it looks as well for present use, and is 
 infinitely cheaper. — In reply to these suggestions 
 towards giving modest women a monopoly of 
 modest manners, it may be conceded, that if 
 deformity in the object were a preventive to the 
 evil of incontinence, an act of parliament to 
 paint all courtezans, and femmes galantes, of 
 whatever rank or quality, with lamp-black,, 
 
 h 4> 
 
152 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 would be a wholesome provision : yet, even in 
 this case, to enforce them to assume brutal man- 
 ners, would be a little hard and objectionable ; 
 but, as matters stand at present, we have striking 
 proof in the examples both of Holland and Eng- 
 land, that the demand (to continue our meta- 
 phor) for the commodity is not a jot lessened 
 by the. deterioration of its quality. Hence it may 
 be very fairly doubted, whether, if from some 
 unfortunate eccentricity of the public taste, a 
 demand should exist for some unwholesome 
 drug, which no legislative enactments could 
 render so unpalatable as to diminish its sale, 
 much would be gained by multiplying its de- 
 leterious powers. Besides, albeit the sentiment 
 of the godlier sort runneth to a contrary opinion, 
 it seems by no means certain, that a naughty 
 woman is so absolutely a pure personification of 
 vice, as our modes of expression commonly im- 
 ply ; on the contrary, I am disposed to the 
 immoral heresy of believing, that though want 
 of chastity in woman is by man termed vice, 
 xareijoxijv, & ™ m reality but a single moral de- 
 fect, which neither necessarily involves all Other 
 vices, nor is in such natural antipathy with good 
 qualities, as never to be found in their society. 
 Should there happen to be any truth in this re- 
 mark, the dangers of incontinence are suscepti- 
 ble of increase and diminution, according as 
 this failing is found more or less united with 
 other vices : as, if a woman should unite drunken- 
 ness to a want of chastity, a connection with 
 
PARIS. 
 
 153 
 
 her would be far more dangerous to the moral 
 habits of such as frequented her society, than if 
 she had not been infected with this additional 
 deformity. Why does not this observation ex- 
 tend to manners ? If the manners of a courtezan 
 be brutal, vulgar, and depraved, will not the 
 society of such a one be far more injurious than 
 if the contrary had been the case ? The Greeks 
 did not hold our orthodox opinion in this re- 
 spect; since their gravest philosophers and 
 statesmen professed to find not only pleasure 
 but improvement in the fascinating society of the 
 Aspasia, or Leontium of the day. As for the 
 destruction of moral barriers, it is, like most me- 
 taphorical arguments, a little incorrect. An 
 impure puts on, in public, the manners of a 
 modest woman; she consequently excites less 
 disgust in the virtuous part of the assembly. So 
 she ought; — a human being guilty of one fault, 
 is not so bad, and consequently ought not to 
 excite so much abhorrence, as one guilty of seve- 
 ral. — Aye, but the lookers-on will become imi- 
 tators, unless thoroughly disgusted. — Why, to 
 say vice must be rendered perfectly loathsome, 
 before virtue is out of danger from its attraction, 
 is to declare, that cceteris paribus vice is pre- 
 ferable to virtue. Here, however, is the secret: 
 the truly virtuous among women, like the truly 
 honest among men, are little in danger from a 
 negative attraction ; but there is always a quan- 
 tity of spurious virtue abroad, which is worn, 
 and regarded by its owners as a mere cloak of 
 
154 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 convenience, and in fact sits so loosely that it, 
 is every moment on the point of dropping from 
 their shoulders ; and then, woe for the exposure I 
 Besides, moralists of this complexion feel their 
 situation a forced one, and cannot bear to forego, 
 or even share, any of the advantages of character 
 and opinion, which they regard as the indem- 
 nities for the privations to which they feel them- 
 selves subjected. This sense of their own in- 
 ternal quality begets a similar opinion of the 
 sentiments of others, and makes them believe 
 that unless hell, heaven, and all kinds of worldly 
 sanctions to boot, be put into the scale of virtue, 
 men will never be induced to trouble themselves 
 with so uninteresting a commodity : — but this 
 moral rambling is an infinite digression from the 
 Palais Royal. , 
 
 § 6. Musee d'Histoire Naturelle et Jardin 
 du Roi. 
 
 The Jardin du Roi was formerly the Jar- 
 din des Plantes; a name neutral enough, it might 
 have been imagined, to have escaped proscrip- 
 tion : but not so ; churches, bridges, gardens, 
 all alike submitted, on the restoration, to the 
 purification of a second baptism ; though a mali- 
 cious Bonapartist is still now and then heard to 
 stir up loyal bile, by the use of ex-appella- 
 tives. Thus the Pantheon still holds a kind of 
 struggle with St. Genevieve : the Pont de Jena 
 is disposed to keep its ground against the Pont 
 des Invalides ; and the Jardin des Plantes will not 
 
PARIS. 
 
 155 
 
 unfrequently supersede the auguster title of Le 
 Jardin du Roi. This, however, was its original 
 name before the Revolution ; and, call it as 
 you will, it must always be visited with interest, 
 for the facilities it affords to botanical and agri- 
 cultural studies. Not only all sorts of trees, 
 shrubs, and flowers, are arranged and classified 
 in separate clumps and parterres, but samples 
 are collected of every species of manure, of 
 fences of all descriptions, together with basins 
 for aquatic plants, and birds, and conservatories 
 for the productions of foreign climates. One 
 portion of the garden is allotted to the recep- 
 tion of wild animals, and birds, who are accom- 
 modated according to their habits and dispo- 
 sitions : the more furious kinds in dens, several 
 bears in large pits or fosses, deer and goats in 
 enclosures ; the gentler quadrupeds in large 
 stables ; monkies of all kinds in a long room, 
 full of cages, and birds in aviaries or small yards. 
 One sees them with more pleasure than usually 
 attends such exhibitions, because not only their 
 confinement but their comfort is an object of 
 consideration. # 
 
 The ground-floor of the museum is filled with 
 fish and amphibious animals, well stuffed and pre- 
 served 5 shells, fossil bones, and minerals; 
 among the latter is an aerotholite, weighing 
 127.27 kilogrammes, which fell at Ennesheim, 
 
 * The only menagerie I have seen managed on the same 
 gratifying principle is that of the Duchess of York, at Oat- 
 lands Park. 
 
\ 
 156 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 near Colmar, in 1492 ; presented to the museum 
 by Fourcroy : its size makes one feel such 
 showers cannot be too rare. The upper rooms 
 contain stuffed animals, shells, birds, and insects; 
 a camel-leopard is among the former. The col- 
 lection of birds is in excellent preservation : one 
 imagines how readily many of the smaller species 
 might be mistaken among their native groves 
 for 
 
 Winged flowers or flying gems. 
 
 The museum of comparative anatomy contains 
 in the upper rooms, skeletons of fish, birds, am- 
 phibious and other animals ; different prepara- 
 tions in wax, by no means curious j and three 
 anatomies in iron, one consisting of the veins 
 only of the human body, a second of the arte- 
 ries, a third of both. The lower apartments are 
 filled with skeletons of the larger quadrupeds, 
 and of the human species, in all its races and 
 anomalies. Among them is that of the Hotten- 
 tot Venus. The skeleton of El-Hhalaba, the 
 Syrian who stabbed general Kleber at Cairo, is 
 also here. An inscription tells the manner of 
 his death, his impalement, the burning off of 
 his right hand, and the tortures he endured for 
 four hours, without uttering a word. It is dif- 
 ficult to conceive a motive for this disgusting 
 yet triumphant recital of cruelties. That the 
 assassin should have been punished with death, 
 is neither extraordinary nor unjust ; but to have 
 thus eked out his death-pangs with inhuman 
 
PAEIS. 
 
 157 
 
 torments, was affording the inhabitants of Egypt 
 a very sorry specimen of the superior civilisation 
 of their European conquerors. It is curious to 
 consider with what different feelings this action 
 might not only be viewed by the countrymen of 
 El-Hhalaba, but even judged of according to the 
 most elevated rules and examples of European 
 Conduct. General Kleber was the leader of an 
 army which had brought unprovoked desolation 
 into the country of the Syrian, — a desolation in 
 which it is more than probable some of his dear- 
 est kindred had been involved. Under such 
 circumstances, may he not have believed himself 
 acting no inglorious part when he devoted him- 
 self to avenge both kin and country ? Assuredly 
 it was no mean or selfish feeling which impelled 
 him to brave, and supported him in enduring, a 
 death of lingering torture. In Syria, may not 
 the assassin be accounted a hero ? In ancient 
 Rome, would his conduct have been deemed ig- 
 noble ? or might not the words of Scaavola have 
 been used with equal propriety by El-Hhalaba : 
 '« As a foe I sought to slay a foe ; nor have I less 
 " courage to endure my own death, than to at- 
 " tempt that af an enemy: a Roman is equally 
 " prepared to die or suffer bravely ?" * But his 
 enemies possessed not only the power of life and 
 
 * " Hostis hortem occidere void, nec ad mortem minus 
 " animi est quam fuit ad caedem. Et facere et pati fortia 
 " Romanum est." Without discussing the authenticity of 
 this incident, the manner in which Livy relates it is suffi- 
 cient proof of the light in which it was regarded. 
 
158 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 death, but of glory and ignominy. The instru- 
 ment of havoc and ambition is mourned over by 
 his compatriots, and celebrated by posterity. 
 The avenger of his country's sufferings dies in 
 tortures, and leaves his bones to be the butt and 
 record of perpetual ignominy. 
 
 § % Theatres. 
 
 Theatre Frances. The merits and deme- 
 rits of the French drama present a field of dis- 
 cussion not only trodden over, but pulverised 
 by the host of disputants, to whom at various 
 periods it has served for an arena of critical 
 combat ; there is therefore little probability that 
 a fresh excursion will be productive of much 
 novelty. Theatres are, however, too essential a 
 part of Paris to be slightingly past over ; the 
 whole nation is eminently theatrical : dramatic 
 amusements, which in London are only an oc- 
 casional, and out of London a very unfrequent 
 recreation, form, in almost every part of France, 
 an essential ingredient of social existence. The 
 consequence is naturally a mutual action and 
 re-action of national character upon dramatic 
 productions, and of these again upon the for- 
 mer. Hence, the mannerism of the French stage 
 is any thing but accidental : it has ever been 
 linked with nationality, and its existence de- 
 pends on the fictitious train of circumstances 
 from which it derives its birth. If it outlasts 
 these, it is only by the mere force of routine 
 
PARIS. 
 
 and prejudice, which are every day weakened, 
 like the kindred cause of legitimacy in govern- 
 ment, both by the dying off of old votaries, and 
 by the increasing craving for a species of grati- 
 fication suited to the new develop ement of pub- 
 lic taste. Both Schiller and Madame de Stael 
 have plainly expressed their belief that the old 
 dramatic taste in France is in a state both of 
 decrepitude and disfavour. The changes which 
 the national character has undergone since the 
 Revolution must indisputably have influenced it : 
 nor would the nation be probably more back- 
 ward to admit a change in its theatrical, than 
 in its political sentiments, were it not that a 
 kind of pride is attached to the profession of 
 liberal principles in politics ; while a feeling of 
 humiliation must accompany the confession 
 that the French drama, so long insisted upon 
 as the most splendid effort of the national 
 genius, is, in reality, extremely deficient in the 
 most essential points of dramatic excellence. 
 When France dethroned her king, the crown 
 was transferred to the whole nation ; but after 
 dethroning Corneille., Racine, Voltaire, and 
 Crebillon, the sovereignty would be altogether 
 extinguished. The chef-d'ceuvres of these writers 
 are therefore still supp orted as a point of honour j 
 and a certain countenance is even afforded to a 
 few of their modern imitators, either for the 
 sake of consistency, or from lack of something 
 better. 
 
 In confining my observations to such pieces 
 
160 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 as I saw acted, I shall attempt, by noticing 
 their effect on the audience, as well as by a 
 slight analysis of their several merits and defects, 
 to strengthen the foregoing remarks, and render 
 them further probable, by showing how little 
 natural pathos, character, or power of execution, 
 the most approved French dramas can lay 
 claim to. 
 
 The Cid is Corneille's master-piece. What are 
 the feelings its representation should, nay does, 
 excite ? The plot is, in its nature, in a high de- 
 gree tragical : — a lover forced by honour to kill 
 the father of his mistress. Yet the catastrophe 
 is produced amid bursts of laughter, and the de- 
 velopement listened to with overwhelming ennui 
 and indifference. The play opens with a quar- 
 rel betwixt two courtiers about a place, — that of 
 tutor to the king's son. The Count, who is the 
 ousted suitor, thinks kings, like other people, 
 may sometimes commit mistakes, and that the 
 monarch's choice, in the present instance, has 
 been but a blind one ; to which his successful 
 rival, Don Diego, replies, that though this should 
 be the case, it is a respect due to absolute power, 
 to criticise nothing that a king has willed. * 
 He, however, offers to unite his son Roderigo in 
 marriage with Chimene, the Count's daughter, 
 
 * Ne parlons plus d'un choix dont votre esprit s'irrite, 
 La faveur Pa pu faire autant que le merite ; 
 Mais on doit ee respect au pouvoir absolu, 
 De n'examiner rein quand un roi l'a youlu. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 161 
 
 and so bury animosities ; but the latter con- 
 tinues to storm, and after a sharp specimen of 
 hexametrical attack and defence, in no very 
 courtly language, he boxes old Don Diego's 
 ears, and disarms him, on his attempting to 
 avenge the insult. Roderigo, who enters pre- 
 sently after the fray, is called upon by his father 
 to be his champion, and fight a man accustomed 
 to frighten a whole army, and scatter a hundred 
 squadrons in battle *, and who, for his further 
 comfort, is the father of Chimene. Don Rode- 
 rigo, left to himself, exhales the v combat of his 
 soul in a long lyric ode, which, as well as the 
 whole of the first act, has been happily parodied 
 by Boileau. He, however, determines on the 
 duel, and thus ends the first act ; on which we 
 must remark, the insipidity of deducing the tra- 
 gical circumstances of the plot from a common- 
 place court squabble, altogether at variance, as 
 are the sentiments of the piece throughout, with 
 the simple manners and chivalrous independence 
 of the days of the Cid. 
 
 The second act commences with a dialogue 
 betwixt the Count and Don Arias, a courtier, 
 dispatched by the king to bring him to reason. 
 He thinks, however, that a slight disobedience 
 to the royal injunctions may be well balanced 
 
 * Meurs, ou tue. Au surplus, pour ne te point flatter, 
 Je te donne a combattre un homme a redouter, 
 Je l'ai vu tout couvert de sang et de poussiere 
 Porter partout l'effroi dans une arm^e entiere, 
 J'ai vu par sa valeur cent escadrons rompus, 
 M 
 
162 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 by his former services; upon which he is told 
 by the right loyal minister, that however illus- 
 trious and important may be the services per- 
 formed by a subject, they are no more than his 
 duty, and give him no claim on the gratitude of 
 his king*: the Count, however, continues ob- 
 stinate, and Don Arias retires to report his un- 
 successful mission, when Don Roderigo enters, 
 and challenges his adversary in so gallant a 
 style, as to extract a compliment from the Count 
 himself, who feels so tender an interest for his 
 young antagonist, that he advises him to turn 
 poltroon, and give up the quarrel : which friendly 
 offer being of course rejected, they go off to de- 
 cide the contest. In the next scene we have 
 the king in council, determining to be obeyed, 
 and making a lengthy expasee of his resolution ; 
 at the end of which, by way of parenthesis, he 
 observes that ten Moorish vessels have been seen 
 in the river, evidently with an intention of mak- 
 ing a descent : Don Arias observes, that a 
 monarch like his majesty could have nothing to 
 fear : the king, however, though he declines 
 any considerable preparatives, for fear of alarm- 
 ing the city, (which of course had no eyes to 
 see the hostile fleet, and must have thought no- 
 thing so alarming as the means of defence,) 
 
 * Quoi qu'on fasse d'illustre et de considerable, 
 Jamais, a son sujet, un roi n'est redevable, 
 Vous vous flattez beaucoup, et vous devez savoir 
 Que, qui sert bien son roi ne fait que son devoir. 
 
PARTS. 
 
 163 
 
 orders a double guard on the waits, which, he 
 says, " will be enough for that evening and 
 having settled this very unimportant business, 
 is at leisure to hear the fatal issue of the duel, 
 in which the Count has been killed ; and to at- 
 tend to his daughter's complaints, who now first 
 enters with an outcry for justice on her lover. 
 The cause is pleaded on both sides, by Chimeme, 
 and Don Diego, when King Ferdinand sums up, 
 by desiring the lady to be quiet, which she na- 
 turally considers a considerable aggravation of 
 her misfortunes. * 
 
 The third act introduces Don Roderigo in 
 Chimene's house, where he is concealed, or suf- 
 fered to conceal himself, by her waiting-maid, 
 while his rival Don Sancho enters, and offers 
 his sword to avenge Roderigo's mistress on him- 
 self ; an offer he has the satisfaction of hearing 
 her promise to avail herself of, should other 
 means fail : but his unpleasant feelings on this 
 account are afterwards balanced by a dialogue 
 betwixt the lady and her aforesaid maid, in 
 which she deplores that " one-half of her life 
 " should have buried the other t declares her 
 love, her determination to punish the murderer, 
 and die with him. Roderigo now appears, and 
 after some natural expressions incidental to their 
 
 * Prends du repos, ma fille, et calme tes douleurs. 
 Chimene. M'ordonner du repos c'est croitre mes mal- 
 heures. 
 
 f La moitie de ma vie a mis l'autre au tombeau- 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 situation, they discuss their several duties in 
 speeches of betwixt 30 and 40 lines each : Ro- 
 derigo insisting on being killed by his mis- 
 tress's hand, something like Richard and Lady 
 Anne, but with much more logical seriousness, 
 which is the more ridiculous, because no spec- 
 tator for a moment doubts that Chimene 
 will refuse his request, and sees that he runs 
 very little risk in making it. The debate con- 
 cludes by her desiring him to leave the house, 
 with especial care not to be seen, lest it should 
 create scandal*; — a frigidity of prudence which 
 effectually destroys all our sympathy, by showing 
 she has her wits too well about her, to be hur- 
 ried by her feelings into any dangerous excess. 
 The scene thus concludes : 
 
 Don Roderigo. O miracle of love ! 
 Chimhie. O load of woe ! 
 
 D. Rod. What tears and sufferings will our fathers cost 
 us ! 
 
 Chim. Roderigo, who'd have thought it ! 
 D. Rod. Chimene, who'd have said it ! 
 Chim. That our bliss was so nigh, and so quickly ruin'd ! 
 D. Rod. And that when so near the harbour a storm so 
 unexpectedly should wreck our hopes ! 
 Chim. Ah ! mortal woes ! 
 D. Rod. Ah ! unavailing sorrows ! 
 
 * Dans l'ombre de la nuit, cache bien ton depart. 
 Si l'on te voit sortir, mon honneur court hasard ; 
 La seule occasion qu'aura la m&Usance, 
 C'est de savoir qu'ici j'ai souffert ta presence : 
 Ne lui donne point lieu d'attaquer ma vertu. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 16.5 
 
 Chim. Once more, go : I'll hear no more. 
 
 D. Rod. Farewell : I go to prolong a dying life, till your 
 legal process shall deprive me of it. 
 
 Chim. If I obtain my suit, I engage my faith not to live a 
 moment after you. Farewell ; depart : and particularly, be 
 careful no one sees you go. 
 
 This prudent caution, thus again repeated, has 
 all the effect of farce : it is any thing but the 
 confiding passionate spirit of the days of chivalry: 
 like the courtiers' quarrel in the first act, it 
 is the spirit of nothing but Louis XIV.'s drawing- 
 room. 
 
 The succeeding scene brings in old Don 
 Diego trotting about in search of his son, to find 
 whom we must either suppose him to have in- 
 troduced himself into Chimene's house, (which 
 seems indeed throughout the play to be a very 
 public place of resort,) or there must be a change 
 of scene and place, in violation of the Unities. 
 Roderigo now meets his father, who congratu- 
 lates and consoles him ; using for the latter pur- 
 pose the apposite observation, " that we have 
 " but one honour, but may find abundance of 
 <* mistresses."* He then proceeds to give news 
 of the Moorish fleet, which is to arrive at the 
 city walls in the course of an hour, without tu- 
 mult {sans bruit) : a circumstance not easily 
 reconcileable with the following lines, which 
 tell us, that " the court is in confusion, the 
 
 * Nous n'avons qu'un honneur : il est tant de maitresses ! 
 M 3 
 
166 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 " people alarmed : nothing but cries to be heard j 
 " nothing but tears seen." — We find, however,, 
 from this account of matters, that King Ferdi- 
 nand's prudent resolution to do nothing for fear 
 of creating an alarm, has by no means had a 
 happy issue. No means of defence are at 
 hand ; but though the public force is thus la- 
 mentably deficient, and careless of the general 
 safety, Don Diego, who seems to have taken 
 pleasure in publishing his affront, informs us 
 that 500 of his friends, who had assembled at his 
 house to avenge his box on the ear, having now 
 nothing better to do, will gladly try their hands 
 on the Africans ; and Roderigo, as being a 
 young man who has never seen an enemy, is of 
 course the fittest person to command them. 
 They accordingly go off to prepare for battle. 
 
 In the beginning of the fourth act we find, by 
 Elvira's account of the action to Chimene, that 
 three hours have been spent in fighting since 
 the last act ; so that as much havoc is made in 
 the beloved Unities, to all purposes of common 
 sense and credence, as among the infidels. Chi- 
 mene, who is at first moved to admiration by 
 the recital of her lover's exploits, quickly rallies 
 back her anger, sagely remarking, ff If he has 
 " conquered two kings, he has killed my father 
 and then, lest her resolution, or resentment, 
 should fail her, like Bob Acre's courage, she 
 apostrophises the several portions of her mourn- 
 ing dress, to keep her in mind of it : — 
 
PARIS. 
 
 167 
 
 Vous qui rendez la force a mes ressentimens ; 
 Voiles, crepes, habits, lugubres ornemens, 
 Pompe que me prescrit sa premiere victoire, 
 Contre ma passion soutenez bien ma gloire ; 
 Et lorsque mon amour prendra trop de pouvoir, 
 Parlez a mon esprit de mon triste devoir. 
 
 In the next scene, Roderigo is received by 
 the king, honoured with the title of the Cid, 
 and gives a very tedious account of the battle, 
 which is, luckily enough for the audience, inter- 
 rupted by Chimene' s everlasting outcry for 
 justice. The king, quick as lightning, bethinks 
 him of a stratagem: Roderigo withdraws, and 
 Ferdinand declares he has died of his wounds. 
 Chimene, though she must have known the con- 
 trary, both from Elvira, and public report, im- 
 mediately swoons: " Now then," says the king, 
 " I've fairly caught you." — No such thing — 
 Chimene is too good a logician. — She first 
 proves how easily people faint from joy; but 
 upon Ferdinand's demurring to this interpret- 
 ation of her feelings, she proves to him, that if 
 it was grief which overpowered her, it was grief 
 that Roderigo should have perished so glori- 
 ously : finally, she insists upon being allowed a 
 champion, and names Don Sancho : the king 
 insists in his turn, as a condition of the combat, 
 that she shall marry the conqueror : her com- 
 plaint at this enactment {Quoi, Sire, m'imposer 
 une si dure loi /) is followed by a general titter, 
 from its gratuitous hypocrisy, by which, how- 
 ever, the king is no ways imposed on, but de- 
 clares he knows, if Roderigo is victorious, she 
 
 m 4 
 
168 
 
 will be very happy to accept him ; and so the 
 act closes. 
 
 The last act commences with the appari- 
 tion of Don Roderigo before Chimene, who 
 is immediately alarmed for her reputation, and 
 desires him to be gone ; but he is come to 
 bid a last farewell ! — and now, if we had pre- 
 viously been disposed to regard the lady's con- 
 duct as extreme in its rigour, we are agreeably 
 relieved by perceiving the under-plot. Don 
 Sancho has been made a champion merely from 
 his lack of prowess, and Roderigo is reproached 
 for dreading an adversary so little formidable : 
 Don Roderigo explains, by declaring his inten- 
 tion to oppose no resistance to the sword raised 
 in her cause ; a design in which he is so wordy 
 and serious, that did he not come to reveal it to 
 the woman who has confessed her affection for 
 him, one might really imagine him in earnest : 
 Chimene actually takes him au pied de la lettre; so 
 without more ado bids him do his best to rid her 
 of the poor cat's-paw, Sancho, and take her for 
 his pains* ; on which Roderigo, in a fit of en- 
 
 * Puisque pour t'empecher de courir au trepas, 
 Ta vie et ton honneur sont de faibles appas ; 
 Si jamais je t'aimai, cher Rodrigue, en revanche, 
 DeTends-toi maintenant pour m'oter a Don Sanche ; 
 Combat pour m'affranchir d'une condition 
 Qui me livre a l'objet de mon aversion. 
 Te dirai-je encore plus ? Va, songe a ta defense, 
 Pour forcer mon devoir, pour m'imposer silence ; 
 Et si tu sens pour moi ton cceur encore epris, 
 Sors vainqueur d'un combat dont Chimene est le prix. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 169 
 
 thusiasm, declares his single arm a match for 
 the united forces of the Navarese, Moors, 
 Castilians, and Spaniards, and so goes to 
 combat. Chimene and Elvira remain to dis- 
 cuss the event, which is presently announced 
 by the appearance of Don Sancho, with a 
 sword, which he says " he is obliged to bring 
 * to her feet;" but before he can proceed, 
 she bursts into passionate lamentations for her 
 lover's death : Don Sancho in vain tries to get 
 in a word, while a general shout of laughter on 
 the part of the audience announces the comic 
 effect of her perverse misunderstanding. The 
 king and etceteras enter; and she immediately 
 harangues him under her first impression, which 
 calls upon Don Sancho to explain, who observes 
 with great naivete, — 
 
 Elle m'a cru vainqueur me voyant de retour, 
 Et soudain sa colere a trahi son amour, 
 Avec tant de transport et tant d'impatience, 
 Que je n'ai pu gagner un moment d'audience. 
 
 He then adds, with a disinterestedness worthy 
 of a better fate, — 
 
 Pour moi, bien que vaincu, je me repute heureux, 
 Et malgre" l'interet de mon coeur amoureux, 
 Perdant infiniment, j'aime encore ma defaite ; 
 Qui fait le beau succes d'une amour si parfaite. 
 
 Roderigo now appears ; and the joke having 
 been sufficiently prolonged, Chimene yields to 
 her destiny, observing, " A king's commands 
 
170 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 " should be obeyed" — (Et quand un rot com- 
 mande, on lui doit obeir) — a piece of resigna- 
 tion received by the audience with a second 
 peal of laughter, and thus merrily the tragedy 
 concludes. To render the effect still more 
 comic, Chimene was played by a lusty lady of 
 about forty, who seemed far too much a matter- 
 of-fact kind of person to fall into all these 
 vagaries. M. Lafond performed Roderigo, as 
 the right occupant of all such chivalrous and 
 amorous characters as require a strapping, 
 lover-like figure, and white satin breeches. He 
 is besides of the proper heroic altitude ; but " in 
 " the very storm and whirlwind of his passion," 
 there is an evident internal tranquillity, which 
 assures us his feelings are only skin-deep. 
 
 Andromaque, though a composition of much 
 sweetness, : and some tragical effect, sets our 
 notions of Grecian character and conduct so 
 completely at defiance, that we must forget all 
 our previous knowledge, before we can afford 
 any tolerable degree of patience to the carica- 
 tures of Racine. The first interview betwixt 
 Orestes and the King of Epirus is not deficient 
 in dignity ; but what can we say " to the 
 " rugged Pyrrhus," who, in the next scene, 
 addresses his Trojan captive with — " Sought 
 " you me, madam? Can I allow myself so 
 " charming a hope ?" * His resolution to 
 
 Me cherchiez-vous, madame ? 
 
 Un espoir si charmant me seroit-il permis ? 
 
PAEIS. 
 
 171 
 
 defend Astyanax at all hazards is consistent with 
 his haughty temper and high courage ; but " Oh ! 
 " how unlike to him," when, as in the following 
 speech, he joins the tone of an Orandates of 
 French romance, to that of a languishing petit- 
 maitre of Racine's own times. 
 
 " Doubtless I have made many wretched, 
 " and Phrygia has a hundred times beheld my 
 " hands stained with your blood ; but with 
 " what effect have your eyes been employed 
 " against me ! How dearly have I bought the 
 " tears they have shed ! Of what remorse have 
 " they made me the victim ! I suffer all the 
 " evils I have caused to Troy. Vanquished, 
 " loaded" with fetters, devoured by regret, burnt 
 " with more fires than I ever lighted ; so many 
 " cares, so many tears, so many restless flames. 
 « — Alas ! was I ever so cruel as you are." — 
 Act I. Scene IV. # To render the ridicule of 
 this character more apparent, it is played by an 
 actor of insignificant stature, mean presence, 
 
 * J'ai fait des malheureux, sans doute ; et la Phrygie 
 Cent fois de votre sang a vu ma main rougie : 
 Mais que vos yeux sur moi se sont bien exerc^s ! 
 Qu'ils m'ont vendu bien cher les pleurs qu'ils ont versee ! 
 De combien de remords m'ont-ils rendu la proie ! 
 Je souffre tous les maux que j'ai faits devant Troie. 
 Vaincu, charge de fers, de regrets consume, 
 Brule de plus de feux que je n'en allumai, 
 Tant de soins, tant de pleurs, tant d'ardeurs inquietes — 
 Helas ! fus-je jamais si cruel que vous l'etes ? 
 
1?2 
 
 PAHIS. 
 
 and feeble voice. So much for royal dignity on- 
 the French stage ! The character of Andro- 
 mache, though imagined with feeling, is deve- 
 loped in such an endless tissue of tears and la- 
 mentations, all in the same key, that she com- 
 pletely overdraws upon our sympathy ; besides 
 having an air of coquetry and ingratitude to- 
 wards her benefactor, who makes nothing of 
 turning a kingdom topsy-turvy to obtain a 
 smile. Hermione, as played by Mademoiselle 
 Duchesnois, is a part of considerable energy. 
 Notwithstanding very disadvantageous features, 
 this actress contrives to give the successive con- 
 flicts of jealousy, rage, and despair, with dignity 
 and effect : she is a queen throughout, as well 
 as an injured passionate woman ; but the supe- 
 riority she maintains is little favourable to the 
 character of Orestes, who submits to be the 
 dupe and instrument of her contending feelings r 
 with such stupid and spiritless credulity, that 
 his final dismissal seems to be no more than his 
 just wages : it is indeed a great beauty of Her- 
 mione's character, that her love for Pyrrhus be- 
 trays itself, even in the moments when she seems 
 most abandoned to revenge ; as when she finds 
 Orestes hesitating to assassinate him, and ex- 
 claims : — " Alone I go to the temple in which 
 " their nuptials are preparing, whither you dare 
 " not go to win me : there I shall find means 
 " to approach my enemy ; I will pierce the 
 " heart I have been unable to soften, and my 
 " bloody hands, straitwith turned against myself, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 173 
 
 9* shall, in despite of him, unite our destinies : 
 ** all ingrate as he is, 'twill be sweeter thus to 
 " die with him, than to live with you."* In 
 the scene when for the last time she addresses, 
 and would still reclaim the lord of her affec- 
 tions, Mademoiselle Duchesnois paints the trans- 
 itions of love, bitterness, and rage, with an 
 energy worthy of Mrs. Siddons. The catas- 
 trophe is certainly grand. The anguish of Her- 
 mione, and the frantic despair of Orestes, are 
 depicted with a master's hand. Talma is justly 
 celebrated in the concluding scenes in which 
 grief has disordered his intellect, and the furies, 
 with all their serpents, rise in his imagination 
 to claim their victim. It is, perhaps, to be re- 
 gretted, that this madness has been assigned by 
 mythology to another cause, which not only 
 clings to our recollection, but is also more 
 awful, as well as more suitable to the Grecian 
 character. 
 
 The Rhadamiste of Crebillon has the disad- 
 vantage of a plot tediously developed, and diffi- 
 cult to be comprehended. There is a gloom of 
 
 * Je m'en vais seule au temple oil leur hymen s'apprete, 
 Oil vous n'osez aller meriter ma conqu£te : 
 La, de mon ennemi je saurai m'approcher ; 
 Je percerai le coeur que je n'ai pu toucher ! 
 Et mes sanglantes mains, sur moi-meme tournees, 
 Aussitot, malgre lui, joindront nos destinees : 
 Et, tout ingrat qu'il est, il me sera plus doux . 
 De mourir avec lui, que de vivre avec vous. 
 
174 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 thought and suffering about Rhadamiste highly 
 tragical; but this is a pitch at which the French 
 dramatists never long support themselves. The 
 internal workings of a distracted spirit, too 
 proud to complain, racked, but yet dignified, 
 are by them rarely expressed. Their heroes 
 make no scruple of weeping whenever they find 
 themselves ill at ease: the business of the 
 actor is certainly simplified by this conduct : 
 a white handkerchief is a symbol of sorrow 
 easily displayed, and readily understood. Rha- 
 damiste desires his friend to judge of his misfor- 
 tunes " by his tears :" the spectators judge 
 not of his misfortunes, but his weakness : the 
 tears which escape from manly eyes should be 
 wrenched like drops of blood from the heart, 
 when the excess of suffering is revealed by the 
 efforts made to conceal it. Notwithstanding 
 however this blemish, the dark feelings of Rha- 
 damiste are powerfully delineated, and not un- 
 frequently remind us of Monte's terrific Aristo- 
 demo, Or the mingled remorse and tenderness 
 which agitate the bosoms of Lara and the 
 Giaour ; but the play rather sinks than rises in 
 its progress : a father, the rival, and jealous of 
 his son, is a subject fitter for comedy than tra- 
 gedy: the petty suspicions of Rhadamiste are 
 inconsistent with the vehemence of his charac- 
 ter, and destroy the mingled admiration and 
 regret, which belong to high but perverted sen- 
 timents. There are touches of nature in the 
 last scene : when the father of Rhadamiste, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 who has ignorantly wounded his proscribed 
 son, exclaims, 
 
 Nature, avenge thyself! 'tis my son's blood! 
 
 he replies, 
 
 Did not the thirst you had to shed it, tell you this ? When 
 I saw you so greedily seek it, I thought you indeed knew 
 me. 
 
 Pharasmanes. Unhappy father ! why conceal the truth ? 
 
 Rhadamiste. You always made yourself so terrible, that 
 your proscribed and wretched children could never regard 
 you as a father." * 
 
 Voltaire seems to have given the French 
 drama all the energy of which the old form is 
 susceptible. His Merope is wrought up with 
 great effect. The conflict and self-betrayal of 
 the mother's feelings, when, after she has recog- 
 nised her son, she is still obliged to feign she 
 sees in him that son's murderer, are a consider- 
 able improvement on Maffei : so also is the re- 
 vealing to Polifontes, previous to the catas- 
 trophe, that his most dreaded enemy still lives : 
 his punishment is thus inflicted by a hand from 
 which he feels its justice. But the French man- 
 ner of describing, instead of representing the 
 
 * Nature, ah ! venge-toi, c'est Je sang de mon flls. 
 
 Rhadamiste. La soif que votre erreur avoit de le repandre, 
 N'a-t-elle pas suffi, seigneur, pour vous 1'apprendre ? 
 Je vous l'ai vu poursuivre avec tant de courroux, 
 Que j'ai cru qu'en efFet j'&ais connu de vous. 
 
 Pharasmanes. Pourquoi me le cacher ? Ah! pere deplorable. 
 
 Rha. Vous vous £tes toujours rendu si redoubtable, 
 Que jamais vos enfans proscrits et malheureux, 
 N'ont pu vous regarder comme un pere pour eiix. 
 
176 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 catastrophe, freezes all our previous emotion. 
 Nothing can be imagined so flat and deadening, 
 as to follow up an action of the highest interest 
 with a long narration. The most vivid descrip- 
 tion falls lifeless on the ears of auditors, whose 
 feelings have been roused by the visible image 
 of the event. Narration is meant for the closet, 
 where the imagination can take its time to fill 
 up the picture of the poet ; but the drama ren- 
 ders this operation of the fancy superfluous, by 
 placing the action, with the feelings incidental 
 to it, before our eyes : the effect is consequently 
 expected to be more lively, and to approach the 
 nature of reality j nor can any thing be more 
 foreign to the dramatic intention than, when the 
 action has attained the climax of interest, sud- 
 denly to remove it from our observation, and 
 substitute a description for a catastrophe. Take 
 a real event : let us be eye-witnesses to the first 
 part of it ; but when the interest attached to it 
 is nearly worked up to the highest pitch, let us 
 then be shut out, and informed of the sequel : 
 should we be satisfied to have our expectations 
 thus raised and frustrated ? In addition to more 
 serious objections, the catastrophical narrative 
 of tragedy is always delivered by a messenger, 
 or confidant, and acted by an inferior player, 
 to whom we never feel disposed to listen any 
 longer than is absolutely necessary for the 
 understanding of the piece; yet here he is to 
 supply the defect both of our eye-sight and of 
 the talents of the first-rate performers. The 
 
PARIS, 
 
 177 
 
 consequence is in Merope, that the interest ex- 
 pires with the queen's departure for the temple; 
 and the audience, notwithstanding it may force 
 itself to seem interested, feels in reality as if, 
 instead of getting into the theatre, it had to 
 content itself with reading the play-bills witb- 
 outside it. There are perhaps no catastrophes 
 on our stage more blameable, according to the 
 rules of French criticism, than those of Othello 
 and Hamlet j let us imagine, therefore, that in- 
 stead of the complicated agonies of the one, 
 and the tumultuous horror of the other, we 
 heard a circumstantial narrative of them given 
 by Mr. Creswell, or Mr. Cleremont, and we 
 shall then be able to estimate what the French 
 stage gains or loses by its delicacy of winding 
 up its plots behind the curtain. I am surprised 
 no ultra-critic ever imagined a play, the action 
 of which was wholly invisible, and each act re- 
 lated to the audience. Zaire is not faulty in 
 this particular; but its impression is weakened 
 by a crossing of interests unfavourable to dra- 
 matic impressions. Whatever catastrophe the 
 author may choose to give to his plot, the spec- 
 tator should feel no doubt as to where to bestow 
 his sympathy : but in Zaire we are sensible of 
 •a painful confusion in this respect : all parties 
 are in the right, according to their several 
 principles : Orosmane, Zaire, Lusignan, and 
 Nerestan, all merit our respect and pity ; so that 
 we feel almost provoked so many well-disposed 
 persons should create so much mischief I 
 
178 
 
 PARIS* 
 
 cannot agree with Schiller, that Lusignan amd 
 Nerestan pre-eminently claim our sympathy: 
 their conduct is the result of motives perfectly 
 honourable and consistent, but of such as can be 
 sympathised with by those only who consider 
 forms of faith as more important than virtuous 
 conduct. The feelings of Orosmane and Zaire 
 interest all hearts which have loved, and hoped, 
 and known the bitterness of disappointment; 
 yet the destinies of these two amiable beings 
 are made wretched, in order that one of them 
 should die a Christian, rather than a Mahom- 
 medan ; a conversion purchased by two lives, 
 and the moral guilt of a generous young hero. 
 None but bigots can derive satisfaction from 
 proselytes m^e at this price ; nor do I believe 
 it was Voltaire's intention that the impression 
 produced by this piece should be favourable to 
 Christianity. The part of the superbe Orosmane 
 is filled by Lafond, whom I have already men- 
 tioned as wholly deficient in passion and deep 
 feeling. 
 
 The Spartacus of M. Saurin is one of the few 
 tragedies which have outlived their authors. 
 It is written with political boldness, a hatred of 
 ambition, and passion for freedom; and seems 
 accordingly to have swam or sunk, as these sen- 
 timents were in or out of public favour. It was 
 first produced in 1760, resumed in 1792, after- 
 wards placed on the shelf, and revived in 1818. 
 This is an honourable circumstance in its his- 
 tory. Looking however to its purely dramatic 
 
PARIS. 
 
 179 
 
 merit, Spartacus is a very defective performance. 
 It is true, its blemishes are such as it shares with 
 many chef-d'oeuvre s of the French stage ; sucli 
 as a total want of individual character, the ab- 
 sence of every thing which can be called poetry, 
 with the incongruous introduction and conduct 
 of a love-intrigue. Spartacus, Noricus, Crassus, 
 and Emilia, are mere personifications of a few 
 abstract general qualities. The style is always 
 declamatory and often frigid ; but the love-story 
 is the worst part of it. Not only is the gallant 
 but rude captain of slaves and gladiators in love, 
 but makes a confidant of the black-bearded 
 Noricus, a chief of the Gauls ; " a proper person 
 " to entrust a love tale to," and who. brings 
 about the catastrophe by betraying Spartacus, 
 he cannot well tell why, except it be from the 
 excess of respect with which he regards him. 
 The manner of the betrayal is highly ludicrous; 
 the consul Crassus is surrounded, and the army 
 of Spartacus drawn out to exterminate his 
 legions, when Emilia, the consul's daughter, and 
 fair object of the hero's flame, who had fallen 
 into his hands and been sent back to her father, 
 again appears in the insurgent camp, — a natural 
 ramble for a young lady so situated, — and imme- 
 diately opens a negotiation on her own pure 
 motion with its general : we have now a long 
 discussion betwixt her and Spartacus, on the 
 benefits and evils of peace and war, seasoned 
 with a sprinkling of sentiment adapted to the 
 occasion ; which profitable colloquy is, however, 
 
 N % 
 
180 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 suddenly cut short by the news, that while it has 
 been going on, the insurgent army has been 
 betrayed and routed, without the knowledge of 
 its leader, who was enjoying a, tete-a-tete ten 
 paces off. — Spartacus of course now bestirs 
 himself, and reproaches the lady for the trick 
 he fancies she has put on him, in persuading 
 him to talk sentiment instead of fighting. He 
 goes out, and is presently brought back a 
 prisoner. There is some pathos in this con- 
 cluding scene. Talma, as Spartacus, sits on 
 one side of the stage with clenched hands, and 
 a brow darkened with despair : Emilia ap- 
 proaches him ; he regards her at first as his 
 betrayer, and when she proceeds to exculpate 
 herself, requires, as a proof of her sincerity, 
 either poison or a poniard, by which he may 
 escape the disgrace of a Roman triumph: 
 yielding to his reasons, she discovers a dagger; 
 but ere he can seize it, as the last blessing of 
 existence, she plunges it into her own bosom, 
 saying, "Take it: it is from this heart you 
 " should receive it*:" — then adding, " you see 
 " if I loved you, Spartacus," expires. The 
 hero dies with a sentiment worthy of his life: 
 " Spartacus, with his last breath braves the pride 
 " of Rome. He lived not ingloriously, and dies 
 " a freeman."t 
 
 * Prenez ; c'est ainsi que j'ai du te l'offrir. 
 f Spartacus expirant brave l'orgueil du Tibre : 
 II vecut, non sans gloire ; et raeurt en homme libre. 
 
PARTS. 
 
 181 
 
 La Harpe's Coriolan affords us an opportunity 
 of comparing the different methods of treating 
 the same subject, by a French and English poet. 
 La Harpe opens his play with a long-winded 
 dialogue betwixt Coriolanus and his friend 
 Volumnius, relative to the insolence of the 
 tribunes, before whom the former is summoned 
 to appear. All his speeches are plentifully in- 
 terlarded with his Own praises.— The following 
 lines are a specimen ; 
 
 J'ai, des mes premiers ans, rendu mon nom fanieux* 
 
 Des remparts d'Antium aux murs de Coriole, 
 
 On craignait mes destins et ceux du Capitole, 
 
 Et de Coriolan le glorieux surnom 
 
 A rehausse" le lustre acquis a ma maison. 
 
 Ce Tullus, des Romains adversaire implacable,. 
 
 De mes heureux exploits rival infatigable, 
 
 Trois fois, en fre*missant, a succombe" sous moi. 
 
 Marcius est du Volsque et l'horreur et 1'effroi. 
 
 And again, in the dialogue with his mother, 
 who certainly in his case required " No charter 
 ce to praise her blood ;?? 
 
 Combien ont du la vie a cet ardent courage ! 
 Combien, sauves par moi dans l'horreur du carnage 1 
 Tout le prix de ma gloire en leurs mains fut laisee, 
 Et quand ils £toient grands, j'etais recompense. 
 
 There seems an extreme want of judgment 
 in thus making Coriolanus the herald of his own 
 exploits : it destroys all those traits of grandeur 
 both in sentiment and action, which in Shak- 
 speare soften the harsher features of his charac- 
 
 n 3 
 
182 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 ter, and render him, to such an extent as is 
 necessary for tragical effect, an object of ad- 
 miration. With what skill and nature has our 
 poet displayed the mixture of his opposite qua- 
 lities ! First he extorts a grudging kind of praise 
 from his enemies, the mob, who cannot but 
 confess his great services, though they add : 
 
 What he hath done famously, he did it to please his 
 mother, and to be partly proud ; which he is, even to the 
 altitude of his virtue. 
 
 This is a rude sketch of character, which Co- 
 riolanus presently fills up himself. In his first 
 interview with the citizens, he discovers all his 
 worser parts of arrogance and disdain ; but no 
 sooner is he in the " tented field," than all 
 his nobler attributes blaze out with a redeeming 
 excellence, which half reconciles us to his con- 
 tempt for the " moths of peace," who clamour 
 round the Capitol, and hide their heads in 
 danger ; while the indifference with which he 
 speaks of his own exploits, with his dislike to 
 hear himself praised, or even have his wounds 
 mentioned, make us the more willing to do his 
 gallantry justice, and to resent the treatment he 
 subsequently meets with. What more heroic 
 than his reply to Cominius? 
 
 Pray, how, no more : my mother, 
 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood, 
 
 When she does praise me, grieves me : I have done 5 
 
 As you have done, that's what I can ; induc'd 
 
 As you have been, that's for my country. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 183 
 
 And again: 
 
 For that I have not wash'd my nose, that bled, — 
 
 Or foil'd some debile wretch, (which without note 
 
 Here's many else have done,) you shout me forth 
 
 In acclamations hyperbolical ; 
 
 As if I lov'd my little should be dieted 
 
 In praises sauc'd with lies. 
 
 A touch of feeling is then introduced, to 
 show the hero is not a mere gladiator, whose 
 sole pleasure is shedding human blood. He 
 requests the general " to give his poor host 
 " freedom j" and this trifling boon, so removed 
 from selfishness, is all the reward he craves for 
 his great services. There never was finer por- 
 trait-painting than all this. In the French 
 tragedy, on the contrary, Coriolanus is a mere 
 braggadocio, of whose great doings we have no 
 better proof than his own words; the most 
 suspicious testimony which in such a case can 
 be offered. He yields to his mother's entreaties 
 with a piece of common-place declamation, fit 
 only for a schoolboy's exercise : 
 
 I submit but to the voice of my mother : for you I sub- 
 ject myself to this bitter shame. A son taught to yield to 
 all your wishes will not begin to disobey you. Doubtless 
 the people are not masters of my fate. No matter — I am 
 ready to appear before them. Coriolanus, great Gods! 
 before Licinius ! . . . Come ; you will it, I no longer resist — 
 but to whatever abasement I force myself, I will neither en- 
 treat nor fear them, nor take the humiliating precaution ©f 
 darkening my dress with the mourning of supplicants. They 
 shall see if I can tremble in their presence. Act J. Scene III* 
 
 N 4 
 
184 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Compare all this with the mixture of poetry 
 and character Shakspeare has thrown into the 
 following lines ; 
 
 Well, I must do't : 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 
 Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of war be turned, 
 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
 
 Small as an eunuch's, or the virgin voice 
 
 That babies lulls asleep ! 
 
 A beggar's tongue 
 
 Make motion through my lips ; and my arm'd knees? 
 Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
 That hath receiv'd an alms ! — I will not do't ; 
 Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, 
 And by my body's action, teach my mind 
 A most inherent baseness. — 
 
 Then his extorted submission, and strained 
 compliance with his mother's wishes : 
 
 Pray, be content ; 
 
 Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
 Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, 
 Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved 
 Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going : 
 Commend me to my wife. I'll return Consul ; 
 Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
 I' the way of flattery, further. — 
 
 It is unnecessary to carry the comparison 
 through the whole of each play I shall merely 
 notice the manner of the two catastrophes. In 
 the French piece, Volumnius, who is a kind of 
 narrator-general, comes in, to give Veturia and 
 her attendants an account of her son's assassin- 
 
PARIS. 
 
 1.85 
 
 ation : this he does in the most circumstantial 
 manner, relating all that was said and done by 
 all parties on the occasion. Coriolanus is then 
 brought in, and replies to Veturia, who up- 
 braids the Volscians : 
 
 Reproach them not with the death they have given me : 
 they have but finished the work of the Romans. Ah I my 
 banishers are my real assassins. See, what Rome has done, 
 and you have saved her — you alone have preserved her from 
 my power : and dearly do you pay for your fatal aid ... . 
 My last sacrifice is that of my life : it was yours. 
 
 Veturia. Spare Veturia; spare her grief. 
 
 Coriofanui. You, whom I have loved so much, live, my 
 
 dear mother and you, Volumnius, fear no more the 
 
 Volscians .... there is no longer a Marcius. Their infamous 
 assassination has stained their victory ; and I carry with me 
 both their fortune and their glory. 
 
 Volumnius. May Rome avenge your death on them ! 
 
 Cor. Honour has attended my career to its close. I have 
 
 seen haughty Rome at my feet. I have pardoned and 
 
 I die in my mother's arms.* 
 
 These sentiments are sufficiently dignified, 
 and even pathetic ; but they want individuality, 
 
 * Veturie. lis ont vers6 ton sang, ces monstres odieux ! 
 Et j'ai livre" mon fils a leur main forcenee ! . . . 
 Coriolan. Ne leur reprochez point la mort qu'ils m'ont 
 donnee : 
 
 lis if ont fait qu'achever l'ouvrage des Romains. 
 Ah ! ceux qui m'ont banni sont mes vrais assassins. 
 Voila ce qu'a fait Rome, et vous l'avez sauvee ; 
 Vous seule de mes coups vous l'avez preserved ; 
 
 Vouspayez cher, helas! vos funestes secours - 
 
 Mon dernier sacrifice est celui de mes jours : 
 lis vous appartenaient. 
 
186 
 
 PARIS" 
 
 or rather give it a false direction, by making 
 filial affection the ruling passion of Coriolanus's 
 bosom ; which is either misunderstanding his 
 character, or melting it into insipidity. Had 
 pleasing his mother been his first object, he 
 would never have joined the Volscians, or more 
 properly, have never been banished. —"Shakspeare 
 has judiciously represented his filial love rather 
 as an habit and instinct than as a feeling, which 
 he willingly indulges : we see education con- 
 stantly at war with will ; he would be unre- 
 strained, but maternal authority 'overmasters 
 him in his own despite, and the struggle gives 
 both piquancy to his character, and dignity to 
 *he sentiment to which it yields a reluctant sub- 
 mission. The French Coriolanus dies like a 
 very good sort of man, worthy of being " sin- 
 " cerely regretted by all who had the felicity 
 " of his acquaintance." In Shakspeare he ex- 
 pires like a blazing meteor, which has made the 
 weal and woe of nations. 
 
 Vet. Epargne V£turie, 
 Epargne sa douleur 
 
 Cor. Vous, que j'ai tant cherie, 
 
 Vivez, matendre mere ! et vous, Volumnius, 
 
 Ne craignez plus le Volsque .... il n'a plus Marcius. 
 
 Son inf&me attentat a souille" sa victoire : 
 
 Et j'emporte avec moi sa fortune et sa gloire. 
 
 Vol. Puisse Rome sur lui venger votre trepas ! 
 
 Cor. L'honneur a jusqu'au bout accompagne* mes pas. 
 Je l'ai vue a mes pieds, cette Rome si fiere ..... 
 J'ai fait grace ... Et je meurs dans les bras de ma mere. 
 
PAHIS. 
 
 187 
 
 Talma is certainly an able actor, and in this, 
 as in all his parts, does his best to restore the 
 dominion of nature on the French stage : but 
 whoever has seen him in this character, and 
 compared his action in the last scene with the 
 iiery energy of Mr. Kemble, the sublime ges- 
 ture with which he whirls aloft his arm, while 
 he exclaims — 
 
 Like an eagle in a dovecote, I 
 Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli — 
 
 and finally drops amid hostile swords, like a 
 majestic statue, thundering from its pedestal, — - 
 will feel the immeasurable distance at which 
 our divine bard enables us to cast back, as well 
 in dramatic acting as in dramatic writing, all fo- 
 reign competition. There is one merit in 
 French tragedy, of which few foreigners are 
 competent to judge — - the harmony of versi- 
 fication. But, to say nothing of the mannerism 
 to which the uniformity of rhyme gives birth, 
 there is one circumstance which disposes me to 
 consider this beauty as not very important even 
 in national eyes. — Talma, and all the best 
 French actors, constantly do their utmost to 
 destroy the rhythmical cadence, by carrying their 
 period into the third line, even when the 
 sense manifestly closes with the couplet : now 
 it can hardly be supposed, that a good actor 
 would take delight in diminishing an effect he 
 either considered pleasing to the audience, or 
 conducive to tragical dignity. The French 
 
188 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 have been applauded for their attention to cos- 
 tume ; I doubt their merits on this score. In 
 Roman and Barbaric plays, their second-rate 
 performers carry enormous beards ; but the 
 principal actors never encumber themselves with 
 this Jewish appendage : either, therefore, it is a 
 superfluity in the former, or an omission in the 
 latter case : the Romans we know shaved, 
 except such among them as affected a philoso- 
 phic gravity; and though barbarian monarchs 
 are commonly represented bearded, the custom 
 even among them was not universal, as appears 
 from the mounted Dacian warrior on Trajan's 
 column: even Talma is scarcely classical when 
 he flings a white cloke over his Roman armour, 
 which, by the by, is rather plate-armour of the 
 middle ages than strictly a Roman cuirass. 
 
 The Comedy of any nation is less easily ap- 
 preciated than its Tragedy. The language of 
 the comic muse is always, to a certain extent, 
 artificial : she often relies for her effect on feel- 
 ings purely national, local, or temporary: she 
 is allowed to extract merriment from perishable 
 forms of society, and even from individual ec- 
 centricities : thoroughly to enjoy the sallies of 
 her wit, we must have grown up on, or at least 
 have become intimately acquainted with, the 
 soil on which she gathers it. There are still, 
 however, points at which tragedy and comedy 
 meet, — laws of moral nature which are common 
 to both, and, consequently, beauties which are 
 capable of being appreciated by every ordinary 
 
PARIS. 
 
 189 
 
 judge of human conduct. It is moreover (and 
 this is a fortunate circumstance) on the success 
 with which he seizes these universal principles 
 of humour, that an author must rest his claim 
 to immortality : his wit, though it may use the 
 passing foible of the day for its vehicle, must be 
 rooted in those natural feelings, which never 
 so much change as to make one generation 
 wholly stranger to another, however distant. It 
 is the glory of Shakspeare and Cervantes, that 
 they have, in this manner, jested for all ages, 
 notwithstanding the entire individuality of their 
 portraits. Should we judge Moliere, the fa- 
 ther of French comedy, by this standard, he 
 would probably be found guilty of too much 
 generalisation. His characters are abstract per- 
 sonifications of the particular vice or weakness 
 he designs to ridicule ; but they never link them- 
 selves to our imaginations like Sancho and 
 FalstafF, whom we can scarcely forbear number- 
 ing among our familiar acquaintance. The names 
 of Tartuffe and Misantrope may be given to 
 a hundred ideal personages, all of whom may be 
 conceived with features completely dissimilar: 
 nor have we any stronger impression that they 
 have really existed, than that Ariosto's Orlando 
 and King Agramant performed the feats he has 
 ascribed to them. It is probable that much of 
 this defect proceeds from a sterility of the in- 
 ventive faculty, which feels its funds barely suffi- 
 cient for the shortest cut to its object ; hence 
 
190 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 there is no blending of qualities, no relief, no 
 richness of portraiture : Moliere's Misantrope 
 is only a misanthrope ; his Tartyffe merely an 
 hypocrite, or rather a personification of hypo- 
 crisy. Sancho and Falstaf£ on the contrary, are 
 themselves only, and altogether incapable of 
 any exact moral definition : we cannot say that 
 either of them is altogether coward, fool, or 
 glutton ; yet each has a mixture of these qua- 
 lities, which all harmonise and unite into a 
 prolific fountain of wit and humour : each of 
 them, by a moral dissection, would furnish cha- 
 racters for a dozen of Moliere's comedies- 
 
 Regnard, on the score of generalisation, is 
 still more chargeable than Moliere. His Distrait 
 is a mere paraphrase of La Bruyere's Menalque : 
 Leander's abstraction becomes both wearisome 
 and improbable, from the want of relief ; in 
 fact, it approaches too nearly the nature of a 
 malady to be altogether laughable : a few 
 dashes of this infirmity thrown in to heighten, 
 or contrast with other qualities, would be ad- 
 mirably comic ; but when a man's life is no- 
 thing but a pitiable series of such blunders, 
 we are rather disposed to provide for him in a 
 lunatic asylum, than to imagine him a fair 
 butt for ridicule, and still less the object of a 
 sensible woman's love: his character is cer- 
 tainly maintained to the last; for on the even- 
 ing of his nuptials he bids his servant pre- 
 pare for a journey, totally forgetful of the 
 
 H 
 
PARIS. 
 
 191 
 
 change in his situation, and the customary at- 
 tentions of a bridegroom. * This is certainly 
 painting with too coarse a pencil. 
 
 Les Plaideurs of Racine was one of the rich- 
 est theatrical treats I met with at Paris. The 
 action and characters are irresistibly comic. — 
 The old countess, who places all the happiness 
 of life in law-suits, and declares she has but 
 four or five trifling processes, against her hus- 
 band, father, and children stilileft on her hands : 
 M. Chicanneau, who is infected with the same 
 disease, and gives an account of an action he 
 has been maintaining twenty years, for damage 
 done to his meadow by an ass's colt, with the 
 aggravation of a trespass by defendant's poul- 
 try, on which the court has ordered an estimate 
 to be drawn out of the quantity of pasture a 
 chicken can destroy in one day : even to Little 
 John, the judge'sporter — all are perfect originals, 
 But all these are sketches in comparison of Dan* 
 din, the superannuated judge, whose mania for 
 courts and trials is so strong, that he goes to 
 bed in his judge's robe and square cap, and be- 
 stirs himself in the morning with such activity, 
 
 * Leandre. Toi, Carlin, a Pinstant prepare ce qu'i! feut, 
 Pour aller voir mon oncle, et partir au p]ut6t. 
 Carlin. Laissez votre oncle en paix. Quel diantre de 
 langage ! 
 
 Vous devez cette nuit faire un autre voyage : 
 Vous n'y songez done plus? vous etes mtarie. 
 Leandre. Tu m'en fais souvenir, je l'avols oublie. 
 
 I 
 
PARIS. 
 
 that he has had his cock's head cut off for 
 waking him one morning later than usual, being 
 convinced the animal had been bribed by an 
 unsuccessful suitor. His nephew, who endea- 
 vours to confine him at home, proposes, to hu- 
 mour his passion, that he shall act the judge 
 in his own family, and institutes a process against 
 the house-dog, on the charge of stealing a capon : 
 Little John and the clerk are charged to plead 
 on either side : the nephew plays the audi- 
 ence, and Dandin takes his seat as judge. No- 
 thing could be more complete than the acting of 
 this scene; — the old judge's half-childish, drivel- 
 ling exultation, as he prepares to fill the important 
 office ; Little John's pedantic exordium, where- 
 in, in ridicule of many pleaders, both past and 
 present, he opens the case of the abduction of a 
 capon, by the vicissitudes of the universe, the 
 downfall of the Babibonians, Serpents, Nacedo- 
 nians, and Lorrans, and has arrived at Japan, 
 on his way to the point in question, when he is 
 interrupted by the opposite counsel, to the 
 great mortification of the judge, who declares 
 he was sweating blood and water, to see how 
 the plaintiff's advocate could get from Japan 
 to the capon. Little John's brief expose of the 
 fact, in his own patois, after he has lost the 
 thread of his studied harangue, and his pro- 
 duction of the fowl's head and feet as witnesses, 
 are most ludicrously met by the eloquent com- 
 mon-places of the opposite counsel, who fixes 
 the judge in a sound nap, while he expatiates on 
 
PARIS. 
 
 193 
 
 the confusion of chaos : — but the climax of 
 drollery seems attained, when the latter intro- 
 duces a litter of puppies as the defendant's chil- 
 dren, and proceeds to excite compassion for 
 their forlorn condition. 
 
 Defendant' 's Counsel. Come, desolate family, 
 Come, poor children, whom they would render orphans ! 
 Come, let your youth and innocence find speech ! 
 Yes, gentlemen, you here behold our sorrows, 
 We are orphans. Restore to us our sire ! 
 Our father who engender'd us ! 
 
 Our father who 
 
 Judge. Take 'em away, take 'em away. — 
 
 Counsel. Our father, gentlemen 
 
 Judge. Ah, phoo ! take 'em away, 
 
 They have wetted me all over (Us out pisse partout.) 
 Counsel. Sir, behold our tears ! 
 Judge. Phoo ! . . . . I feel compassion already : 
 What it is to touch the feelings suitably ! 
 I dubitate exceedingly. — The crime's confest — 
 Defendant has admitted it : — yet still I pause, 
 Since to condemn him, were to send his 
 Children to the parish 
 
 It is sufficient to see The Litigants once acted, 
 to be convinced that Racine would not only 
 have proved a formidable rival to Moliere had 
 he applied himself to comedy, but would in all 
 probability have earned a more durable reputa- 
 tion with posterity than he will finally derive 
 from his tragedies, when the mannerism of the 
 old style yields to a new dramatic school, founded 
 upon poetry and natural feeling. — Regular 
 French comedy is always acted in the costume 
 
 o 
 
194. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 of the age of Louis XIV. ; with embroidered 
 suits of silk and satin, flowing periwigs, feathered 
 hats, and swords. This fashion of dress is not 
 unpleasing with reference to the style of the 
 pieces usually acted at the Theatre Frangais : it 
 resembles the best characters of the best French 
 comedies ; brilliant, sparkling, and gentlemanly, 
 though finical and unnatural. Any depth of feel- 
 ing, or energy of action, would derange their 
 whole costume ; but there is no danger of such 
 an accident, and it contributes to our amuse- 
 ment to see how a race of beings, at present 
 happily antiquated, looked, talked, and moved 
 in the sunshine of its butterfly existence. It 
 must be owned, too, that French actors are ad- 
 mirable in this walk of comedy. They flutter 
 before our eyes with all that ease and grace of 
 badinage, which constituted the essence of the 
 species they represent. — I mention one specimen 
 of " the weeping or sentimental comedy" {la 
 comedie larmoyante) of the present day, be- 
 cause it is a subject which has been treated by 
 one of our first dramatic writers. Le Medisant, 
 (The Slanderer) of M. Gosse, produced in 1816, 
 is a composition of such desperate insipidity, 
 that I shall attempt no further analysis of it, 
 than to mark the opposite paths by which the 
 French and English writers have chosen to 
 bring out the moral of their story. Le Medisant 
 is a pretending wit, whose delight is in universal 
 slander, for which he is punished by a plot to 
 make his own family seem victims of a similar 
 
PARIS. 
 
 195 
 
 disposition in another. Nothing can be more 
 serious than the developement of this design : 
 the moral is inflicted in heavy sententious 
 speeches, as if folly were to be beaten out of 
 human nature with a moral sledge-hammer, as 
 Thor battered the head of the snake ofMisgard: 
 the consequence is, that nobody makes appli- 
 cation of a lesson so tremendously exaggerated. 
 Slander causes sufficient mischief in society, to 
 be an excellent mark for the satirist and come- 
 dian j but to join the cap of folly with the bowl 
 and dagger of tragic guilt, is to take from it the 
 ridiculous, which makes it contemptible, with- 
 out giving it the atrocity which may render it 
 an object of horror. Sheridan, on the contrary, 
 by exhibiting the slandering appetite in a truly 
 ludicrous and natural point of view, and giving 
 it the range it usually takes in real life, has ren- 
 dered his moral of such universal application, 
 that Mrs. Candour's sincerity is a proverb which 
 tells as soon as uttered : the line of practica- 
 bility is thus hit upon ; and as far as any evil 
 moral propensity can be checked by comic ridi- 
 cule, we may venture to assert that the School 
 for Scandal has eminently done its duty. 
 
 A new comedy, entitled La Famille Glinet, 
 had extraordinary success while I was in Paris : 
 it was played above 80 nights successively, 
 and equally well received in other parts of 
 France. It is of the declamatory and sentimen- 
 tal cast, yet less nauseously so than Le Medisant. 
 The scene is laid in a distant province, during 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 the fermentation of the League. A roturiere 
 family of substance is divided into parties by the 
 intrigues of Senor Paghera, a Spanish agent: 
 two of the brothers have a son and daughter 
 between them, who are meant to be united, and 
 fall in love with each other accordingly : mean- 
 time they are nearly separated by the political 
 differences of their parents ; differences fer- 
 mented by the zeal of Paghera, and the terma- 
 gant spirit of the young man's mother : a disco- 
 very of the machinations of the Spaniard pro- 
 duces a reconciliation and marriage. These 
 incidents are treated with little comic effect : 
 there are, however, some attempts at character, 
 and the dialogue is easy and natural : the sud- 
 den change which takes place in the politics of 
 one of the brothers, upon a change in the for- 
 tune of his party, is ludicrous enough, and can 
 scarcely fail of effect in France : he has been 
 a violent Leaguer, when a royalist army ap- 
 proaches the town of which he is Mayor; upon 
 which he hastens with the keys, and a speech of 
 congratulation, to meet the General of the pre- 
 vailing faction, with whom he returns in tri- 
 umph, and assures his family, who had been 
 fearful for his safety, from an ignorance of his 
 versatility, that he had long before felt an inward 
 inclination towards the side he has now found 
 it convenient openly to espouse. 
 
 In accounting for the popularity of this piece, 
 political feelings must be taken into considera- 
 tion. It inculcates a species of quietism* in pa- 
 
PARIS. 
 
 197 
 
 litics, by endeavouring to show that contests 
 and disputes on matters of government, are of 
 no importance to the lower and middling classes 
 of a nation, whose situation is in no respect af- 
 fected by the political ascendancy of this or that 
 party in the state: a doctrine not altogether 
 unsound, when the question is only which of 
 two factions shall stride over the backs of the 
 people to the possession of power ; but of the 
 most dangerous tendency, as far as it seeks ge- 
 nerally to persuade the citizens of a state they 
 have no concern with the management of its 
 government, nor any direct interest in the course 
 of its political movements. No nation ever 
 acted on this principle without dearly paying 
 for its simplicity, and no nation has paid more 
 dearly than France. 
 
 The Minor French Theatres confine their 
 exhibitions to pieces generally of one or two 
 acts, written in prose, and mixed with songs 
 and couplets. These are always of a humorous 
 kind, and generally turn upon some folly of the 
 day, or popular anecdote : like Summer in- 
 sects, they are scarcely expected to outlive 
 the season ; yet, for their lively sallies, strokes 
 of real comic humour, and brilliant gaiety, 
 well deserve to flutter through their brief 
 existence with applause. Les Anglais d Paris, 
 are favourite subjects of these ephemeral au- 
 thors. The Parisians, not content with suck- 
 ing John Bull's substance, must enjoy a laugh 
 
 o a 
 
198 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 at his expense into the bargain. It must be 
 owned, however, that both in the composition 
 and acting of these pieces, they hit off our ec- 
 centricities of gait, manner, and pronunciation, 
 with inimitable drollery. As a specimen I sub- 
 join a scene from Les Anglaises pour rire, per- 
 formed at the Theatre des Varietes ; a piece which 
 has enjoyed a more durable existence than most 
 of its brethren, having been first represented 
 as early as 1814. The plot presents us with two 
 lovers, M. Menu and M. Coclet, who disguise 
 themselves as English ladies, to get admittance 
 into the house of M. Copeau, of whose niece 
 one of them is enamoured. M. Potter, and 
 Brunei, who have acquired a deserved reputa- 
 tion in broad farce, perform the disguised ina- 
 moratos, who appear as aunt and niece, newly 
 arrived from England: the old lady wears a 
 close cottage-bonnet, and a riding habit, but- 
 toned stiffly round her triangular bust; the niece 
 is drest in a pink silk spencer, hat, and feathers. 
 The look of starch prudery assumed by the 
 matronly aunt, and the girlish hoydenness of 
 the buxom niece, are admirably put on; and 
 though the actors are large men, we really fancy 
 we see two English dames " of some quality," 
 and not very exaggerated dimensions. The 
 scene represents a room in M. Copeau' s board- 
 ing-house. Goton, his servant, introduces the 
 two ladies. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 Goton. Donnez-vous la peine d'entrer, mesdames les 
 myladis. 
 
 M. Menu et M. Coclet, entrant et regardant de different 
 
 cdtes. 
 
 Oil est-il, le maisonne . . . . oil est-il? 
 M. Copeau. Des sieges, Goton. 
 
 M. Menu. Est ce veau, messer, qui etaite la maitre de 
 cette epertemente ? 
 
 M. Copeau. Oui, myladi, j'ai cet honneur-la. 
 
 M . Menu. Oil est-il le 6pertement ? Je voulais me met- 
 tre dedans avec me petite nieze que voici. 
 
 M. Copeau. Justement, j'en ai un pour deux dames .... 
 Vous n'avez pas de femmes-de-chambre avec vous ? 
 
 M. Coclet. Nonne. Nous avons laisse" la maisonne de nous 
 & Londone. 
 
 M. Copeau. Londone ! .... fa veut dire Londres. Ah ! 
 comme je sais 1' Anglais ! Asseyez-vous done, myladi. 
 
 M. Menu. Vous etes bienne honnette, beaucoup. 
 
 M. Copeau. Je vais vous fair voir l'appartement, mais si 
 vous voulez vous reposer, nous ferons avant nos petites 
 conditions. 
 
 M. Menu. Des conneditionnes ! 
 
 M. Coclet. Nous sommes tout justement des femmes de 
 conneditionne. 
 
 M. Copeau. Je n'en doute pas a, votre air ... . puis-je savoir 
 a quelles aimables ladys j'ai l'honneur de parler. 
 
 M. Menu. Yes, yes ! Je suis, moi, Lady Krekmerott. 
 
 M. Copeau. Krekmerott! 
 
 M. Coclet. Et moi, Lecly Bibembrock. 
 
 M. Copeau. Bibembrock! {Apart) Voila de dr61es de 
 noms. (Haut.) Ces dames sont-elles dans l'intention de 
 prendre des lecons de langue Francaise? 
 
 M. Menu. Est-ce que je parlais pas bienne jolimente la 
 Francais ? 
 
 M. Copeau. Si fait. - 
 
 o 4 
 
200 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Air. — Dupartage de la richesse* 
 
 Avec des bouches sijolies, 
 On doit parler tres-joliment. 
 
 M. Menu. Voila de les galanteries. 
 
 M. Copeau. Ce n'est pas correct cependant : 
 II Jaut ici, quand on s'exprime, 
 Suivre le regime, entre nous. — 
 
 M. Coclet. Vous voulez nous mettre au -regime 1 
 Nous ne mangerons pas chez vous. 
 
 M. Copeau. Ce n'est pas cela . . . . Le regime grammatical, 
 Vous aurez chez moi l'avantage de r6unir le logement, la 
 table et la langue. 
 
 M. Coclet. Vous etaite professer ? 
 
 M. Copeau. Yes, professeur d'Englisch pour le Frai^ais. 
 
 M. Menu. Vous serez bonne pour me" niaize, qui la 
 parlaite fort peu. 
 
 M. Copeau. Myladi Krekmerott, permettez-moi, par 
 exemple, de vous reprendre sur la prononciation. Vous 
 
 appelez Mademoiselle votre niaise ce qui donnerait mau- 
 
 voise opinion de son esprit C'est niece qu'il faut dire. 
 
 M. Menu. Niai .... 
 
 M. Coclet. Niai .... 
 
 M. Copeau. Niece, par un 6 ouvert. 
 
 M. Menu. Vous voulez dire par le bouche ouverte ? 
 
 M. Copeau. Non, un £ avec un accent. 
 
 M. Menu. Un accent sur le" nez ? 
 
 M. Copeau. {A part) Oh ! j'y perdrai mon Latin. 
 
 M. Menu, (jouant la pudeur.) Messer l'hote, est-ce que 
 nous serons seules dans le maisonne avec vous ? 
 
 M. Copeau. Seules ? Non, mesdames ; j'ai ma niece aussi 
 qui aura l'honneur de vous tenir compagnie. 
 
 M. M§nu. Je voulais l'avoir toujours. 
 
 M. Copeau. (allant h la parte de sa niece.) Aspasie ! — 
 (Revenant.) Elle n'est pas encore prete: mais elle viendra 
 tout a 1'heure. J'ai de plus quelques voisines fort aimables 
 qui seront enchanters, myladis, de faire votre societe. 
 
PARIS. 
 
 201 
 
 M. Coclet. Bien, bien, faites venir toute de suite les voi- 
 sines. Nous voulons. 
 
 M. Copeau. Je cours les iaviter de votre part. 
 
 The Parisian Opera is supported on a scale 
 of great expense and magnificence : the orchestra 
 is full to abundance; the chorusses form an 
 absolute crowd; the ballet is the first in the 
 world. Connoisseurs are tolerably agreed in 
 assigning to French music a rate below par : 
 their bravura singing is piercing, and very dis- 
 agreeable ; but the general effect of their serious 
 operas is imposing, from the care and skill with 
 which they are got up. — The first act of the 
 CEdipe, for instance, where the sacrifice is dis- 
 turbed by terrific omens, the Delphic cavern 
 rent asunder, the blazing tripods overthrown, 
 and the chorusses burst into a crash of dismay 
 and confusion, approaches sublimity : the 
 second is not void of pathos, particularly the 
 scene in which GEdipus rejects the repentance 
 of his son : the recitative beginning, " Antigone 
 est ma Jille" was delivered with a tenderness 
 almost tragic. In general, the acting of the 
 French Opera is much superior to that of the 
 Italian in London, especially in the pains be- 
 stowed by the performers to help the author out, 
 and connect the airs with the situation and feel- 
 ings of the characters to whom they are sup- 
 posed to have a reference : this is particularly 
 observable in the by-play of Antigone in the 
 CEdipe, by which she contrives impressively to 
 
202 
 
 PARIS* 
 
 connect herself with the business of the scene, 
 even when the airs are not immediately addressed 
 to her. The contrary negligence frequently 
 renders our operas unnecessarily ridiculous ; as 
 when a singer, by addressing his notes to the 
 pit, leaves the partners of his grief, joy, or com- 
 miseration, to dispose of themselves as they 
 best can, which is generally in the awkwardest 
 way possible. 
 
 The regulation of the French theatre, as 
 indeed of every thing in France, belongs to the 
 government. * The actors are held in a state 
 of bondage and humiliation, not easily reconcile- 
 
 * As a specimen of this superintendance, take the follow- 
 ing articles, selected from one of Napoleon's imperial de- 
 crees : they present an odd mixture of the ludicrous and 
 tyrannical. 
 
 1. An officer of our household is charged with the super- 
 intendance of the four great theatres of the capital, with 
 the title of Superintendant of Spectacles. 
 
 2. No alterations can be made in the subsisting regulations 
 of the Theatre Francois, the Theatre Feydeau, or the Thea- 
 tre of the Empress, without his authority. 
 
 5. The repertories (stock plays to be performed) proposed 
 by the committees or councils of the theatres, to be sub- 
 mitted for his approbation. 
 
 7. Every transaction passing in the theatres, or through 
 the medium of their agents, must be approved of by the 
 superintendant. 
 
 8. No performer at the four great spectacles can quit 
 either of those theatres without the permission of the super- 
 intendant. 
 
 10. No performer can absent himself without leave of the 
 superintendant, which cannot be granted, even by him, be- 
 
PARIS. 
 
 205 
 
 able with the respect the nation pretends to pay 
 to genius, and artists of every description. Pub- 
 lic opinion (as too frequently happens in France) 
 seconds instead of counterpoising legal tyranny, 
 and the genius of Talma is deemed unworthy 
 to associate with the dregs of a noblesse, prin- 
 cipally distinguished by childish fanaticism on 
 one side, and ignorant ferocity on the other. 
 This surprising misconception of real dignity by 
 a nation of philosophers, makes us little wonder 
 at the priestly insolence which would deny a 
 
 tween the 1st of December and the 1st of May, nor for a 
 longer period than two months. 
 
 12. Every performer who shall make default, either in 
 refusing, without sufficient excuse, to perform a character, 
 or in not being present at the time appointed, or for any 
 other fault of disobedience to his superiors, shall be con- 
 demned, according to the nature of his offence, either to 
 make an apology, or shall be put under arrest. 
 
 16. The administration of the Imperial Academy of Music 
 (the Opera), to consist of a director, an accountant, admi- 
 nistrator, and an inspector appointed by us. There is to be 
 also a secretary-general. They are to take an oath to exe- 
 cute faithfully their functions. 
 
 23. The pieces to be performed to be decided by the 
 council of administration, the 14th and 30th of each month, 
 for a fortnight. If any dispute arise, to be referred to the 
 superintend ant. 
 
 24. When new pieces, or ballets, shall have been admitted 
 by the jury, the estimate of the expense shall be decided 
 on in the council of administration, and presented for our 
 approbation by the superintendant. The mechanist shall 
 be admitted to the sitting of the council, and shall declare, 
 on his responsibility, whether the decorations already in 
 store can or cannot be used for the new piece. 
 
204 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 spot of such earth as it is pleased, from the for- 
 mula muttered over it, to call holy, to indivi- 
 duals who have been the delight of their age, 
 and who have spent their lives in 
 
 Holding a mirror up to Nature. 
 It is not improbable that this bigotry of priests 
 and laics may have contributed to the sterility 
 of the French drama. When reputation and 
 profit are so separated, that one must be sacri- 
 ficed to the other, though there will be no want 
 of competitors to pocket the pelf and ignominy 
 together, yet much talent of a more elevated 
 cast, and such as is connected with a liberal 
 education, will certainly not be brought to such 
 a filthy market : but we know how much dra- 
 matic writers are necessarily influenced by those 
 who are to act their productions : plays are al- 
 ways written with reference to the histrionic 
 genius of the times ; and if actors are not at 
 hand in whose sympathy, and sense of excel- 
 lence, the dramatist can feerconfidence, talent 
 will run into other channels, and the stage be 
 supplied by the post-horses of literature. 
 
 I have thus endeavoured to give some idea 
 of the principal objects of curiosity in Paris, 
 without pretending to do more than touch upon 
 the most prominent. The public libraries are 
 alone a mine of interest. They were unfortu- 
 nately closed during my visit. That of the 
 king, in the Rue de Richlieu, is said to contain 
 
PARIS. 
 
 905 
 
 358,000 printed volumes, 7^,000 MSS., 5000 
 volumes of engravings, besides a rich collection 
 of medals and other antiques ; among which the 
 most careless observer could not view with in- 
 difference the Shields of Hannibal and Scipio, 
 the Seal of Michael Angelo, and the Armour of 
 Francis I. A manuscript Virgil, with the notes 
 of Petrarca, is among those of its curiosities, 
 which may be justly deemed 
 
 More precious than fine gold. 
 
 M. Denon's cabinet of medals and antiques is 
 also politely opened to strangers, on addressing 
 a note to the proprietor. Not to have seen this 
 interesting collection, I account among the un- 
 lucky accidents of my tour. 
 
 Of the public buildings in Paris unconnected 
 with royal state, the Hotel des Invalides, the 
 church of which I have already described, holds 
 the first place : it presents a facade towards 
 the Seine of above 600 feet : the style of its 
 architecture is eminently simple throughout: 
 the arch of the principal entrance is decorated 
 on either side with two Ionic pilasters, which 
 support an arch containing a mounted figure of 
 Louis XIV. in bas-relief: this is all the exter- 
 nal ornament of the building, which is four 
 stories high. Trophies surmount the piers of 
 the iron gates, placed at the end of the bridge 
 across the outer fosse, which is overlooked by 
 cannon, as grim and peaceful as the veterans 
 they seem to defend. The principal court is 
 
PARIS. 
 
 312 feet long by 192 of width, and is sur- 
 rounded by arcades. The number of veterans 
 is at present 4000, but the building will accom- 
 modate 6000. Every attention is paid to their 
 comfort : I saw them at dinner in a large 
 hall: they ate in messes of a dozen at sepa- 
 rate tables: their bottles of wine and napkins 
 were placed with the greatest order and neatness. 
 The officers have distinct mess-rooms, according 
 to their rank, and are served on silver plate, pre- 
 sented to them by Maria Louisa. Their library 
 was the gift of Napoleon. Marshal Serrurier 
 was governor under the Emperor, but he has 
 been deposed to make way for the Due de Crequi, 
 who served with much distinction en emigre d 
 Londres. 
 
 The Hotel de Ville deserves notice merely 
 as a specimen of the mixed Gothic and Grecian 
 styles, prevalent at the period of its erection, 
 betwixt 1533 and 1606. It faces the Place de 
 Greve 9 famous as the scene of public festivities, 
 and public executions. 
 
 The Halle au Bled (Corn Market), is con- 
 spicuous for its dome of peculiar lightness, raised 
 in 1802. Adjoining it is a Doric column 97 feet 
 high, which formerly belonged to the Hotel de 
 Soissons, on the site of the present market, and 
 was used by Catherine de Medicis for astrolo- 
 gical observations, as if she would have made 
 the stars accomplices in the devices of her dark 
 spirit. 
 
 The Barriers at the entrances of Paris, 
 
PARIS. 
 
 207 
 
 though sometimes grotesque, are not in general 
 ill adapted to their situation and purpose. I 
 particularise that of Saint Martin, or La Villette, 
 for its peculiar architecture, which gives it the 
 air of an Egyptian temple : the square base- 
 ment story presents a porch on each front, rest- 
 ing on eight square columns, such as we see in 
 the engravings of Thebes and Dendera : the 
 upper story is circular, and surrounded with 
 arcades, resting on double pillars, equally sin- 
 gular in style. Most of these barriers are of 
 recent construction. I pass through them to 
 visit the environs of Paris. 
 
208 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 The heaviest part of a French tour is a survey 
 of the palaces round Paris ; those objects of a 
 loyal Frenchman's pride, the merits of which 
 he estimates by the space they cover, and the 
 livres they have cost. They are indeed highly 
 characteristic of the age which produced them, 
 nor while the stranger visits them as a point of 
 duty, will his visit be without its profit, should 
 his mind have ever laboured with an undue ad- 
 miration of kingly splendour, or have been 
 dazzled by the glare which the flattery of pen- 
 sioned historians has thrown upon the age of 
 Louis XIV. A slight survey of this monarchy 
 proudest monuments will suffice to show him 
 how little real glory a nation can derive from 
 the most lavish efforts of royal extravagance; 
 how circumscribed are the means of despotism 
 to create even artificial beauty ; with what 
 elastic pinion taste, not less than genius, escapes 
 from the iron grasp of arbitrary power, and 
 leaves its costliest structures to cumber the 
 earth with barbaric magnificence. 
 
THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. £09 
 
 St. Cloud, St. Germain, and Versailles, 
 are placed at the three corners of an ideal 
 triangle, the apex of which rests on the left bank 
 of the Seine. 
 
 St. Cloud is at this apex, and so is nearest 
 to Paris. A handsome stone bridge crosses the 
 river to the town, above which the woods of the 
 park and gardens wave along the slope, and 
 crest a bold picturesque eminence. The palace 
 is a heavy mass of building, surrounded by ter- 
 races, with stone balustrades, from which flights 
 of broad steps descend into gardens, proud of 
 a profusion of artificial jets d'eau, tritons, urns, 
 and sea-horses, at the several intersections of 
 their long stiff alleys. I visited St. Cloud on 
 the Sunday of a fete, in honour of which the 
 water, works were played off : a cascade was re. 
 presented by a stream dashing down long flights 
 of steps, into an oblong stone basin, surrounded 
 by statues ; the effect of which, if neither na. 
 tural nor sublime, seemed something fairy-like, 
 and had that charm which always accompanies 
 the aspect and harmony of descending waters. 
 For my own part, I should have thought the 
 whole show well exchanged for a wild nameless 
 streamlet, hurrying over a few large stones, be- 
 twixt banks of birch and hazel, with an old oak 
 here and there stretching his brawny arms across 
 it. — The living groups were the best ornaments 
 of these gardens. The principal walks were 
 lined with booths full of toys and sweetmeats ; 
 other temporary edifices offered refreshments 
 
210 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 suited to all tastes and conditions; shows, merry* 
 andrews, wild beasts, and tumblers, presented, 
 at intervals, the competition of their several at- 
 tractions : circles and saloons were brilliantly il- 
 luminated for dancing: there seemed to be 
 every where gaiety without extravagance, and 
 mirth without vulgarity. All Paris on the Sun- 
 days of these fetes is poured into St. Cloud : 
 all classes alike seek and find amusement, with- 
 out troubling themselves to investigate whether 
 it be not of a nature too trifling to become the 
 dignity of their condition, or the seriousness of 
 the day. If I were to name the quality, moral 
 or physical, by which the French nation is most 
 happily distinguished, I should say it was its 
 amuseability. It is at these fetes the French 
 character exhibits itself in the most pleasing 
 point of view, and it is here the stranger who 
 seeks to be favourably prepossessed, should take 
 occasion to contemplate it. An Englishman 
 will not fail to observe that parties of the gen- 
 d'armerie are the never-failing accompaniments 
 to every species of popular congregation in 
 France: their tall commanding figures, and 
 military air, rendered more impressive by their 
 long swords and enormous cocked hats, literally 
 answer every idea of surveillance over the well- 
 trained populace, who, by the readiness with 
 which they claim the interference of these mas- 
 ters of the ceremonies, seem, like the mastiff in 
 the fable, to regard their log as a badge of dis- 
 tinction. It must be owned however, even by 
 
THE ENVIRONS OP PARIS, 
 
 those who, like myself, are least disposed to ad- 
 mire such perfection of order, that the behaviour 
 of the gens-d'armes is for the most part highly 
 decorous, steady, and inoffensive. * 
 
 St. Germain, a tall brick castle, surrounded 
 by a fosse, has a venerable though gloomy 
 aspect; the apartments are small, and for the 
 most part unfurnished, exhibiting only the rem- 
 nants of magnificence; but it is not without a 
 feeling of interest we pass through the cham- 
 bers in which the exiled James spent the last 
 years of his life : the silence and nakedness, 
 both of the castle and town, are in unison with 
 ideas of faded grandeur ; like the character of 
 the fallen monarch, they look monastic, dark 
 and unfortunate. A large town, half inhabited, 
 seldom fails to give birth to melancholy i decay 
 is in all circumstances abhorrent to our feelings, 
 but especially the decay of human society. 
 The principal Restaurateur still exhibits the 
 sign of " The Prince of Wales;*' and feeble as 
 is this record of royalty, it would be difficult to 
 find in any other corner of the world so con- 
 siderable a mark of respect to the exiled Stuarts. 
 The superb terrace, which bounds the park to- 
 wards the valley of the Seine, is justly admired 
 
 * " En France, (writes M. Benjamin de Constant,) nos spee- 
 *' tacles, nos fetes, sont herissesde gardes, et de baionettes ; 
 " on croirait que trois citoyens ne peuvent se rencontre,' 
 " sans avoir besoin de deux soldats pour les separer." -1 
 Collection des Ouvrages, vol. i. p. 79. 
 
 P 2 
 
<%\% THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS, 
 
 for its extent of JQOO feet, and pleasing prospect 
 over Paris and St. Denis. The park contains 
 8500 acres, and is still stocked with game, for 
 the recreation of the royal family. 
 
 Versailles is, in eyes loyal, par excellence 
 the ne plus ultra of palaces ■; and if size be a fair 
 criterion of magnificence, the compliment is not 
 unmerited; for as I once heard said in commend- 
 ation of a sermon that it would make six good 
 sermons, so Versailles would well cut up into 
 six good palaces. The apartments are reckoned 
 at 6000 ; nor, considering the plot of ground 
 covered, is this calculation, which of course in- 
 cludes rooms of every description, beyond pro- 
 bability. The stranger wanders through hall, 
 and chamber, and cabinet, and state-room, 
 in seemingly endless succession, all decorated 
 like that splendid vehicle in which our sove- 
 reign, at the commencement of each session, 
 rolls slowly to meet his expecting Parliament. 
 The eye becomes dazzled and wearied with 
 gilding, which constantly repeats the re- 
 proach of the Grecian artist ; " unable to make 
 " your Venus beautiful, you have taken care to 
 M make her fine." Bonaparte, when " his 
 hour of folly" was come, expended millions 
 in renovating this frippery, which was to have 
 been furnished with a live-stock equally fine and 
 soulless. The theatre, once so splendid, looked 
 as tawdry as splendour always looks in decay : 
 some portraits were leaning against its walls; 
 they had once represented the gay and power- 
 ful, but now, obscured with dust, and abandoned 
 
THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 213 
 
 to neglect, looked even like the memory of their 
 originals in the picture gallery of history. 
 
 Le Grand Trianon stands in the park of 
 Versailles. It presents a facade of a single story 
 380 feet in length, terminated by two pavilions, 
 connected by a range of 22 Ionic columns ; the 
 whole surmounted by a balustrade and vases. 
 The apartments are in better taste than those 
 of Versailles. Among the works of art, are 
 " a bending Cupid," in white marble, of modern 
 sculpture ; a fine picture of Melancholy ; and a 
 Snow Piece, by Vanloo, which places winter im- 
 mediately before our eyes, and at the same time 
 makes us feel the immeasurable distance be- 
 twixt the magic genius of art, and the tasteless 
 efforts of mere power. 
 
 Le Petit Trianon exceeds neither in size 
 nor decoration a moderate private house. The 
 far-famed gardens of Versailles, are but a multi- 
 plication of the absurdities with which, under 
 the name of beauties, the French every where 
 torture nature. The stranger passively follows 
 his conductor from one green pond to another, 
 from a piece of shell-work to a noiseless foun- 
 tain, and thence to a dry cascade, heartily 
 hoping each may be the last of the sights he 
 screws his courage up to go through with, and 
 wondering whether the makers or admirers of 
 these dainty devices be most deserving of pity. 
 In the immense orangery, which is heaven 
 knows how long ! we regard with pleasure the 
 orange-tree planted by Francis I. in 1421., 
 
 p 3 
 
214 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 which is still in full health, and bearing. After 
 this, there is nothing in Versailles so interesting 
 as a speedy departure from it, with the fond 
 hope, that the task of visiting it may be never 
 again repeated. Betwixt Versailles and St. 
 Germain are the useless aqueducts and water- 
 works of Marly. The park and chateau built 
 by Louis XIV. have disappeared, 
 
 And smiling Ceres re-assumes her reign. 
 
 On the road from St. Germain to Paris is the 
 modest Malmaison, now the property of Eugene 
 Beauharnois. It is a neat white house, with 
 the air of a respectable English gentleman's seat, 
 and is surrounded by shrubberies laid out in the 
 English manner. 
 
 The neighbourhood of Paris on the right 
 bank of the Seine, presents objects of more uni- 
 versal interest. Those I have mentioned are 
 rather drafts upon the traveller's patience, than 
 materials for his enjoyment. 
 
 The Heights of Montmartre will not be 
 slightingly passed by. The martyrdom of St. 
 Denis, from which they take their name, cannot 
 indeed be expected powerfully to interest the 
 foreigner, who usually thinks it sufficient to vene- 
 rate the saints and martyrs of his own country ; 
 the reader of English history will, however, re- 
 call the meeting which took place here betwixt 
 Henry II. Louis VII, and the arrogant Becket, 
 who was destined to furnish England with a 
 saint equal to St. Denis himself. A more re- 
 
THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 215 
 
 cent event for which Montmartre may claim to 
 be remembered, is the foundation of the order 
 of the Jesuits, laid in its church by the vow of 
 Ignatius Loyola, and his seven companions, from 
 which period the order dates its origin. The 
 church is destroyed, but the tower has been saved 
 by being made the station of a telegraph to which 
 I mounted, and enjoyed a complete view of 
 Paris and the surrounding country: the man 
 who has the machinery in charge, furnished me 
 with an accurate detail of the hostile move- 
 ments preceding the two captures of Paris, 
 during both of which he had continued to serve 
 at his station. I give his sketch of these events. 
 
 In 1814, the heights of Montmartre (which 
 are probably 4*00 feet above the level of the 
 Seine) formed the left of Marmont's position, 
 and were very slightly fortified: the right of 
 the French army was on the buttes, or small hills 
 of Ghaumont, and the centre occupied a num- 
 ber of villages, spread over the intermediate 
 plain. The allies manoeuvred from St. Denis 
 and its neighbourhood, directing their principal 
 efforts towards the French right. One cannot 
 glance over the relative position of the two 
 armies, as thus marked out, without feeling a 
 conviction of the possibility of Marmont's main- 
 taining his ground, for many hours at least, 
 against a very superior force * ; but it is stated 
 
 * Bonaparte is said to have required him to make good 
 his position for twenty-four hours. 
 
 P 4> 
 
216 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 on the other hand, that his troops, after repulsing 
 an attack on their right, suffered themselves to 
 be carried forward beyond their line of defence, 
 and were consequently cut up by an overwhelm- 
 ing force of the Russians towards La Villette, 
 so as to be afterwards unable to occupy their ori- 
 ginal position in sufficient strength. Bonaparte 
 is reported to have wept when he heard of the 
 capitulation of Paris : — well might he weep j it 
 was for a lost world; — The allies, in their second 
 advance to Paris, instead of encountering the 
 heights of Montmartre, which had been lavishly 
 fortified, crossed the Seine, and occupied the 
 heights of Meudon, on which side Paris is com- 
 pletely defenceless, and even incapable of de- 
 fence. Montmartre was afterwards occupied 
 as a kind of citadel by our troops. 
 
 To such as prefer studying the revolutions 
 of nature, rather than those of kingdoms, 
 Montmartre is a geological object of great 
 interest. It presents a perfect specimen of 
 what M. Cuvier terms the gypsum of the Jirst 
 fresh-water formation. This gypsum is divided 
 into three strata or beds ; the lower of which is 
 thin i and full of selenite crystals : it contains 
 shells. The second bed is thicker, and contains 
 putrefactions of fishes. The third, or upper, 
 which is sometimes 60 feet thick, affords skele- 
 tons of birds and quadrupeds, among which are 
 several species of the genera Palceotherium and 
 Anoplotherkim. 
 
 The Abbey Church of St. Denis, with its 
 collection of tombs and monuments, is a chroni- 
 
THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. %V) 
 
 cle of the French monarchy. Dagobert is 
 generally allowed the honour of having been its 
 founder, nor is a miracle wanting to give due 
 dignity to the occasion of the pious work. A 
 monk of the abbey, who wrote the Gesta Dago- 
 berti Regis, about 150 years after that monarch's 
 death, relates, that, while yet a youth, Dagobert 
 was taking the diversion of hunting, the deer 
 he was pursuing took refuge on the spot where 
 rested the bones of St. Denis, which, by their 
 divine influence, checked the pursuit, and baf- 
 fled the fury of the hounds j that Dagobert, 
 several years after, when, like the deer, he too 
 was hunted by his father's officers, for some 
 real or pretended offence, remembered this mi- 
 racle, and having sought refuge in the same 
 place, found the bones had lost nothing of their 
 protecting virtue ; in gratitude for which, he 
 afterwards had them dug from their obscure 
 resting-place, and intombed in a magnificent 
 church erected for their reception. This edi- 
 fice is said to have been commenced about the 
 year 629; Having become ruinous, it was re- 
 built by Charlemagne in 775, sacked by the 
 Normans in 865, and restored by the Abbot 
 Suger about the year 1144. Eudes Clement 
 and Mathieu de Vendome, finally completed it 
 as it exists at present, betwixt 1231 and 1281. 
 In assigning the several portions of the present 
 structure to their several eras and architects, 
 it seems agreed that the crypt* or lower church, 
 beneath the chapel of St. Denis, is part of the 
 fabric erected by Charlemagne in the 8th cen- 
 
218 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 tury. The chapels of the Chevet, or round 
 point, some part of the eastern arcade, and the 
 western front, are attributed to Suger. The 
 plain style of the western front, its circular 
 arches, and a certain heaviness of proportions, 
 are strong internal evidences that it is an 
 earlier effort of architecture than to be ascribed 
 to the Gothic period. If this observation be 
 also correct with regard to the Chevet, it proves 
 the use of the pointed arch in France at a date 
 prior to its introduction into England ; our ear- 
 liest specimens going no further back than 1171 
 and 1184. The nave, choir, and transepts are 
 referred to the latter period of the building : 
 they are of the most delicate proportions, united 
 with a boldness seldom equalled: the nave, 
 though but 39 feet wide, is 90 feet high j the 
 windows of the upper range betwixt the great 
 arches and vaulting, are conspicuous for their size 
 and grandeur : they are each nearly forty feet 
 high, and divided by four perpendicular mul- 
 lions, terminating in arches, which support three 
 roses : the distance between each is only three 
 feet. This admirable edifice, which had been 
 ravaged and suffered to fall into decay during 
 the Revolution, is now in great measure re- 
 stored, and will shortly receive back all its 
 monuments from M. Lenoir's collection. Of 
 these, that of Dagobert is already placed on the 
 left-hand - side of the nave, near the western 
 entrance, and merits to be described both for 
 its design and antiquity. 
 
THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 21 Q 
 
 The recumbent statue of the king, with his 
 crown on his head, and his hands joined in 
 prayer, is placed on a tomb within a superb 
 Gothic arch : the statues of Matilda, his wife, 
 and Clovis II. are standing beneath tabernacles, 
 at his head and feet : angels, bearing censers, 
 are placed round the inner circumference of the 
 arch, the back of which displays a remarkable 
 piece of sculpture in alto-relievo : it is divided 
 into three compartments ; in the lower, the 
 naked soul of king Dagobert, still distinguished 
 by his crown, is represented on board Charon's 
 boat, and surrounded by ape-headed daemons of 
 no very friendly aspect : in the second compart- 
 ment, he is kindly received by a saint, and the 
 devils are tumbled in confusion into the water : 
 in the upper division, Saints Denis, Martin and 
 Maurice, are lifting him, as it were, in a sheet, 
 towards the regions of the blest, whence an 
 angel is stooping with a censer to receive him. 
 The whole of the monument is richly finished 
 with crockets, finials, roses, and other Gothic 
 ornaments, in a style of delicacy and richness 
 which evinces the progress of sculpture in 
 France during the life of Abbot Suger, by 
 whom this mausoleum was erected. 
 
 Among the most interesting monuments to be 
 replaced in the body of the church, are the 
 mausoleums of Louis XII., Francis I., and 
 Henry II. ; and the tombs of Sancerre and Sir 
 Bertrand du Gueselin. 
 Louis XII. and Anne of Bretagne, his queen, 
 
220 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 are represented reclining on a tomb, within a 
 tabernacle, richly ornamented with arabesques. 
 Paul Ponce was the sculptor and architect. 
 
 Sixteen Ionic columns support a canopy, 
 under which recline the naked figures of 
 Francis I. and Claude his wife, daughter of 
 Louis XII. The Resurrection of Christ, and 
 other personages of holy writ, are sculptured 
 within the canopy, and are, as well as the figures 
 of the king and queen, the work of Germain 
 Pilon. The admirable bas-reliefs round the 
 tomb, representing the battles of Marignano and 
 Cerisoles, are due to the chissel of Peter Bon- 
 tems, as well as the statues of the king and his 
 family, which crown the top of the monument. 
 
 Sir Bertrand du Guesclin lies on his tomb in 
 plate armour ; his surcoat is sculptured with his 
 arms, — quarterly, Navarre* and per bend three 
 Jleurs-de-lis, two and one. This valiant com- 
 mander, recorded by French historians as the 
 good constable, and one of the flowers of his 
 country's chivalry, when warlike achievements 
 were best understood and admired, died while 
 besieging Chateau Neuf-de-Rondon, not far 
 from Mende, in Languedoc. By order of king 
 Charles, his body was interred in that monarch's 
 own chapel at St. Denis, at the foot of the tomb 
 intended for himself ; with the same honours as 
 if he had been his own son, the King's brothers 
 attending the funeral. Charles himself died 
 the same year (1380) ; nor will his tomb be re- 
 garded without interest, when we remember 
 
THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. S21 
 
 he earned the surname of the Wise, by the 
 efforts he made to renovate his country, and give 
 life to the liberal arts and sciences: he first 
 commenced the royal library, by depositing one 
 hundred and twenty volumes in the tower of the 
 Louvre. It was Charles who reduced the blazon 
 of France to three fleurs-de-lis ; a bas-relief 
 exhibiting the ancient arms, was taken from 
 St. Denis, and is to be seen among the Monu- 
 mens Franqais. 
 
 On either side of the choir are iron folding 
 gates, through which two flights of stone 
 steps lead to the royal vaults. Here are to 
 be placed in order the restored tombs of the 
 ancient line of French monarchs, in a series 
 from Clovis II. to Henry II. Many of them 
 are already deposited, nor can we see without 
 impatience, that these venerable tombs and 
 statues have been daubed over with yellow 
 paint! So miserably does the cloven foot of 
 French taste discover itself even in such works 
 as can command the judgment and antiquarian 
 knowledge of all the savans of Paris. 
 
 This collection of monuments is not yet suf- 
 ficiently arranged to enter into further particulars 
 of it. * . 
 
 My last excursion round Paris was well worth 
 
 * for a fuller account of the church of St. Denis, Vid. 
 « Histoire de V Abbaye Royale de St. Denis en France, par 
 Don Michel Fdibkni' " Le Musee de Monumens Francois 
 par Lenoir ' and " Whittington's Ecclesiastical Antiquities 
 of France." 
 
222 THE ENVIRONS OP PARIS. 
 
 all the rest. It was to Montmorency, a little 
 town about ten miles north of the city, near 
 which Rousseau passed many years of his un- 
 fortunate existence, and composed his most 
 celebrated works ; — his Julie, Emile, the Con- 
 trat Social, and Letter to M. D'Alembert. Mont- 
 morency stands on an eminence ; the road to it 
 turns from the main road, near St. Denis, and 
 by its agreeable windings on the banks of the 
 Seine, through meadows and orchards, interrupts 
 the monotony of ideas which seldom fails to be 
 produced by moving on an eternal straight road, 
 betwixt two stiff rows of trees : something of 
 the freedom of nature here smiles about us, and 
 this feeling is further increased, when mount- 
 ing the vine-clad steep, we enjoy a delicious 
 prospect over this valley, of the wandering river, 
 and feel quit of the dead flatness which gene- 
 rally marks the neighbourhood of Paris. Having 
 arrived at the town, we walked through the 
 woods towards Mount Louis, the former resi- 
 dence of Rousseau. The house is on the south 
 side of a valley, to the bottom of which the 
 eye is prevented from penetrating, by the num- 
 ber of trees scattered down its slope, which, 
 though thick enough to make the bottom of the 
 dell a matter of conjecture, are sufficiently apart 
 to let in those gleams of sunshine and verdure, 
 which woo on the loiterer to plunge into their 
 recesses. Above the road, at the back of the 
 few houses which constitute a diminutive ham- 
 let, the forest rises in all its depth of shade, and 
 seems in its prolongation to enclose the whole 
 
THE ENVIRONS OP PARIS, 
 
 223 
 
 valley, like a worm nook, into which no rude 
 blast may find entrance. Rousseau's quondam 
 dwelling is very small and simple, yet has been 
 much enlarged and altered since his time, when 
 he thus describes it, and the life he led there. 
 " I was perhaps at that time the best and most 
 " agreeably lodged individual in Europe. My 
 " host, M. Mathas, who was the kindest crea- 
 " ture in the world, had left me the entire 
 " direction of the repairs of Mount Louis, and 
 " would have me dispose of his workmen with- 
 " out his interference. I contrived out of one 
 " room on the first floor, to make a complete 
 " suite, consisting of chamber, anti-chamber, 
 " and wardrobe. The kitchen and Teresa's 
 " chamber were on the ground-floor. The 
 « summer-house, which J had provided with a 
 m good glass-door and chimney* served me for 
 «« a study. While I was there, I amused my- 
 " self with ornamenting the terrace, which was 
 « already shaded with two rows of young linden 
 " trees ; I added two more, to make a saloon of 
 ft green leaves, in which I placed a table and 
 " stone benches, and surrounded it with lilacs, 
 " eringas, and honeysuckles. I also laid out a 
 " handsome border of flowers parallel to the 
 " two rows of trees j and this terrace, more 
 " elevated than that of the chateau, with a 
 " view at least as fine, and on which I had 
 " tamed a number of birds, served me as a 
 " drawing-room to receive M. and Mad. de 
 «* Luxemburg, M. le Due de Villeroy, M. 1« 
 
224 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 " Prince de Tingry, M. le Marquis d'Armen- 
 U tieres, Mad. la Duchesse de Montmorenci, 
 " Mad. la Duchesse de Boufflers, Mad. la 
 ff Comtesse de Valentinois, Mad. la Comtesse 
 " de Boufflers, and other persons of the same 
 " quality, who condescended, by a very fa- 
 " tiguing ascent from the chateau, to make 
 " the pilgrimage of Mount Louis. I owed the 
 " favour of all these visits to M. and Mad. de 
 " Luxembourg: I felt this, and my heart re- 
 " verenced them accordingly. It was in one of 
 " these transports of feeling, I once said to 
 f« M. de Luxembourg, as I embraced him : * Ah ! 
 " M. le Marechal, I hated the great before I 
 ^ knew you, and I hate them still more, since 
 " you have made me feel how easy it would be for 
 them to make themselves adored.' " — Confes- 
 sions, lib. x. The terrace once so honoured by 
 the meeting of nobility and genius, still exists, 
 but its contracted dimensions, and neglected 
 condition, leave little in it to admire, save, the • 
 memory of the past. The garden is on the 
 slope of the valley; it is very small ; rather in 
 the English than the French taste, but too con- 
 tracted to have any decided character. A bust 
 of Rousseau is placed in a hole in one of the 
 walls, looking much like a Jesus-box, with a 
 pane of glass before it. Under it are some 
 verses written by Madame d'Epinay, reproach- 
 ing the fickleness of her friend, who fled from 
 her protection. Rousseau's conduct in hastily 
 forsaking the hermitage, may have the air of 
 
 *3 
 
?HE ENVIRONS OP PARIS. 225 
 
 precipitance, and even rudeness j yet the pro- 
 tection of the great is too much like slavery, 
 not to render an escape from it venial. If the 
 philosopher seems sometimes extravagant in his 
 bearishness, but too many of his literary con- 
 temporaries sinned in the opposite, and less 
 honourable extreme. Besides this bust, a Por- 
 tugal laurel is pointed out, under which Rousseau 
 was accustomed to seat himself ; brooding per- 
 chance on the bright creations of his impassioned 
 thought, or, as was his peculiar delight, in- 
 dulging that listlessness and mental vacuity, 
 which lets the images of life float by as motes 
 in the sun-beam, and regards more fixedly the 
 gilded fly in his summer dance, than the 
 weightiest interests of vanity and ambition. The 
 house is at present occupied by a niece of the 
 late M. Gretry ; and 'tis a curious instance of 
 vanity, to see the bust of Rousseau stuck in an 
 obscure hole, while that of M. Gretry occupies 
 the most conspicuous spot in the garden, and 
 has near it a long piece of slate, on which 
 strangers are invited to pay an elegiac tribute, 
 not to the memory of one of the most astonish- 
 ing men of all ages, but to that of M. Gretry, 
 ci-devant musical composer, who still seems de- 
 termined to play the first fiddle. 
 
 The valley of Montmorenci, about Mount 
 Louis, presents an epitome of the loveliest 
 features of nature. Majestic woods, glens, and 
 copse-clad precipices, corn-fields, vineyards 
 which seem to bask on sunny slopes, and luxu- 
 
226 THE ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 riant orchards, are all blended in pleasing con* 
 fusion, combining at every turn into new forms 
 of scenic beauty. The woods are much resorted 
 to on Sundays for rural balls, under the spread- 
 ing chesnut-trees, but they were now as silent 
 as a Canadian forest: the sky was without a 
 cloud, and the sun just so hot as to make the 
 vicissitude of shade and exposure most engaging: 
 it was a day which breathed health and har- 
 mony through the frame, and, if I felt its in- 
 fluence with a relish more than usually grateful, 
 it was, that this excursion, unlike most of my 
 solitary rambles, was made in the company of an 
 old friend and school-fellow. — Whoever is happy 
 enough to remember the 
 
 novo* xo*vo* Xoyuv t 
 
 will understand the difference. 
 
CHAP. VI. 
 
 PARIS TO MORTAGNE, AND THE MONASTERY OP 
 LA TRAPPE. 
 
 Whoever designs to quit Paris by the unos- 
 tentatious conveyance of a public Diligence, is 
 wont to repair to the Messagerie Royale, or 
 «« Royal Stage Coach Office," in the Rue Notre 
 Dame de Victoires ; where he finds a large yard, 
 surrounded by offices appropriated to the vari- 
 ous coaches, and tolerably well rilled by an as- 
 sortment of these ponderous vehicles, some pre- 
 paring to start, some unpacking their crews and 
 cargoes, and some looking like old black luggers 
 at anchor. It must be owned, however, that 
 this enclosed space forms a much more conve- 
 nient starting-post than either the White Horse 
 Cellar, or the White Horse, Fetter-lane ; or in- 
 deed than any London Horse, Bear, Angel, or 
 Elephant, with which I am acquainted ; but it 
 is a curious circumstance in the relative locomo- 
 tion of the inhabitants of the two capitals, that 
 while London pours her flying conveyances 
 from an hundred different offices, a single Mes- 
 sagerie almost of itself suffices for Paris, from 
 which 10 daily coaches, 20 once in two days, 
 
 q 2 
 
228 PARIS TO MORTAGNE. 
 
 and about half a dozen at wider intervals of time, 
 are dispersed over the extent of country be- 
 twixt the Rhine and the Pyrenees. 
 
 It may be taken as a general rule, that in 
 France, (and I believe 'tis much the same in 
 other countries,) whatever institution, or estab- 
 lishment, is honoured by the epithetical agno- 
 men of " Royal," never fails to be conducted 
 towards its point of destination by the longest 
 and least convenient road which human inge- 
 nuity can contrive to hit upon : this observa- 
 tion applies with double force to the matter of 
 Diligences, which, with the exception of those 
 to Rouen and Calais, on which roads there exists 
 some sort of competition, seem contrived upon 
 the unaccommodating principle of completing a 
 given distance in the greatest possible space of 
 time. It was on the 15th of October, (one of 
 the first of that succession of cloudless days, 
 which made the autumn of 1818 a second sum- 
 mer,) that I repaired to this general rendezvous, 
 about one o'clock in the afternoon and having 
 previously engaged a place, took my station 
 near the Brest Diligence, which passes through 
 Mortagne, whither my journey lay. In Eng- 
 land, the experienced traveller will generally 
 contrive to anticipate by a few minutes the time 
 of starting, that he may thereby accommodate 
 himself with a front or back, a corner or mid- 
 dle place, as may suit his whim, taste, or infirm- 
 ity ; but in France such an act of free agency is 
 never tolerated in a subject: not only every 
 
PARIS TO MORTAGNE. 229 
 
 other part of your accommodation, but even the 
 precise nook you shall fill, is settled for you by 
 the government : M. Le Conducteur stands 
 near the door, and in a loud voice calls upon 
 each passenger to occupy the seat assigned him, 
 much as a serjeant calls over his muster-roll, 
 and with nearly the same air of authority. I 
 was the happy ninth destined to be embosomed 
 in the machine, and entered its dusty confine, 
 while the sun was all hot and bright without, 
 much as a ghost with an ill conscience may be 
 supposed to step into Charon's boat. While 
 the stowing and packing were going on, I had 
 eyed with no cordial glance an immense Nor- 
 man nurse, who, with a thumping child in her 
 arms, just old enough to be mischievous, had 
 been filling the coach pockets with a loaf of 
 bread, cheese, pears, a bottle of vin du pays, and 
 «« such like gear," for the consumption of the 
 journey. <<c I will not sit by that woman," said 
 I internally ; but the government of France had 
 ordered I should, for the ninth place meant a 
 bodkin seat betwixt her and a lusty young man, 
 who looked much like what he proved to be, an 
 officer of the French marine ; a good-humoured 
 man, and not deficient on the score of intellect. 
 The ship, as he would probably have expressed 
 it, having now all her cargo aboard, was on the 
 point of weighing anchor, when the nurse cried 
 out, " Oh! M. Le Conducteur, arretez un mo- 
 ment, sHl vous plait; V enfant veut pisser." — 
 *« Madame," said a raw-boned old gentleman 
 
 0, 3 
 
<230 
 
 PARIS TO MORTAGNE, 
 
 opposite to me, as he turned a long red pro- 
 boscis, garnished with a pair of green spectacles, 
 towards the fair claimant for delay, " you should 
 have settled these matters before you set off." — 
 " Ah ! Monsieur, c'est un enfant" pathetically 
 interposed a young woman next him. " If it 
 " were done when 'tis done," thought I ; but 
 the general voice determined that le petit should 
 find fitter occasion : an attempt was indeed 
 made to accommodate the affair by projecting 
 him through one of the windows, but as he was 
 a little too heavy to be supported at arm's length 
 in a perpendicular, or nearly perpendicular po- 
 sition, the thing was mathematically impossible, 
 so it stood over. Meanwhile we jogged on, 
 with the tantalizing contrast of a brilliant sun- 
 shine without, and a hot, dusty atmosphere 
 within, which was rendered more aggravating 
 as the country increased in beauty, after we got 
 quit of Paris and its suburbs ; and, passing Ver- 
 sailles, descended the beautiful valley of St. Au- 
 bin, across which the road stretches on the crest 
 of a ridge, which slopes off on either side in two 
 green declivities. My fellow-travellers indeed 
 exhibited no impatience on this account ; a love 
 of rural beauty being no French passion : they 
 had besides fallen into a political argument — 
 the age of Louis XIV. versus that of the Char- 
 ter and freedom. A mild looking man, pale- 
 faced and powdered, with much the appearance 
 of an Abbe, maintained the cause of despotism, 
 and Louis le Grand, against a little man, with 
 
PARIS TO MORTAGNE. 
 
 231 
 
 very harsh features, who, notwithstanding his 
 professions of constitutional loyalty, had a mien 
 and physiognomy altogether republican, at the 
 least; but he had a logic as stern as his features, 
 and pressed the gentle friend of tyranny, a coups 
 de marteau, both with fact and argument, which 
 went very far to prove that this golden age of 
 kingcraft and peruke-making, was but a very 
 so-so time for the swinish multitude. 
 
 We past through Dreux in the night, and 
 about day-break found ourselves close to the 
 little village of Tellieres, built round the foot of 
 an eminence, on which stands a large gloomy- 
 looking chateau, with many windows, and high 
 roofs ; the property of the lady of the manor, 
 reputed to have been one of the greatest heir- 
 esses in France, and lately married to a son of 
 the Due d'Osmond. The Due de Richelieu 
 has a seat by the road-side near this village : it 
 looks form al, and in the usual dry, tasteless style 
 of a French chateau. Two leagues from Tel- 
 lieres is the ancient town of Verneuil, with its 
 ruined towers and crumbling brick walls, close 
 under which the Regent Bedford won a hard- 
 fought battle on the 16th of August, 1424, in 
 which fell the Earl of Buchan, Constable to 
 Charles VII., with the flower of French chivalry. 
 Nor is this the only warlike achievement of 
 this period of which Verneuil bears record : — 
 while subsequently in possession of the English, 
 a French miller, who had been beaten by an 
 English soldier, took an opportunity of betray- 
 
 q, 4 
 
2S2 
 
 PARIS TO MORTAGNE. 
 
 ing the town to his countrymen, by instructing 
 them to fix their ladders to his mill on the walls : 
 the garrison was forced into the castle, where a 
 few of them long held out in " the grey tower," 
 against the gallant Dunois, and at last surren- 
 dered on capitulation ; after which king Charles 
 entered the town amid the shouts of the inhabit- 
 ants, who, according to Monstrelet, " made 
 " bonfires, and strewed the streets with flowers 
 " in the best manner they could, singing carols 
 " day and night." — Chronicles, ix. p. 20. — Soon 
 after mid-day we were at Mortagne, and alight- 
 ing at the inn, I began to enquire for a convey- 
 ance to La Trappe. No sooner had I men- 
 tioned my intention of visiting this monastery, 
 than my smug and loyal fellow-traveller made 
 up to me with a face of congratulation: — 
 " This," he said, " was the true way of travel- 
 " ling :" he then told me I might rely upon the 
 hospitality of the Fathers for my night's lodg- 
 ing, who would be sure to entertain me much 
 better than I could be accommodated at the 
 village auberge. This the aubergiste of Mor- 
 tagne stoutly denied. — " Right," thought I, 
 " the devotee sympathises with the monks, the 
 " aubergiste with his brother inn-keeper ; grant- 
 " ing their opposite testimonies to neutralise 
 " each other, I declare for the monks: inns and 
 " aubergistes are commoner things than monas- 
 " teries and monks of La Trappe" — With this 
 decision I set off, myself on one post-horse, and 
 a postilion, with my valise, on another, leading 
 
THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 233 
 
 the way. La Trappe is about eight miles north 
 of Mortagne : the road to it traverses a deli- 
 cious country, full of hamlets, orchards, and 
 vineyards : the surface^ is not mountainous, but 
 waving, and though generally cultivated, has 
 here and there patches of heath and copse-wood, 
 sufficient to give it a picturesque mixture of 
 wildness : the road is literally a cross-road, in 
 which any vehicle but a waggon would be ill at 
 ease, it being narrow, sandy, and broken ; 
 but it deviates luxuriously betwixt hedge-rows, 
 through woods, across fields, up one knoll, and 
 round another, in a manner as unlike as possi- 
 ble the stately solemnity of a chemin superbe. 
 
 It was twilight when we reached the village. 
 Having alighted at the auberge, I was directed 
 to the door of the monastery, which had, as 
 far as I could distinguish in the waning light, 
 the appearance of a substantial farm-house. I 
 rang the bell; a monk presently opened the door, 
 and perceiving a stranger, prostrated himself 
 before me : to my demand of a night's hospi- 
 tality, he replied by leading the way to the 
 refectory, with a courteous gesture of assent : 
 here he again bowed himself at my feet, (a cere- 
 mony much more embarrassing to me than him,) 
 and enquired if, while supper was preparing, I 
 chose to attend evening service, which was now 
 beginning : on my assenting he conducted me 
 into a small chapel, near the altar of which a 
 single lamp threw a feeble light on the white 
 habits of the brethren, who, with their cowls 
 
234 THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 
 
 drawn over their faces, were kneeling down im 
 attitudes of deep humility and devotion : this 
 was by far the most solemn part of the service ; 
 the faint breathing of their whispered orisons 
 was alone audible; nor could I refrain, as I stood 
 in a corner of the chapel, from regarding the 
 unwonted scene with a feeling of almost so- 
 lemn interest. — The beings thus grouped around 
 me, were so far removed from all ordinary pur- 
 suits, and habits of social existence ; there was so 
 little similarity betwixt their destiny and mine; 
 nay, there was so little of general human sympathy 
 betwixt us, that I found myself regarding them 
 with almost as much curiosity and wonder as if 
 they had been given back from the world of spirits, 
 or had wandered into our sphere from some dis- 
 tant planet. — After having prayed some time in 
 silence, they rose and chaunted the usual even- 
 ing service, which was concluded by their again 
 kneeling in the same attitude of devotional me- 
 ditation ; after which, they glided ghost-like 
 from the chapel. Three persons had stood near 
 me during the service, two of them young men, 
 seemingly ecclesiastics, the third a rustic ; these, 
 I afterwards understood, were novices, in their 
 year of probation : the two former had such 
 wan, enthusiastic countenances, as denoted the 
 inward sway of constitutional melancholy; but my 
 skill in physiognomy afforded me no clue to the 
 mental hallucination of the third, whose dull sim- 
 plicity had been probably wrought upon by the 
 madness of others, or the contagion of example. 
 
The monastery of la trappe. 235 
 
 From the chapel I was conducted to the re- 
 fectory, where I found a table spread with fruit, 
 vegetables, bread, cheese, butter, honey, and 
 sweetmeats, good wine and cider, of which I 
 was courteously prest to partake : the Hopitallier, 
 who has the charge of entertaining strangers, 
 apologised, that in consequence of its being a 
 meagre day, he could offer me no better fare : 
 an apology certainly superfluous, though I was 
 no Trappiste. 
 
 After supper I was shown into a neat cham- 
 ber, ornamented with a few pictures of saints, 
 and a crucifix : the Hopitallier having desired 
 to be informed of my wants, and the hour at 
 which I wished to be called, bade me a good 
 night, and withdrew. As it was yet early, I 
 took up a volume of the Benedictine regulations, 
 on which those of La Trappe are modelled : 
 one precept struck me \ it directs the brethren 
 of the order to consider a particular friendship 
 as more sinful and pernicious than the most 
 deadly hatred, by directing the affections from 
 the Creator to the creature. With what extraor- 
 dinary logic has superstition subjugated the earth ! 
 I also looked over a life of the Abbe de 
 Ranee, the reformer of the order, of which the 
 brief history is this : — La Trappe is the territorial 
 appellation of this monastery, which was founded 
 by Rotrou, Count de la Perche, in 1140, ac- 
 cording to the Bernardine rule ; but much laxity 
 had crept into its observances, when De Ranee 
 undertook to reform it, about the year 1664 1 
 
£36 THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 
 
 since which time it is properly called " the 
 Reformed Bernardine," or " Order of La 
 Trappe." There is a portrait of the Abbe in 
 the Stranger's Refectory: his countenance is 
 mild and penetrating ; he was a man both of learn- 
 ing and talents, and even translated Anacreon. 
 Voltaire observes, that " he wrote with elo- 
 " quence, and as a legislator, dispensed with 
 " his own law, which obliges those who live in 
 " the monastic tomb to be ignorant of what 
 " passes in the world." His sincerity, how- 
 ever, can scarcely be questioned, since he spent 
 the latter part of his life in the practice of the 
 austerities he preached. He is said to have im- 
 bibed much of the gloominess of his spirit from 
 frequent meditations in the Roman catacombs ; 
 which seem indeed to have so well accorded 
 with his taste, that he has modelled the order of 
 La Trappe upon the principle of a living cata- 
 comb, in which life is taught to represent death, 
 a cell the grave, and breathing men, the silent, 
 passionless anatomies of the departed. In the 
 morning I was summoned to the refectory to 
 partake of a breakfast, which even in Paris 
 might have been called luxurious : the Hopi- 
 tallier waited on me in modest silence, yet the 
 gentleman was seen through the monk. On my 
 plate I found a printed paper, containing an 
 expose of the principles and practice of the 
 order, drawn up for the information of those 
 who may be disposed to enter it. It was an odd 
 commentary on an excellent breakfast, and not 
 
 13 
 
THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 237 
 
 at all likely to prove relishing from the contrast ; 
 but there was an earnestness approaching to elo- 
 quence in the style of it, and something even 
 sublime, in endeavouring to make proselytes by 
 a recital of mortifications and suffering : it 
 begins ; " Whoever you be whom God inspires 
 " with the design of uniting yourself with us, 
 " to devote yourself to repentance, do not 
 " imagine, as the world commonly persuades 
 " itself, that great strength and vigour of body 
 " are requisite for this purpose. No, great 
 " strength is certainly not requisite, since we 
 " constantly see among us, persons in very de- 
 " licate health, persevering with firmness j but, 
 " with the help of grace, much courage, much 
 " humility, and much good-will, are requisite. 
 " Much courage, to support austerities j much 
 " humility, to renounce yourself in every way; 
 " much good-will, to surmount the obstacles 
 " and temptations which will perhaps divert you 
 " from your purpose." It then proceeds to ex- 
 emplify the occasions which call for these se- 
 veral virtues : as, I. Courage, to endure the 
 austerities of the order, which are classed under 
 nine heads. 1. The endurance of cold in winter, 
 when the use of a fire is permitted but for a few 
 moments at a time. 2. Heat in summer, when 
 the drops of sweat gathered by toil must not 
 be dried by a handkerchief, but only wiped from 
 the brow with the hand. 3. Early rising ; be- 
 fore half-past one in the morning on Sundays 
 and ordinary festivals, and before midnight on 
 
^38 THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 
 
 great festivals. 4. Never to lean against the 
 wall while sitting, however fatigued. 5. To 
 make but one meal a day for seven months of 
 the year, and that to consist of potatoes, herbs, 
 or vegetables, without butter or oil, and seasoned 
 with salt and water : the bread to be brown, and 
 the only drink water : this too not to be touched 
 but on a signal given by the superior. 6. To 
 work fasting for five or six hours a day, or more, 
 at laborious occupations. 7. To sing in the 
 choir, or pray more than seven hours every 
 day ; more than eleven on Sundays, and above 
 twelve on great festivals. 8. Never to sleep 
 but on boards, with a pillow of straw. 9. To 
 reckon all this nothing; and every evening to 
 make a prostration before the cross, repeat the 
 miserere, and entreat God's forgiveness for having 
 done so little during the day, and that little so 
 ill. Even, if necessary, some retrenchment is 
 to be made upon this wretched subsistence, the 
 better to provide for those who may wish to be- 
 come inmates of the establishment. 
 
 II. Humility is to be carried to the extreme of 
 a total annihilation of volition. Every species of 
 blame and even calumny is to be endured without 
 an attempt at defence, or even explanation : the 
 head is to be constantly bowed, and the eyes 
 cast down, in token of contrition. The will of 
 the superior is to be regarded as the sole rule 
 of conduct, and all previous knowledge is to be 
 laid aside and forgotten, while the mind assents 
 with implicit submission to whatever is presented 
 
THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 239 
 
 to it, whether of thought or action. This state 
 of self-negation seems indeed to be regarded as 
 the perfection of saintship, since, according to 
 one of the fathers, " cesset voluntas propria, et 
 " non erit infernus ;" " but for self-will, there 
 " would be no hell." 
 
 III. Great good-will is essential, as may well 
 be imagined, to bear all this, and defeat the ma- 
 chinations of the devil, who is constantly striving 
 against such godly doings. 
 
 A notice is subjoined to this expose, signifying 
 that property is not required of those who pre- 
 sent themselves for admission, though it would 
 argue but little zeal in those who have any not 
 to offer it ; besides, that in the present circum- 
 scribed condition of its revenues, the order has 
 no means of support, but such as each member 
 brings with him. Neither age nor education are 
 obstacles to reception; but the unlettered, as 
 well as those whom age or ill-health will not 
 permit to undergo all the austerities of the order, 
 are received upon a different footing ; the ig- 
 norant being made lay-brothers, while the weak 
 or infirm are allowed some relaxation with re- 
 gard to fasting, and are permitted to wear 
 linen. There is also a school attached to the 
 monastery, for gratuitous education, in writing, 
 cyphering, and Latin ; the scholars of which are 
 boarded and lodged in the house, and afterwards 
 either received into the order, or returned to 
 the world. There is also a system of instruc- 
 
<240 THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPEY 
 
 tion for those who can afford to pay for it, on 
 the usual plan of colleges, with the addition of 
 the modern languages, mathematics, &c. After I 
 had finished an excellent meal, and looked over 
 this compendium of penance, the Hopitallier 
 conducted me through every part of the build- 
 ing. The walls are bare, and every article of 
 furniture suitably simple. Besides the refectory, 
 dormitory, and library, there are several apart- 
 ments used as workshops, in which tailors, shoe- 
 makers, and book-binders, were silently pursuing 
 their respective occupations. Their communi- 
 cation with one another seemed to be almost 
 wholly by signs; a few low words were now 
 and then breathed, when any work or direction 
 seemed absolutely to require it, but otherwise 
 the bowed figures of the brethren glided about, 
 or performed their several tasks with a spectral 
 stillness. After having surveyed the establish- 
 ment within doors, I walked into the garden, 
 and adjacent premises. The former is neatly 
 kept, and serves for a church-yard, as well as 
 garden, in which one grave is always open : 
 about half-a-dozen more were marked by heaps 
 of turf, and crosses at their heads, with the 
 conventual names and ages of the deceased, 
 and the dates of their deaths, subscribed requies- 
 cat in pace \ — an epitaph which, simple as it is, 
 is yet more than enough, where the natural 
 boundaries betwixt life and death are removed 
 long ere the clay and spirit separate. 
 
THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. " %4>\ 
 
 I found the monks busied in repairing, their 
 bakehouse, and other domestic offices : they 
 reminded me, in their silent activity, of a swarm 
 of ants, rebuilding their ruined domicile. The 
 massive ruins of their ancient monastery are hard 
 by their present humble dwelling : the roof- 
 less walls, and several broken arches of the 
 church, are standing : it appears to have been 
 about 130 feet long, and 50 wide, and built 
 in the simplest style of Gothic architecture : 
 many other apartments of the edifice are also 
 distinguishable among the heaps of flint and 
 rubbish spread over the area. The monks enter- 
 tain a hope of one day restoring the whole to its 
 former grandeur, and cast an eye of expectation 
 towards the woods, which embosom the rich 
 meadows round their convent : all which fair 
 demesne was once their property, and produced 
 an annual revenue of from 20 to 30,000 livres. 
 The woods, which had become national property, 
 have past into the possession of the crown ; 
 hence their hope of restitution : but it is doubt- 
 ful if the present government can afford to be 
 so costly in its piety. Close to the orchard is a 
 delightful thicket, cut through with green alleys, 
 in which, however, the monks are forbidden by 
 their rule to walk, lest this harmless recreation 
 should too far mitigate their state of penance. 
 It is thus superstition would, if possible, put out 
 the sun, and light the world with hell-fires, in 
 honour of the God of Nature. It would, indeed, 
 be difficult to make a purgatory of La Trappe, 
 were its inhabitants allowed to taste the fresh- 
 
 R 
 
242 THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE* 
 
 ness and beauty of* the scenery by which they 
 are surrounded. 
 
 It is a common notion, and one natural enough 
 to be entertained* that this Order is, for the most 
 part, filled by men whom a sense of foul crimes 
 has driven to such extremity of penance : I men- 
 tioned this idea to the Hopitallier as he was walk- 
 ing with me round the premises : his mild coun- 
 tenance was in itself a refutation of the notion ; 
 nor should I have felt justified in mentioning it, 
 had I not stated it as a vulgar error : " I do 
 " not think," I concluded, ' ' great criminals are 
 " the likeliest persons to enter your order;" 
 " Oh ! no," he gently replied, " there must be 
 " a call for that." The fact is, that great cri- 
 minals are commonly men whose powerful minds 
 are seldom dashed by the terrors of superstition, 
 except it be when age or disease have enfeebled 
 their intellectual faculties : in general, it is ra- 
 ther on the weak than the wicked Religion pours 
 her chastening influence ; which, when it lights 
 upon imaginations of a cast more than usually 
 fervid, or such as by constitution and circum- 
 stance are rendered unusually susceptible, blazes 
 into the enthusiasm of saintship, or the madness 
 of self-torturing bigotry- Enthusiasm, or a 
 predominance of fancy over reason, being the 
 basis of such feelings, it will by no means seem 
 surprising, that among the monks of La Trappe 
 should be found several of Bonaparte's Old 
 Guard, Whom disgust, and impatience for the 
 lost idol of their affections, have impelled to a 
 
THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. £48 
 
 seclusion, which, however contrary to their 
 former habits, still affords nutriment to their 
 souls' extravagance. The Hopitallier, I after- 
 wards learnt, Was once a captain of cavalry ; — 
 " and I, too, am an Athenian." Perchance 
 we have been front to front ere now, but his 
 worldly campaign is first over. At the concha 
 sion of our walk he again conducted me to the 
 refectory, where, on my declining to prolong 
 my visit, a collation was spread, before my de- 
 parture ; he then produced an album, in which 
 it has been usual for strangers to write their 
 names, with such expressions of their thanks and 
 feelings as the convent's hospitality well merits* 
 Among the few English visitors, I observed 
 the names of Mr. J. Weld, of Dorsetshire, and 
 Mr. FelloWes, of Tivoli Villa, near Bath. Under 
 my name, and compliments, I wrote the follow- 
 ing lines : 
 
 Within these walls the sovereign power of will % 
 
 Triumphs o'er nature, bidding her be still, ' 
 
 With all her host of passions, good or ill. ^ 
 
 And blessed are the votaries who dwell, 
 
 In the drear confine of each silent cell, 
 
 If penance, fast, or midnight pray'r may win 
 
 Tranquillity, to bide a guest within : 
 
 Nor is it madness for such end to keep 
 
 Their rule's austerity ; and sternly steep 
 
 Their bread in bitterness* — Alike in this, 
 
 Monk, or philosopher, pursues the bliss 
 
 His fancy images, and wisely deems 
 
 That good the greatest which the greatest seems* 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 
 
 I now took leave of my polite entertainer, who 
 with much courtesy, begged I would not fail to 
 visit them, should I again pass that way. He 
 insisted on carrying my valise to the inn, where 
 we separated, — he to the monotonous tenor of 
 prayer and mortification, I to continue my pil- 
 grimage through France, — and through life, 
 With all its chilling changes ; in the course of 
 which, it will be well for me, if I have never 
 cause to think he has the better lot of the 
 two. 
 
 John Bull will naturally desire to know if I 
 paid for my entertainment ; I answer, hospi- 
 tality is a duty of the convent, and no stranger, 
 or traveller, is denied a table and bed. Two 
 poor travellers were received and entertained at 
 the same time with myself; nor, were the monks 
 still in possession of their lands and gear, would 
 I so far have insulted their liberality as to offer 
 payment for it; but in the present very reduced 
 state of their finances, it would be meanness in a 
 traveller, journeying for his amusement, to tax 
 their slender means without some remuneration: 
 this is never demanded, but is accepted when 
 offered, as enabling them the better to show 
 hospitality to such as need it. Payment being 
 thus entirely discretionary, should not, I ima- 
 gine, be graduated according to the actual value 
 received, or the charges of an auberge, but ex- 
 press, as far as is consistent with the traveller's 
 means, the sense he entertains of the hospitality 
 
THE MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE. 245 
 
 of his reception. Not far from La Trappe is a 
 convent, for females of the same order ; but 
 being at once man, heretic, and foreigner, I 
 conceived my chance of admittance, under this 
 triple disqualification, too hopeless to think of 
 visiting it. 
 
 R 3 
 
546 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 Mortagne is an old town, built on a hill : it 
 contains nothing remarkable ; the walls are for 
 the most part demolished ; though a Gothic 
 gateway or two, and a single tower, are still 
 standing: but a better sight than feudal battle- 
 ments were the marks of growing prosperity 
 and improvement visible throughout the town ; 
 such as the roofing, repairing, and enlarging 
 of houses ; stone-masons, carpenters, and brick- 
 layers in full employ, with a general appearance 
 of ease and activity. There is a heathy hill, 
 partly covered with copse-wood, just without 
 the town, which commands a wide landscape of 
 richly cultivated country, thick-set with trees and 
 hedge-rows, and sprinkled with villages. No- 
 thing like this prospect is to be seen betwixt 
 Mortagne and Paris. 
 
 I engaged a place by the mail from Mortagne 
 to Le Mans : that is, I went in the same covered 
 cart with the bags, and had my bones nearly 
 jolted through my skin. As the country and 
 
MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 247 
 
 weather were both delightful, I made a start at 
 each stage, and so ensured above an hour's 
 walking for the sake of rest. The villages in 
 this direction are numerous, and the site of each 
 is marked among the trees, by the thin tapering 
 spire of the parish church. One generally ob- 
 serves, both in France and England, each county 
 or province to have its peculiar style of church- 
 building : this sharp wooden spire is well suited 
 to a thickly timbered country, where a tower 
 would be completely out of sight. 
 
 Betwixt Bellesme and Mamers I overtook a 
 decent, honest-looking man, who, though not 
 of the lowest class, had evidently chosen his 
 mode of travelling as much from motives of 
 economy as of pleasure. Having entered into 
 conversation with him, I began to praise the 
 richness and beauty of the country: — " Doubt- 
 " less," said I, " the inhabitants here are well 
 " off?" "Some of them are," heanswered. — "But 
 " the majority?" " They are ill enough ofFj — 
 " you may judge how they fare, wliefT a man 
 " earns but ten sous a day*, and wheat is from 
 
 * Without food ; but I imagine this to be in winter only. 
 In the neighbourhood of Angouleme, wages during the sum- 
 mer are twelve sous per day, with food ; in the valley of the 
 Gironde, fourteen sous, with food. In harvest they are some- 
 times twenty sous ; but in winter the average of wages is but 
 twelve sous, without food ; though in some districts the cot- 
 tagers live rent-free, in houses belonging to their employers.. 
 R 4? 
 
248 
 
 MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 ** ten to twelve francs the bushel." — 44 But 
 " wages rise with wheat ?" " No ; for the last 
 44 four or five years wheat has been extremely 
 " dear; but wages have continued at the old 
 " rate." — " How can a man maintain a family 
 44 upon ten sous a day?" 44 Miserably enough: 
 " they drink nothing but water. I, myself, am 
 " a master carpenter, employ four or five men, 
 " and can earn twenty-five sous a day; yet, 
 44 though I have no children, I can put by no- 
 44 thing, and live meagerly enough," (assez 
 maigrement.) — 44 There are, however, many 
 " small proprietors among you?" fl Very few. 
 «f In my commune, there are eight or ten pro- 
 44 prietors with a rental of from 5000 to 7000 
 44 livres : the farms are all large, and the greater 
 44 part of the people in great poverty." — I con- 
 tinued my queries: 44 You find trade generally on 
 " the increase since the peace ?" 44 Yes, people 
 44 begin to build and improve, because they feel 
 44 some security in their condition. They are 
 44 not liable to be called upon by the conscrip- 
 44 tion, nor taxed to support endless wars." — 
 4 « You are not, then, a friend to Bonaparte?" 
 44 No, I am not one of those who regret him. 
 44 I find more business stirring, and more 
 44 money spending, than there was during his 
 44 government, when people never knew what 
 44 might become of them." It had been well 
 for Bonaparte had this honest carpenter been his 
 prime r minister. The wearer is a better judge 
 
MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 249 
 
 than the maker where the shoe pinches ; but in 
 state-cobbling, Crispin fits all feet by his own 
 last, and cures corns by cutting oft' the toes. 
 
 I dined a't Maimers i it was Sunday, and I 
 amused myself by looking at a company of the 
 respectable towns-people diverting themselves 
 with pitching sous through holes in a box, — an 
 amusement more insipid than any that can well 
 be imagined, except that of looking at them. I 
 doubt if the Chactaws, or Tonga men, would not 
 have called it very childish. 
 
 At Bonnetable, I found the farmers enjoying 
 a jolly evening, enlivened by an auction, and 
 the beat of a great drum — a tremendous in- 
 doors accompaniment. The mail usually re- 
 mained here all night ; but the service was 
 constructed on so liberal a principle, that the 
 driver offered either to stay or go, as might suit 
 my convenience : so I went on to Le Mans, and 
 arrived at about four in the morning. 
 
 The ancient town of Le Mans, formerly the 
 capital of Maine, is built on the Sarte, near its 
 confluence with the Huisne. The old ramparts, 
 and several of the towers, are still standing 
 round the upper town, and look as gloomily an- 
 cient as an antiquary could wish them. The 
 cathedral is a pile of antique beauty and mag- 
 nificence, well worthy to arrest the stranger's 
 attention. Its architecture is of two dates: the 
 nave is said to have been a pagan temple ; it is at 
 least older than the choir and transepts : its exter- 
 nal walls are without buttresses ; its length is about 
 
'250 
 
 MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 170 feet, breadth 75. The roof rests upon seven 
 massive clustered columns, and four circular pil- 
 lars, on either side ; these form the lateral aisles : 
 the windows of the lower tier are plain round 
 arches; those of the upper are double, within a 
 plain circular architrave ; thus resembling, both 
 in form and arrangement, those of the great hall 
 in the Castle of Lillebonne : several monuments, 
 effigies, and inscriptions, are visible against the 
 walls, but the last were too much corroded to 
 be legible. The transept is about 160 feet from 
 north to south, by 30 of width. The length of 
 the choir is about 100 feet : it is flanked by 
 clustered columns, supporting light pointed 
 arches, and a vaulted roof, 90 feet high: a 
 double aisle runs round it, divided by sixteen 
 Roman columns, resembling those in the nave, 
 but with capitals and bases proportioned in 
 richness and size to their massive character : 
 these columns struck me as admirably contrived 
 to connect the older style of the nave with the 
 Gothic of the choir ; so that the contrast should 
 not be unpleasingly forcible : the width of this 
 aisle is about 30 feet ; twelve Gothic chapels are 
 built round it, of which the Lady-chapel forms 
 a magnificent termination to the eastern ex- 
 tremity of the edifice, the extreme length of 
 which is about 330 feet. The windows of all 
 these chapels, as well as those of the upper 
 story of the choir, are magnificently stained with 
 orient colours; nor can description do justice 
 to the architectural splendour which breaks on 
 
MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 251 
 
 the eye from various points of the aisles round 
 the choir. Were I to fix upon a spot at which 
 the effect is most striking, I should place the 
 spectator at A, in the plan, thence to direct his 
 eye transversely, across the choir into the op- 
 posite aisle and chapels : the prospect here, 
 combining the rich colouring of the windows 
 with the various intersecting arches and columns, 
 is truly sublime. 
 
 + + 
 
 ♦ # 
 
 ♦ ♦ 
 
 ♦ ♦ 
 
 This church contains two remarkable monu- 
 ments. The one near the spot marked B, con- 
 
MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 sists of the recumbent statue in white marble, of 
 a warrior in complete armour; beautifully sculp- 
 tured : a coronal of jewels is round his head, 
 and another round his helmet, at his feet : his 
 surcoat bears Jieurs-de-lis. The tomb is inscribed, 
 " Hie Carolus comes Cenomanice obitt die x. 
 A. MCCCCLXII." This Count of Maine, 
 was third son of Louis II., Duke of Anjou, and 
 titular King of Sicily ; and grandson of Louis 
 Due d* Anjou, brother of Charles V. of France; 
 so nearly related to the royal family : his son 
 Charles was constable of France under Louis XI. 
 The second monument stands opposite to the 
 first at C. It was erected by the Cardinal du 
 Bellay,to the memory of his brother, Monsieur de 
 Langeay, governor of Piedmont under Francis I., 
 — a nobleman not less renowned in his time for 
 literary attainments and political capacity, than 
 for his skill in arms. He wrote a treatise on the 
 art of war, and is spoken of by Brantome as one 
 of the first men of his age. His recumbent 
 figure is finely sculptured in a Roman military 
 habit, with a long beard : he leans on his left 
 elbow, having a sword in his right hand, and a 
 book in his left, resting on a helmet, barred and 
 richly carved. The front of the tomb is adorned 
 with a basso-relievo, representing a battle of 
 tritons, beautifully carved : two sphinxes of 
 black marble support it, and rest upon a second, 
 finely ornamented with trophies. The work- 
 manship of the whole is admirable. ... On the 
 upper tomb is a confused Latin inscription, 
 
MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 Q5S 
 
 which contrives to say nothing in many words. 
 Over the monument are the three following 
 epitaphs : 
 
 1. ObiitHII. Id. Januar. Anno D. MDXLIII. in vico 
 Sansapharino ad radicem Tararii montis. 
 i 2. Pallados invictus jacet hie, et Martis Alumnus 
 Positum hoc mausoleum. MDLVII. 
 3. Arreste toi lisant 
 Cy dessoutz est gisant 
 Dont le cueur dolent jay 
 A renomme Langeay 
 Qui son pareil neut pas 
 Et duquel au trespas 
 Gecterant pleurs et larmes 
 Les lettres et les arraes. 
 
 Brantome says, he was told this monument 
 was erected in St. Julian's church : if so, it 
 must have been moved hither since ; but in a 
 matter of hearsay, the historian" may be inac- 
 curate. He quotes the two following epitaphs, 
 written by the wits of the day, which are only 
 not quite so insipid as those on the tomb ; 
 
 1 . Hie situs est Langceus — Ultra nil qucere, viator, 
 
 Nil melius dici, nilpotuit brevius. 
 
 2. Cy gist Langeay, qui de plume et d'espee 
 
 A surmonte Ciceron et Pompee. 
 
 Near the western front of the cathedral 
 stands a lofty iron cross, which would not have 
 been worth notice, but for its accidental ac- 
 companiments. At the time of my passing by it, 
 a wreath of roses had been offered at its foot : 
 ■ on the steps, at one side, knelt several children, 
 performing their morning devotions, quite re- 
 
£54 MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 
 
 gardless of the publicity of the situation : on 
 the opposite side a bearded mendicant, with his 
 long staff beside him, was kneeling for the same 
 purpose. A painter could not have selected a 
 grouping more picturesque, or one richer in 
 moral allegory : the children personified the 
 young hopes of life; the beggar its realities: 
 the roses betwixt them shall bind the brows of 
 neither, but wither near the emblem of suffer- 
 ing : if their young minds fashioned a wish, it 
 must have been to live many days ; he could 
 have asked no greater boon than the grave : 
 with his experience, they would have begged 
 the same blessing : 
 
 O blindness to the future kindly given ! 
 
 That each may fill the circle naark'd by heav'n. 
 
 The church of St. Julien, in the suburbs on 
 the right bank of the Sarte, is entirely of cor- 
 rupted Roman architecture ; it is said to be 
 more ancient than the cathedral ; that is, I 
 imagine, than the Gothic part of the latter, 
 which is comparatively modern. 
 
 It was under Le Mans the last blow was given 
 to the shattered Vendean army in 1793, after it 
 had been forced to retire from before Angers. 
 Mad. Larochejaqueline reckons this defeat to have 
 cost the royalists not less than 15,000 men; most 
 of whom were crushed to death in the streets, 
 during the retreat, or massacred in the houses 
 in which they had been left sick and wounded : 
 she herself was very nearly trampled down 
 
MORTAGNE TO TOURS. 255 
 
 among the fugitives, after having vainly at- 
 tempted to conceal her infant daughter in the 
 bed of a ladv of the town, who refused it her 
 protection. One is astonished, in reading this, 
 as well as other parts of Madame Laroche- 
 jaqueline's memoirs, at the power of endurance 
 with which the mind and frame even of delicate 
 females, seem, on the spur of great emergencies, 
 to be gifted. 
 
 I have little to observe on the road betwixt 
 Le Mans and Tours, because I travelled it by 
 night ; but I ought not to forget my compagnon 
 de voyage, a jolly, clerical-looking Frenchman, 
 who, during our journey overwhelmed me with 
 civilities, called me bon Anglais, and put no 
 limit to the expression of his wishes to be, in 
 any manner, of use to me. Accordingly, when 
 we arrived at Tours, I thought it no trespass on 
 his friendly disposition to ask his advice as to 
 the best hotel in the town : I know not whether 
 he smelt, in this question, an inchoate intention 
 on my part to put his professions to some further 
 test ; but, without delaying to answer me, he 
 forthwith tucked his umbrella under his left 
 arm, caught his bundle from the conducteur, and 
 hastened off with as much diligence as if I had 
 attempted to borrow a franc of him. 
 
 Tours is a gay-looking town, &\ present half- 
 peopled by English. The approach to it by the 
 bridge of the Loire is very advantageous. This 
 bridge consists of fifteen arches, each 75 feet in 
 the span; its total length is 1532 feet ; and 
 
2.56 
 
 TOURS. 
 
 width 47. The river, though not deep, is wide 
 and handsome ; and its right bank, which is 
 high and rocky, is covered with vineyards. At 
 the foot of the bridge, the commencement of 
 the High-street {La Rue Royale) is flanked by 
 the Prefecture, a handsome modern edifice, and 
 by a sham architectural front, of very mean 
 appearance, which, without much judgment, has 
 been erected to mask a very handsome Gothic 
 church, now used as a stable. This street is 
 broad, straight, furnished with trottoirs, and 
 altogether, perhaps, one of the handsomest in 
 France; but the rest of the town bears traces 
 of antiquity, which, in the article of town build- 
 ing, seldom shews itself in a very favourable 
 point of view. The walks laid, out upon the 
 old ramparts overlook a pleasant country, and 
 the ex-ditches are profitably converted into gar- 
 dens. The population of Tours, according to 
 the census of 1790, is about 20,000 souls : at 
 the end of the sixteenth century it was near 
 120,000.* A reduction, however, in the popu- 
 lation of great towns, does not necessarily sup- 
 pose any general diminution through the coun- 
 
 * In 1636, the silk manufactories occupied 20,000 work- 
 men, 8000 shops, and 400 mills, besides 40,000 workmen 
 employed in preparing the various articlesfor consumption. In 
 1672, the total population was about 80,000. In 1698, these 
 were reduced to 34,000, of whom 1100 were ecclesiastics. 
 There were then 1200 manufactories of silk, occupying 4000 
 workmen. 
 
TOURS. 
 
 257 
 
 try: it is a natural consequence of the progres- 
 sive security of social life, which induces men 
 more willingly to disperse themselves in villages 
 and isolated dwellings, than to crowd into a few 
 fortified towns, such as were wont not only to 
 engross the whole national trade ; but, from their 
 strength and privileges, to assume almost the ap- 
 pearance of small independent republics, con- 
 federated within the same social pale. In France, 
 traces however are still left of this gregarious 
 habit : the peasants are fond of collecting in 
 villages, so that petty hamlets and single cot- 
 tages are much less frequently met with than 
 in England. A similar observation is applica- 
 ble to Spain : in both countries it is common for 
 peasants to walk, or ride on asses, five or six 
 miles to their daily labour, so that about a third 
 of their working time is frequently spent on the 
 road. The same habit has adhered to the 
 French Canadian, and forms a considerable bar 
 to the clearing and settling of new lands. 
 
 Few cities figure more conspicuously in 
 French history than Tours. Its records are espe- 
 cially rich in saints, and saintly actions. St. Ga- 
 tien preached the Gospel, and was the first 
 bishop of Tours, about the year 250. St. 
 Lidoirus was bishop in 341, and was succeeded 
 by St. Martin, who founded the, first monastery 
 in France, at Leguge, near Poitiers, and after- 
 wards the famous Majus Monasterum, or Con- 
 vent of Marmontier, (in old French Maire- 
 Moustier,) to which appertains the legend of 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 TOURS. 
 
 the Seven Sleepers ; and from which William 
 the Conqueror subsequently borrowed a score of 
 monks to stock Battle Abbey. St. Brice, who 
 was obliged to purge himself by a miracle from 
 the charge of adultery ; St. Eustochius, St. 
 Perpetuus, St. Baud, and St. Eufronius, toge- 
 ther with the lady-saints, Clotilda, Monegonda, 
 and Radegonda, are all celebrated by Gregory 
 of Tours ; to judge from whose history, a saint 
 was in his times a much easier thing to meet 
 with than an honest man. 
 
 The first Christian church in Tours was con- 
 structed by St. Lidoirus, anno 347, out of a 
 house which had been given him for this pur- 
 pose by a Senator : this is recorded to have been 
 the first beginning of the cathedral. In 469, 
 St. Perpetuus built a church in honour of St. 
 Martin, which was, at that time, the most mag- 
 nificent in all Gaul. Several others are recorded 
 to have been built about the same period; but by 
 their being repeatedly burnt to the ground, we 
 may conclude they were little better than 
 wooden edifices. Gregory of Tours tells us 
 (Historiarum, lib. x.) that in the time of his 
 predecessor St. Eufronius, the whole city was 
 burnt down, with all its churches ; that two of 
 them were rebuilt by Eufronius, but the third 
 remained in a state of decay. St. Eufronius 
 also restored the church of St. Martin, which 
 stood without the town, and covered it with 
 tin, by the help of King Clotaire. Gregory 
 himself rebuilt the cathedral, which he dedicated, 
 
TOURS. 
 
 259 
 
 anno 590, to St. Maurice, commandant of the 
 Theban Legion of Martyrs, whose relics he 
 believed he had been fortunate enough to dis- 
 cover in an old stone chest. Whatever may 
 have happened to this edifice in the intermediate 
 centuries, it was burnt down in 1166. As it was 
 probably soon restored, the most ancient parts of 
 the present building may be reckoned to belong 
 to the twelfth century : we find, however, that 
 the towers, which were only of wood, were burnt 
 in 1224 ; and that the present towers, which 
 are not both of the same shape, were not com- 
 pleted till the commencement of the sixteenth 
 century. 
 
 The interior of this church is of a very ele- 
 gant Gothic. Near the choir there is a tomb, 
 with the recumbent figures of two children, ad- 
 mirably sculptured in white marble : they are 
 the sons of Charles VIII., who were buried in 
 St. Martin's, on the destruction of which 
 church their monument was transferred to 
 the cathedral, in 1815. The sculptors were 
 John and Juste Leguste, of Tours. 
 
 The Church of St. Martin, in consequence of 
 its standing without the walls, > was repeatedly 
 burnt and plundered in times of war, as well as 
 destroyed by accidents. Our countryman, Al- 
 cuin, is said to have once extinguished a fire in 
 it, not as a man of judgment would go about 
 such a business in these days of little faith, with 
 buckets and fire-engines, but by prostrating 
 himself before the devouring element, with his 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 TOURS. 
 
 arms extended in the figure of a cross. He 
 was buried in the church he had thus preserved, 
 in which there was a monument to his memory. 
 Luitgarde, the wife of Charlemagne, happening 
 to die while her husband was holding an assembly 
 of the States at Tours, was also buried in 
 St. Martin's, under Charlemagne's tower. Here 
 too reposed the famous Berenger, who had the 
 good fortune to escape the crown of martyrdom, 
 though accused of magic, and guilty of thinking 
 .reasonably. The tomb of St. Martin himself 
 was surrounded with a grating of silver, by 
 Louis XL, in a fit of gratitude, for the defeat 
 of the Duke of Burgundy : this decoration 
 Francis I. took the liberty of sending to the 
 city mint, where it was coined into 6342 marcs 
 of silver, nick-named testons d la grille. After 
 the battle of Pavia, the queen-mother, Louisa of 
 Savoy, came to implore St. Martin's forgiveness 
 for this offence, to which she ascribed the king's 
 disasters ; though, as she had diverted all the 
 money thus impiously obtained to her private 
 use, there was no need of going to heaven to 
 look for the author of the misfortune. The roof 
 of this church fell in in 1797, and a street now 
 passes over its site : the tower of Charlemagne, 
 however, and the western tower, still exist. 
 
 The Castle, which is now used as a barrack, 
 was built in 1160, by our Henry II., Count of 
 Touraine, on the foundation of an ancient Ro- 
 man edifice. It was an irregular square, flanked 
 by four towers, of which one is still entire, to- 
 
TOURS. 
 
 261 
 
 gether with part of a second, and a portion of 
 the ancient walls. It was perhaps one of the 
 sculptured stones of the Roman building, which, 
 in some way or other, was long shown at Tours 
 as the Tomb of Turnus. The castle, soon after 
 its erection, was besieged and taken by Philip 
 Augustus, in 11 89 ; retaken by Richard Coeur- 
 de-Lion in J 194*, and afterwards held by John. 
 One of the remaining towers bears the name 
 of the Guise Tower, from the circumstance of 
 the Duke of Guise having let himself down 
 from one of its windows, while a prisoner, in 
 1591. 
 
 Tours was the birth-place of several of the 
 jpreux chevaliers of French history : amongst 
 whom were Saintre, and the two Boucicauts, 
 father and son. A curious anecdote is related 
 of the latter : when not seventeen, he was at 
 the battle of Rosbecque with Charles VI., and 
 having presented himself to engage a Fleming 
 of extraordinary stature, the latter contemptu- 
 ously struck his battle-axe from his hand, saying, 
 " Go, suck, child ! The French are in great want 
 " of men, since they send children to battle." 
 On which young Boucicaut drawing his dagger, 
 and nimbly rushing under his adversary's arm, 
 stabbed him through his cuirass, exclaiming at 
 
 * Richard, before his departure for the Holy Land, re- 
 ceived the pilgrim's staff and habit in the church of St. Mau- 
 rice ; the former broke as he was leaning on it, which was 
 regarded as a bad omen. 
 
 S 3 
 
TOURS. 
 
 the same time : " So ; — do the children of your 
 " country play in this fashion?" * 
 
 When the estates of the province met at 
 Tours in 1789, to elect deputies to the States- 
 General, the Marquis of Lusignan, a descendant 
 of the kings of Jerusalem and Cyprus, was the 
 first among the nobility to set a memorable ex- 
 ample of patriotism, by proposing the following 
 resolution, which was carried by acclamation : 
 " The order of the nobility of the bailiwick of 
 " Touraine, considering that its members were 
 " men and citizens before they were nobles, can- 
 *\ not better indemnify itself for the long silence 
 " to which the abuse of ministerial power had 
 " condemned it, than by declaring to its fellow- 
 " citizens that it purposes no longer to enjoy 
 " those pecuniary privileges, which custom had 
 " conferred on it. It makes by acclamation a 
 " solemn vow, to bear with perfect equality, 
 f each in proportion to his fortune, the taxes 
 " and general contributions which shall be 
 " agreed to by the nation; pretending to re- 
 
 * An English soldier, describing the meUe of the Life 
 Guards and Cuirassiers at Waterloo, said, the noise of the 
 swords against the helmets and cuirasses resembled the clink 
 of a number of smiths' hammers. Froissard, describing the 
 battle of Rosbecque, says, " The clattering on the helmets 
 " by the axes and leaden maces was so loud, that nothing 
 " else could be heard for the noise, I was told that if all 
 " the armourers of Paris and Brusselles had been there 
 " working at their trade, they could not have made a 
 " greater." — Chap. xliv. 
 
TOURS. 
 
 263 
 
 " serve none but the sacred rights of property, 
 " and those distinctions essential in a monarchy, 
 " to enable it the better to maintain the rights 
 " and liberties of the people, the respect due 
 " to the monarch, and the authority of the 
 " laws." The clergy moved a similar reso- 
 lution. — Had all the privileged orders in France 
 been possessed by an equal spirit of good sense 
 and moderation, what miseries had been spared I 
 what incalculable evils prevented! The pri- 
 vileged orders of Touraine at least, have con- 
 sciences free from reproach (a rare privilege 
 in such times of peril), while their noble sen- 
 timents will be long quoted, to show that all the 
 French nobles and clergy were not culpable to- 
 wards mankind of that obstinate and blind self- 
 ishness, which has drawn down ruin on half the 
 civilised world. 
 
 S 4 
 
264 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 TOURS TO POITIERS. 
 
 Five leagues from Tours, on the river Indre, 
 is the town of Montbazon, with a ruined castle 
 on the hill above it. It is so far remarkable, 
 that Peter Savari, Lord of Montbazon, was one 
 of the first knights-bannerets created in 1213, by 
 Philip Augustus, in those provinces which had 
 before belonged to the kings of England. Peter 
 Savari displayed his banner at the battle of Bo- 
 vines, in 1214: a lord of Montbazon was in 
 1360 one of the hostages for the performance 
 of the treaty of Bretigny. Not far from Cha- 
 tellerault, near the confluence of the Clain and 
 Vienne, are the ruins of Old Poitiers (le vieux 
 Poitiers). Antiquarians are undecided whether 
 to see in them the remains of a castle, or of a 
 temple of Roman construction : it is not for 
 me tantas componere lites ; but I mention the 
 existence of Old Poitiers for the sake of future 
 travellers, who may have an opportunity of vi- 
 siting it. 
 
 The ancient city of Poitiers stands on the 
 steep ridge of the left bank of the Clain. Most 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 265 
 
 of the streets are narrow, crooked, and miserably 
 paved. It contains about 21,000 inhabitants, 
 but is spread over an extent of ground which, 
 if thickly peopled, would contain at least five 
 times that number : it is indeed one of the most 
 curious features of Poitiers, that if you stray 
 but a few paces from the principal streets, you 
 find yourself among gardens, vineyards, and 
 even corn-fields, all within the ramparts, and as 
 still and forsaken as if no town was within a 
 dozen miles of them. There are many good 
 houses in these depopulated districts, most of 
 them tenantless ; and a whole street sometimes 
 ; looks, from the grass growing over it, as if it 
 had been recently visited by the plague. Poi- 
 tiers is little frequented by strangers ; yet with 
 . all its disadvantages, it has, in my mind, more 
 attractions than any provincial city I have seen 
 in France, except Saintes : it is memorable in 
 history, abounds with antiquities of all ages ; 
 the country round it is pleasant, and offers 
 scenes and objects of high interest to the cu- 
 , rious. The public walks are among the finest 
 in France ; they are laid out upon the ramparts 
 at the south-east end of the town, and overlook 
 i the Clain, with steep terraces of limestone on 
 its right bank, and on its left a bright green 
 stripe of water meadows, from which ascend 
 vineyards and corn-fields, diversified with woods, 
 till the river is lost sight of in the distant wind- 
 ings of its channel. 
 
 On my way to the Roman Amphitheatre, hap- 
 
266 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 pening to step into a bookseller's shop, near the 
 market-place, I mentioned Les Arenes to the mis- 
 tress of it, who immediately, with much politeness, 
 conducted me through her house, and opening a 
 back door, upon a sort of terrace, showed me I was 
 within its area, and standing upon one of its vaults. 
 Its gigantic ruins were beheld here to advan- 
 tage, from being contrasted with the diminutive 
 aspect of the houses, which had been built 
 among its arches. By passing through the 
 yard of the Hotel d'Evreuw I gained admittance 
 into the area, to examine it more in detail. It 
 is built with flat slabs of limestone, roughly 
 hewn, and put together, as we see the flint walls 
 of Saxon castles, without much attention to 
 neatness or regularity j being doubtless origin- 
 ally coated over with small stones : the arched 
 vomitories, or entrances, are about 25 feet deep 
 and 12 wide : a vault runs all round the circum- 
 ference of the lower story, and forms the cellars 
 of the houses built over it. The height of the 
 arches still standing no where exceeds 60 feet, 
 and can be reckoned at so much only where, as 
 in one or two places, the arches of the third 
 story are still entire. The area may contain 
 near an acre and a half of ground, and is divided 
 into small flower-gardens. 
 
 The building which in antiquity ranks 
 next to the Amphitheatre, is the Church of 
 St. John. Before I enter upon the use and 
 origin of this edifice, I shall give a general ex- 
 position of its appearance 'and dimensions ; — 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 and here I must observe, that though the anti- 
 quarian, M. Duradier, when about to describe 
 this edifice, treats it as monks do their patron 
 saint, (whom they extol above all the saints in 
 the hierarchy,) and declares that while the Am- 
 phitheatre presents nothing but defaced and 
 shapeless vestiges of Roman magnificence, this 
 building offers a complete image of the grace 
 and grandeur of fine architecture ; yet, unless 
 the traveller designs writing a treatise, or build- 
 ing a system upon it, he will see nothing in it 
 but a contracted ruinous edifice, built and orna- 
 mented in the vilest possible taste : — its antiquity, 
 however, gives it an indisputable claim to at- 
 tention. It is situated near the south gate of 
 the cathedral, and opposite the bishop's palace : 
 it is generally kept shut, so that I speak of the 
 interior from description only : I indeed at- 
 tempted to gain admittance ; and as a clergyman, 
 in his flowing gown and cassock, and a bright 
 cocked beaver, chanced to make his appearance 
 while I was pondering on the means, it struck 
 me that he was no unfit person to apply to for 
 aid and counsel : I accordingly accosted him, 
 and was not a little surprised on discovering him 
 to be one of my fellow-travellers from Tours ; 
 but quantum mutatus ab illo, as I had known him 
 in the Diligence ! a little meek ecclesiastic, boy- 
 ish and talkative with his companions, but modest 
 before strangers, a faire pitie, and so unosten- 
 tatious in garb as to despise even the luxury of 
 a clean shirt, — now, on the contrary, he seemed 
 
268 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 to feel the full importance of a cassock, and 
 clean linen : he replied with lofty courtesy to 
 my enquiries relative to the church, declared 
 pithily he could do nothing for me, and con- 
 cluding with, " Monsieur, je vats visiter I'Evesque, 
 " etje vous salue" floated by me as if he had 
 been at the least a cardinal: — but to get back to 
 St. John's, from which indeed I have not yet 
 budged an inch. — The body of the building is 
 an oblong about 40 feet long and 25 wide. Its 
 height, to the summit of the angle of the gable- 
 end, is about 50 feet. The pentagonal addition to 
 the western side, and the small porch to the east, 
 in the opinion of all who have considered the 
 subject, belong to a later period than the body 
 of the building. Although the entrance is at 
 present from the west, both from the disposition 
 of the roof, and the analogy of other ancient 
 edifices, there can be little doubt but that it 
 was originally at one of the gable-ends, upon 
 which the chief part of the external decoration 
 has been bestowed. The south, or rather south- 
 west end, which is principally conspicuous, is 
 quite plain in the lower story, with the excep- 
 tion of a small semicircular projection, used, I 
 believe, as a chapel, and which has probably 
 replaced an entrance-door : above it is a plain 
 stone cornice, which goes round the building ; 
 at the height of 30 feet from the ground are two 
 arches, in each of which a small circular window 
 has been made : a second stone cornice, or 
 impost, here surrounds the edifice, upon which 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 269 
 
 rest four Corinthian pilasters, surmounted by an 
 architrave. The two centre pilasters support 
 the mouldings of an arch, within which is a 
 Greek cross in Mosaic work. The frieze above 
 is composed of small stones, divided by lines of 
 tiles in the Roman method : it is ornamented 
 with two triangular compartments of Mosaic 
 work, and is surmounted by a cornice with 
 carved modillions, supporting the triangular pe- 
 diment, or gable-end of the roof, which is also 
 decorated with small stars and triangles of Mo- 
 saic work. A similar style of decoration pre- 
 vails on the east side of the building, which, 
 from the mixture of its materials, the short 
 clumsy pilasters, and puerile ornaments, has al- 
 together a very mean appearance. Deducting 
 
 plan of st. john's church. 
 
270 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 all the posthumous additions to the original 
 plan, which leaves the body of the edifice a 
 tolerably regular oblong ; admitting, moreover, 
 that the Mosaics are a late addition % what 
 date are we to assign to the primitive edifice? 
 To what purpose was it originally applied ? — 
 In the cathedral there is to be seen a large 
 oblong stone, seven feet perhaps in length, and 
 not quite two in height, bearing an inscription, 
 which M.Siauve (author of Memoir es sur les An- 
 tiquites de Poitou) thus interprets : — 
 
 " Claudia? Varenilla?, Claudii Vareni consults 
 " Jiltce, civitas Pictonum fwius, locum, statuam, 
 *' monimentum publicum Marcus Censor inus Pa- 
 " vius, legatus Augusti proprwses provincial 
 " Aquitanice, consul designatus, maritus, honore 
 " contentus, sua pecunid ponendum curavit." 
 
 " The city of Poitiers has ordered for Claudia 
 " Varenilla, the daughter of the consul Claudius 
 " Varenus, funeral rites, a place for a statue, 
 " a public monument. Marcus Censorinus Pa- 
 " vius, the? emperor's lieutenant, propraetor of 
 " the province of Aquitaine, and consul elect, 
 *' content with the honours decreed to his wife, 
 " has erected this monument at his own ex- 
 " pense." 
 
 * I have subsequently noted the resemblance of these de- 
 corations to some ornaments I saw on the front of a small 
 brick-house betwixt Valence and Moissac, 
 
POITIERS. 271 
 
 Now the tradition generally received at Poi- 
 tiers with regard to this stone is, that it was 
 taken originally from the Church of St. John, 
 where it incumbered the interior of the building ; 
 and from this circumstance, together with the 
 style of the edifice, a conclusion has been drawn 
 by Duradier, (author of Le Journal Historique de 
 Verdun,) that this church was originally the mau- 
 soleum of this Varenilla, and subsequently con- 
 verted into a Christian temple. M. Siauve took 
 an ingenious mode of ascertaining the truth 
 of this conjecture ; he concluded, from the bulk 
 of the inscribed stone, that the monument must 
 have rested upon a suitable foundation of ma- 
 sonry ; he accordingly began to search in the 
 middle of the pavement for a substratum, and ac- 
 tually discovered what appeared a foundation of 
 stone- work, which seemed to confirm Duradier's 
 hypothesis : upon further examination however, 
 instead of solid masonry, he excavated an octa- 
 gonal pool, about four feet in diameter, with a 
 descent of several steps into it, and a small sub- 
 terraneous drain to carry off its contents. This 
 discovery tended to strengthen the notion that 
 the building had been origi?ially designed for 
 a Christian church, probably about the fourth 
 century ; though no positive conclusion could 
 be drawn either way, since the monument might 
 have been removed, and the baptismal pool 
 subsequently formed in its place. A stronger 
 argument against Duradier's supposition is the 
 
 8 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 meanness of the architecture, in no respect an- 
 swering to the strength and dignity of a Roman 
 public work, but answering well enough to the 
 idea we have of the early Christian churches, 
 previous to the introduction of the massive style 
 of architecture we call Saxon, or Norman. We 
 find the first church at Tours to have been ori- 
 ginally the house of a Roman senator : the 
 church of St. John has certainly marks of Ro- 
 man construction, both in its general arrange- 
 ment, ancj,in.the coating of the walls with small 
 square stones : there are also about 30 pillars 
 of marble still withinside it ; some standing 
 round the walls, others lying on the pavement, 
 having probably been removed when alterations 
 were made in the general form of the building, 
 to suit the wants of an increasing congregation. 
 The abundance of bones every where found, on 
 digging beneath the pavement, seems to show 
 it was erected on a burying-ground, and fur- 
 ther invalidates the idea of its having been the 
 mausoleum of a Roman family. If, however, 
 it should justly be considered as originally a 
 Christian church, it is perhaps, observes M. 
 Siauve, " not only the oldest in France, bat 
 " in the whole Christian world:" — to which 
 I add, that no other consideration could make 
 it worth the investigation which has been be- 
 stowed on it. 
 
 The Church of St. Radegonde may rank next 
 in antiquity to that of St. John, according to 
 the date of its foundation, viz. about the year 
 
POITIERS. 273 
 
 559, by Radegonde, the wife of Clotaire I. 
 The present edifice is in a style anterior to the 
 Gothic, and probably dates as far back as 
 Charlemagne. Before the choir, a few steps 
 descend into a vault, containing the royal saint's 
 body, enclosed in a stone coffin, well barred 
 with iron: over the entrance a tablet records 
 the vow of Anne of Austria, for the health of 
 her husband, Louis XIII. Nothing but this 
 saint's royal rank could, I think, have induced 
 the queen to select her, on this occasion, in pre- 
 ference to so many, her elders and superiors in 
 the calender: to judge, however, by appear- 
 ances, she is still a useful person to apply to; 
 for the vault is hung round with small legs, 
 arms, and joints of wax, such as are usually con- 
 secrated, in gratitude for a miraculous cure. A 
 young woman was praying before the tomb with 
 much devotion while I was there ; so that there 
 is still some religion left in France. 
 
 The Church of St. Hilaire is said to have been 
 built by Edgiva, a daughter of Edward the 
 Elder, who married, according to Malmesbury, 
 a prince of Aquitaine. The style is corrupted 
 Roman. In one of the chapels are the figures 
 of St. Hilarius, St. Maria, and St. Radegonde, 
 with this inscription : " Ces trois statues furent 
 " erigees sur la porte de la tranchee au memoir e 
 V du miracle appellee le miracle des clefs qui sauva 
 " la ville du danger qu'elle courut d'etre livree a 
 ** I'armee Anglaise qui devoit par cette porte 
 ** s'emparer de Poitiers a jour de Pacques, 1202." 
 
 T 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 The most curious building, however, which I 
 have seen, not only 1 in Poitiers, but in France, 
 is the Church of Notre Dame. My stay in 
 Poitiers of two days did not permit me to 
 explore its history, of which, as well as its date, 
 the inhabitants in general are profoundly ig- 
 norant. Its internal length is about 180 feet ; 
 its breadth about 45 j it has no transepts. The 
 tower consists of three stories : the two lower 
 square, the third circular, with a short pyramidi- 
 cal spire. The whole church is built of a 
 reddish-brown stone, and is so corroded by time, 
 that it looks very much like a ship after a storm : 
 but what is chiefly remarkable about it is the 
 western fa9ade, which is entirely covered with 
 statues, and sculptures laid on with a profusion 
 and richness scarcely paralleled even in Gothic 
 architecture. It presents a front of 60 feet, 
 which equals the breadth of the nave, with the 
 addition of the towers at each end. This is also, 
 as nearly as I could estimate, about the extreme 
 height of the building, reckoning to the sum- 
 mit of the pediment. That portion of the front 
 which is betwixt the towers (about 40 feet) is 
 occupied by three portals ; of which the central 
 arch is circular, and the two lateral arches pointed : 
 these, with two small tabernacles on either side 
 the central window, are the only traces of Gothic 
 architecture to be found in the building : the 
 form of the two portals probably originated in 
 the contracted space betwixt the middle portal 
 and the towers j the tabernacles may have been 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 -275 
 
 later additions. These portal arches, which are 
 low, rest upon clusters of thick short columns, 
 with capitals grotesquely ornamented with leaves 
 and animals. The soffit of the central arch is 
 enriched with four mouldings, variously carved 
 in imitation of flowers, leaves, and arabesques. 
 The lateral arches have two mouldings, de- 
 corated with animals, nail-heads, and leaves; 
 some of them very elegant. The lateral doors 
 are double, being divided by a pillar, and sur- 
 mounted by round arches, with the nail-head 
 moulding. The spaces of wall betwixt the three 
 portals are filled up with reliefs much decayed ; 
 but in which the history of the fall of Adam is 
 readily to be distinguished. A rich band or im- 
 post terminates this lower story, above which is 
 placed the west window, (the only one in this 
 part of the building,) occupying with its mould- 
 ings a space of about 20 feet by 10 : on each side 
 of it are the Gothic tabernacles I have mentioned, 
 which undoubtedly once contained statues: 
 there are three broad mouldings round the top 
 of this window ; two adorned with elegant 
 arabesques, the third with the nail-head orna- 
 ment, very gracefully formed, with a small 
 flower in its centre. The spaces betwixt this 
 window and the towers, are filled by two tiers of 
 arched niches, eight below and six above, con- 
 taining statues of saints : they are divided by 
 pillars, and finished with rich mouldings, and 
 other decorations. Above them is a corbel-table, 
 supporting the architrave of the pediment, which 
 terminates the fa9ade, with an irregular trian- 
 
276 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 gle ; in the centre of which is an oval, about 
 14 feet high, encircled with elegant mouldings, 
 which form, as it were, a rich frame, round a 
 statue of the Virgin, in a state of mutilation. 
 There is a broken ornament on the apex of the 
 pediment, which seems to have been globe- 
 shaped ; the coating-stones are here all disposed 
 in the form of chequers and small circles. The 
 towers are scarcely so high as the pediment: 
 they are formed by a cluster of columns with 
 capitals of leaves and animals, placed in an irre- 
 gular semicircle, about 30 feet high, and sup- 
 porting a circular story or tower, pierced with 
 small arches, separated by clusters of short co- 
 lumns, and surmounted by a corbel-table and 
 pyramidical spire, upon which crosses appear to 
 have been originally placed. Neither the towers 
 nor facade can justly be called either majestic 
 or graceful, as far as regards proportions and 
 principles of architecture ; but it is impossible 
 to view without astonishment, the profusion of 
 rich, and even delicate carving, with which the 
 whole front is covered : the variety and elegance 
 of its decorations are worthy of the Grecian 
 chisel, while the general plan and structure of 
 the building are mean and insignificant. The 
 date of this edifice must necessarily be fixed 
 prior to the introduction of Gothic architecture, 
 since whenever we find (as we frequently do in 
 Trench churches) the Gothic style of decora- 
 tion superinduced upon the massive edifices of 
 earlier periods, we always perceive the first alter- 
 ation to be that of changing the round for the 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 277 
 
 pointed arch, particularly in the doors and win- 
 dows ; while tapering pinnacles and rich taber- 
 nacles are introduced to give lightness and 
 elevation to the massive heaviness of the original 
 work ; here, on the contrary, there is not a single 
 window altered, not a pinnacle introduced, 
 nothing in short, except the two tabernacles on 
 each side of the west window, to induce us to 
 suppose that any material change has been 
 made in the primitive edifice, which may, with 
 some probability, be referred to the jlorid sera of 
 the corrupted Roman style, answering to the 
 Norman period in England. This supposition, 
 however, overthrows Mr. Bentham's assertion, 
 that " they had (at this period) no tabernacles 
 " (or niches with canopies), or pinnacles, or 
 " spires : or, indeed, any statues to adorn their 
 " buildings on the outside." {Historical Remarks 
 on the Saxon Churches, by the Rev. James Bentham, 
 at p. 70. of" Essays on Gothic Architecture, $c") 
 Now, though we should admit both the spires 
 and two tabernacles of Notre Dame to be 
 posthumous additions, it is little probable that a 
 Gothic architect would have taken the pains to 
 cover the whole front of this little church with 
 statues and carving, without making the so 
 much admired change in the form of the win- 
 dows and other arches, not one of which 
 appears to have undergone any alteration. The 
 interior of the church is purely Roman, with no 
 intermixture of later ornaments, except a Gothic 
 shrine, in which is a group of figures, repre- 
 senting the burial of Christ : over it and on the 
 
 t 3 
 
278 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 roof are two stone escutcheons ; one bears in 
 1st and 4<th quarters a Jleur-de-lis supporting two 
 birds ; in %d a?id 3d a griffin segreant ; the 
 other 6 macks 3, 2, and 1 ; there is also in one of 
 the windows a shield argent, with a double-headed 
 eagle sable, armed or. — Wishing to take a sketch 
 of this extraordinary building, I applied at a 
 linen-draper's, on the opposite side of the street, 
 to be allowed to place myself at one of his win- 
 dows, which was granted me with the utmost 
 civility, and every arrangement made for my 
 accommodation at the window which was 
 deemed most suitable for my purpose. 
 
 The Cathedral, of which I had time but to 
 take a casual survey, is a building of plain 
 massive exterior, in the corrupted Roman style : 
 the walls are without buttresses : the western 
 towers are dissimilar : the portal is Gothic. The 
 interior length is about 300 feet, by 110 of 
 breadth ; proportions which indicate an early 
 date of architecture. We have but one cathedral 
 in England which has so much absolute width, — 
 that of York ; but the same relative proportions 
 are to be found in two or three of our earlier 
 edifices. The style of architecture within is 
 altogether Gothic, and extremely elegant ; but 
 the windows are almost all circular: the towers 
 are low, and finished with conical spires, like those 
 of Notre Dame, which resemble the turrets of 
 the Palais de Justice in Paris, and were proba- 
 bly added as ornaments to almost all public 
 buildings in France, at about the same period. 
 
 The streets of Poitiers descend steeply to the 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 279 
 
 Clain, over which there are two bridges, one a 
 modern structure, the other an old work, on 
 which there is still an embattled gateway. The 
 limestone ridges on the opposite bank rise in 
 perpendicular terraces, completely commanding 
 the town, which must, after the invention of 
 gunpowder, have become a very insecure garri- 
 son. About a quarter of a mile from the edge 
 of these cliffs, on a spot overlooking the city, 
 and valley of the river, stands the famous 
 Pierre-levee, or Cromlech, about which, as 
 might be expected, antiquarians have written 
 much and proved nothing. It consists of a flat 
 slab of coarse limestone, about 20 feet long, 17 
 wide, and 9>\ thick; and formerly rested on 
 three upright slabs of a similar rock, about 
 S{ feet high, % wide, and 1 foot thick, of 
 which one only is in its original position ; the flat 
 stone is consequently raised but at one end ; the 
 other has fallen down, and is split across. With 
 respect to the origin and purpose of this monu- 
 ment, M. Duradier, who has written expressly 
 on the subject, {~Lettre sur la Pierre-levee de 
 Poitiers ; Journal de Verdun, 1752,) believes it 
 to have been a pagan idol, citing the passage 
 of Leviticus, " Ye shall not place on the ground 
 " any remarkable stone, to worship it." * This 
 is certainly going a long way for a reason, which, 
 
 * The English translation of this passage refers to Images: 
 though unshapen stones were certainly used for idols by 
 many barbarous nations. 
 
 T 4 
 
280 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 when found, amounts to nothing. Father Arcire, 
 in his Histoire de la Rochelle, will have it to be 
 the tomb of a Wisigothic chief, slain near Poitiers, 
 anno 5QTJ. His analogical argument is extremely 
 unlucky j for he cites the example of the Ame- 
 rican Indians, as raising piles of stones over the 
 graves of their warriors ; whereas there is not a 
 shadow of similitude betwixt a cromlech and 
 an Indian barrow, though they may or may not 
 have been raised for a similar purpose. The 
 Count de Caylus conjectures it to be a Gallic 
 tomb, raised anterior to the Roman invasion. 
 M. Bourignon, in his Recherches sur les Antiquites 
 de la Province de Saintonge, p. 255. gives in a 
 note an enumeration of many of these raised 
 stones to be met with in different parts of France. 
 M. Siauve has entered into a considerable dis- 
 cussion relative to one of them near Old Poitiers, 
 which he will have to be a Roman monument : 
 it consists, however, but of a single triangular 
 stone, about 9 feet high, 3 at its base, and taper- 
 ing to a rough point : the following inscrip- 
 tion is still legible on it ; 
 
 RATN BRIHTIOM 
 FRONV TARBEII No 
 IEVRV 
 
 M. Siauve's interpretation of these letters may 
 justly be esteemed a model of antiquarian acu- 
 men. The first R he takes to signify requieto- 
 rium, — not a very common word, but one which 
 is to be found in the epitaph of Scantius Philetus y 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 281 
 
 preserved by Gruter. The next letter, A, in 
 order to make, with the two following, the word 
 ceternum, ought to be an M diphthong : M. 
 Siauve, after praising himself for not having 
 told a white lie on so tempting an occasion, un- 
 willingly confesses it is not one ; but he has two 
 methods of escaping the difficulty : first, says 
 he, we may suppose the sculptor intended it 
 should be one ; but even if he had not, why 
 should not ceternum be written as well with an 
 A as an M ? and, to prove the extreme proba- 
 bility of such an usage, he cites an inscription 
 in the church of Civaux, now indeed unfor- 
 tunately invisible, quoted by M. Lebceuf, in 
 the Memoir -es de V Academie des Inscriptions, 
 t. xii. in which aternum is actually written for 
 ceternum. The word Brivatio, being separated 
 from the M, occasions no difficulty: it is evi- 
 dently a proper name : so Jurieu ; so Tarbellino : 
 and thus far we might safely read, « Jurieu has 
 " consecrated this monument of eternal rest to 
 « Brivatius, a native ofBax but the remaining 
 letter M, and the word Fronu, which M. Siauve 
 reads frontu } were not so easily managed : the 
 mpst obvious method was, to cut the knot, by 
 making Frontu a proper name, as well as Jurieu; 
 M, to stand for Marcus, though not quite in 
 the usual order of agnomens ; and so to read 
 « Jurieu consecrated this monument to Marcus 
 " Brivatius Frontu " but two such Roman proper 
 names as Jurieu and Frontu, were too much 
 for the latinity of the Societe d' Emulation de 
 
282 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 Poitiers, to whom M. Siauve was addressing his 
 memoir : the M indeed might easily enough 
 pass for Militi, but Frontu ? — not even Gruter 
 could furnish a word commencing with Frontu. 
 M. Siauve is, however, not a jot dismayed • 
 M. Bourignon had, by a very simple deviation, 
 converted Frontu into Fromun, which he inter- 
 preted by Frumentarius : thus making Brwatius 
 a commissary, to whom some grateful contractor 
 had erected a memorial of their mutual kind- 
 nesses ; but M. Siauve, determined not to aban- 
 don the child of his discovery, Frontu, in spite 
 of the trouble it gives him, sets himself to work 
 upon Vegetius, and other ancient tacticians, to 
 find some military occupation to which such a 
 word might, with any convenience, be applied : 
 not one Roman Dundas had, however, made use 
 of this unlucky term : " What, then," says 
 M. Siauve, " are we to suppose that all the 
 " technicalities of the ancient art of war are 
 " come down to us ? Assuredly not ; — but I see, 
 " both in JElim and Vegetius, that the front 
 " of an army was its most important part ; that 
 " the Romans sometimes drew up their forces in 
 " the form of a wedge, or tete-du-porc ; and that 
 " the extremity of this formation was called its 
 "front: here too were stationed the bravest 
 " men of their army ; but to the intrepid file- 
 " leader, who in some sort devoted himself to a 
 " certain death, by first offering his body to the 
 " weapons of the enemy, shall I not be per- 
 " mitted to apply the name of Frontuarius V 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 283 
 
 Certainly it is extremely difficult to refuse a 
 request which might injure so many brave men, 
 so far, as even to leave them without a name; 
 but M. Siauve is not content with our cold as- 
 sent ; he insists upon rousing all our feelings to 
 a sympathy with his discovery : " Thus then," 
 he rapturously exclaims, " instead of seeing in 
 " Brivatius but a mere individual, to whom 
 " friendship dedicates a funeral record, let us 
 " rather figure to ourselves a hero, facing death 
 " with intrepidity, and sacrificing his life to the 
 " safety of his country. The courageous Velite, 
 " of whom we speak, here gloriously Q|4 e d ms 
 " days : his name, his devotedness, had per- 
 " haps escaped the notice of the conqueror 
 " whose victory he had been the instrument of 
 " preparing. A generous friend would save 
 " both from oblivion : he raises over the grave 
 " of Brivatius a block of stone, shapeless, it is 
 " true, but which by its mass and hardness 
 " will brave the edacity of time ; and he en- 
 " graves on this pyramidical rock, expressions 
 " the more affecting, as they mark a sort of 
 " contrast betwixt the painful tumult of a camp 
 " and everlasting rest." — Memoires, fyc. p. 128. 
 I trust that none of my countrymen will hence- 
 forth visit the neighbourhood of Poitiers, with- 
 out dropping a tear to the memory of the bold 
 Brivatius and his friend Jurieu. But whatever 
 might be the degree of credit due to this inter- 
 pretation, it would go but a little way to prove 
 the origin of such stones as the Pierre-levee 
 
284 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 of Poitiers, (which differs from M. Siauve's 
 tomb-stone, both in shape and position,) had 
 not a cromlech similar to the former, composed of 
 a flat stone, supported by three slabs, been found 
 in the department of Deux-Sevres, betwixt Bor- 
 deaux and Poitiers, on digging beneath which 
 a skeleton was discovered, placed in a coffin of 
 natural rock, and covered with flat stones : a 
 circumstance, it must be confessed, which some- 
 what invalidates the received idea, that such 
 structures were intended for places, not of se- 
 pulture, but worship. Whatever, however, may 
 have l^en their destination, both reason and 
 analogy strongly favour the idea of their Celtic 
 origin. The Pierre-levee is, as nearly as possi- 
 ble, a fac-simile of two monuments in our own 
 islands, which antiquarians have never hesitated 
 to designate as aboriginal Celtic structures. One 
 of these is the Sleigh-grain, or " Hill of the 
 Sun," in the county of Kilkenny in Ireland, 
 inscribed IEIICIUOOI, Beli Diu-ose, " To 
 " Beli the god of fire" The other is the 
 Lan-y-on cromlech, in Cornwall, the covering 
 stone of which is 19 feet long, and the three 
 supports high enough for a man on horseback 
 to ride under it. Sketches of both these are to 
 be seen in The Costume of the British Islands, 
 published by Samuel Rush Meyrick, and Charles 
 Hamilton Smith, Esquires. The stone at pre- 
 sent under consideration is remarkable for an 
 inscription, (yid. the annexed design,) in which 
 the letters of the Latin alphabet are mixed with 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 285 
 
 the more ancient Celtic characters ; the latter 
 being retained, it shouki seem, to supply the 
 deficiency of the former in letters corresponding 
 to the Gaulish Y and long E, the first of which 
 has a resemblance to the ancient Irish, and 
 the second to the ancient British letter. La- 
 borde, in his Voyage Pittoresque de VEspagne, 
 has given two Celtic inscriptions, in which we 
 may observe a similar practice. * 
 
 The famous Battle of Poitiers was fought in 
 the plains of Maupertuis, two leagues from the 
 city ; but the bodies of many French knights 
 and esquires were brought from the field, and 
 buried in the convents of the Freres Mineurs, 
 and the Freres Prescheurs, and had their arms 
 blazoned over the stalls of the two churches, 
 " in order," says Bouchet, in his Annates d'Aqui- 
 taine, " to keep them in perpetual remem- 
 " brance but 
 
 The phantom knights, their glory fled, 
 Mourn o'er the field they heap'd with dead. 
 
 * I owe this remark to the kindness of Dr. Meyrick. 
 
286 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 Convents, heraldic blazonry, and knightly re- 
 nown, have all been rolled together down the 
 tide of time, and mingled in oblivion. 
 
 The Tombs of Civauoc, near Poitiers, are objects 
 of considerable antiquarian interest. Civaux is 
 a little village, or hamlet, on the Vienne, about 
 six leagues from Poitiers, on the high road to 
 Limoges. At the entrance of the village, and 
 on the left of the road, is a plain of 3071 square 
 toises, full of stone coffins, almost all on the 
 surface of the ground ; some a little buried, but 
 very few covered by the earth. In several ad- 
 jacent fields are also found tombs of a similar 
 kind, but in less number. The principal plot of 
 ground is reckoned to contain, or have con- 
 tained, from 5000 to 6000 coffins. The Irish 
 jesuit, Routh, was the first to notice these singu- 
 lar antiquities, in a dissertation published at Poi- 
 tiers in 1737 : since which time M. Siauve has 
 been deputed by the Societe cT Emulation at Poi- 
 tiers, to survey and report on the same subject. 
 The result of his researches was published in 
 1804, and it is from this source I borrow the 
 chief part of my information. Most of the sar- 
 cophagi he inspected were plain, or simply orna- 
 mented in the manner represented in the sketches. 
 They were full of bones, each tomb having ap- 
 parently held two and sometimes three bodies. 
 He discovered no kind of weapon, medal, or 
 utensil, and but five short inscriptions, namely, 
 Ulfino, Sancta, Maria, the letters Jiga and 
 Meantie ; of these, Ulfino, (fig, 1.) as there is no 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 287 
 
 stop betwixt the letters, would naturally seem to 
 mean " To Ulfinus" or " Ulfin" but M. Siauve, 
 
 Fig. 1. 
 
 or rather M. Savry, a fellow-member of the so- 
 ciety, with a genuine antiquarian spirit, discovers 
 it to signify Ultimus finis omnium. Above the 
 word Maria is a monogram of Christ, common 
 on tombs of the middle ages. The letters^fl, 
 graven on a kind of hatchet in relief (fig. 2.) 
 
 Fig. 2. 
 
 M. Siauve supposes to mean figura, and, with 
 the hatchet, to denote an emblem of death. 
 The last inscription he abandons to everlasting 
 inexplicability. With regard to the decorations 
 of these tombs, Pere llouth saw, in the trans- 
 verse bands of fig. 3. the form of a Lorraine 
 cross j but M. Siauve more probably conjectures 
 
288 
 
 POITIERS, 
 
 them to be representations of the iron bands 
 with which coffins were anciently secured. M. 
 Siauve discovered few other traces of sculpture 
 
 Fig. 4>. 
 
POTTIERS. 
 
 289 
 
 worth particular notice upon the tombs them- 
 selves; but in the wall of a ruined chapel, to the 
 north of the cemetery, he found the rude alto- 
 relievo, fig. 4., which, from its costume, M.Lenoir 
 supposes to be a work of the eighth or ninth 
 century. The sculpture, fig. 5. M. Siauve dis- 
 covered in the court-yard of the parsonage of 
 Civaux : M. Lenoir takes it to be a Gallic mo- 
 
 Fig. 5. 
 
 nument of the fourth or fifth century ; a suppo- 
 sition he builds on the purse a common 
 
 u 
 
mo 
 
 POITIERS. 
 
 emblem on Celtic monuments, and the tunic 
 with long sleeves. It is needless to observe 
 on the fallacy of such conjectures : there is one 
 chance in their favour, and as many against 
 them, as there are circumstances by which such 
 designs and sculptures may possibly have been 
 produced, — it is almost one to infinity. I have 
 since seen a monument in the Museum of Bor- 
 deaux, which, both in style and design, bears much 
 resemblance to this of Civaux. It remains to 
 consider the date of this prodigious collection 
 of tombs, and to account for their having been 
 collected near a petty village, which there is no 
 reason to suppose was ever much more consi- 
 derable than it is at present. M. Siauve rejects 
 the idea of assigning to these tombs an earlier 
 date than the ninth century. His reasons are: — 
 that during the earlier ages of Christianity stone 
 coffins were of very rare use, and at any rate 
 confined to saints and martyrs; that the ha- 
 rassed and devastated state of Poitou, during the 
 period preceding the reign of Charlemagne, was 
 little favourable to so expensive a method of in- 
 humation. It was not till this reign, that both 
 the political and religious state of France as- 
 sumed that degree of security which was likely 
 to give developement to whatever arts were then 
 known and admired; and as the current of 
 opinion in this respect was altogether towards 
 superstition, it may be supposed more attention 
 and pains were bestowed on forms of sepulture 
 than had been before practicable. The shape 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 of these coffins is another argument in favour of 
 M. Siauve's hypothesis; both the Abbe Lebeuf, 
 and M. Lenoir, having decided that it was not 
 till the eighth century that coffins ceased to be 
 made in the form of trunks, or rectangular 
 parallelograms, at the same time that the custom 
 of burying within churches began first to take 
 place subsequently to that period. To account 
 for the number of these tombs, M. Siauve ob- 
 serves, that it was anciently a custom to have 
 but one burying-ground to several parishes, and 
 that to possess a cemetery was often a privilege 
 conferred on a particular monastery, and there- 
 fore very probably conferred on that which an- 
 ciently existed at Civaux. * 
 
 Not far from Civaux still exists, though over- 
 thrown by the Vandalism of the Revolution, 
 the tomb of Sir John Chandos. This flower of 
 English chivalry fell in a skirmish on the bridge 
 of Lussac, in IS70 : his death is described by 
 Froissart, in that picturesque chroniclers best 
 manner; and furnishes one of those pleasing 
 remembrances with which the traveller de- 
 lights to embellish his wanderings. The his- 
 torian thus concludes his narrative : « These 
 
 * If any body would learn unde derivator Civaux, M. 
 Siauve will inform him that this village was anciently sur- 
 rounded by the waters of the Vienna hence it was called In- 
 sula Vallis, whence Ileval and Ilevaux, by corruption Sivaux, 
 and finally Civaux. This reminds me of a derivation I once 
 heard of " pickled cucumbers," from « King Jeremiah" 
 
 U % 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 " barons and knights of Poitou were struck 
 ♦ " with grief when they saw their seneschal, 
 "Sir John Chandos, lying in so doleful a way, 
 " and not able to speak. They began griev- 
 " ously to lament his loss, saying, * Mower of 
 " knighthood! oh, Sir John Chandos ! cursed 
 " be the forging of that lance which wounded 
 " thee, and which has thus endangered thy life/ 
 " Those who were around the body most ten- 
 " derly bewailed him, which he heard and an- 
 " swered with groans, but could not articulate 
 " a word. They wrung their hands, and tore 
 " their hair, uttering cries and complaints, more 
 " especially those who belonged to his house- 
 " hold. Sir John Chandos was disarmed very 
 " gently by his own servants, laid upon shields 
 " and targets, and carried at a foot's pace to 
 " Mortemer, the nearest fort to the place where 
 " they were. The other barons and knights 
 " returned to Poitiers, carrying with them their 
 " prisoners. I heard that James Martin, he 
 " who had wounded Sir John Chandos, suffered 
 " so much from his wounds that he died at 
 «« Poitiers. That gallant knight only survived 
 " one day and night. God have mercy on his 
 « soul ! for never since a hundred years did 
 " there exist among the English one more cour- 
 «< teous, nor fuller of every virtue and good 
 " quality than he." Vol. iv. c. ix. 
 
 He was buried at Mortemer, with this epitaph, 
 as preserved by Bouchet : — 
 
POITIERS. 
 
 293 
 
 Je Jehan Chandault, des Anglois capitaine 
 Fort chevalier, de Poictou Se'ne'schal 
 Apres avoir fait guerre tres lointaine 
 Au rois Francois, tant a pied qu'd cbeval 
 Et pris Bertrand de Guesclin en un vai, 
 Les Poitevins pres Lussac, me different, 
 A Mortemer, raon corps enterrer firent, 
 fin un cercueil eleve* tout de neuf, 
 L'an mil trois cens avec seixante neuf. 
 
 According to M. Siauve, the tomb, in its pre- 
 sent dilapidated state, consists of a flat stone, 
 over which a cenotaph is raised on two small 
 pillars, having sculptured on it a pennon, with 
 a device, a small heart-shaped buckler, and the 
 shaft of a halberd, or battle-axe : at one end is a 
 round vacant space, which is supposed to have 
 contained his armorial bearings, described by 
 Froissart as a pile gules, on a Jield argent: 
 the bones of the hero are supposed to be still 
 undisturbed beneath his ruined monument. 
 There are few things in France I would rather 
 have sought out than this tomb, had I been 
 aware of its existence, or had an opportunity of 
 seeking for it. 
 
 u 3 
 
CHAP. IX. 
 
 POITIERS TO ANGOULEME AND SAINTES- 
 
 I would point out the bridge of Vivmne, over 
 a tributary streamlet of the Clain, at about six 
 leagues from Poitiers, for the view it affords of 
 a ruined abbey, of which several low towers, 
 the rose and pointed windows, with the broken 
 cloister-arches, are seen above the copse-wood, 
 which thickens round the sloping banks of the 
 rivulet. After this the country as far as Ruffee 
 is uniform, cultivated, and uninteresting. 
 
 Towards Angoukme the eye wanders over an 
 unbounded expanse of vineyards, the produce 
 of which is almost entirely employed in the dis- 
 tillation of brandy. I have often had occasion 
 to observe, that a country of vines tells better in 
 description than reality. The peasantry in this 
 district looked small in stature, poor, andmeagre : 
 the children had sickly complexions, and beg- 
 gars were numerous. Beggars are, indeed, 
 every-where in France the traveller's pest ; they 
 beset him on the high-road, in the churches, in 
 the streets, at the inns, at his going out and at 
 his coming in, with the most unwearied and 
 
ANGOULEME. 
 
 295 
 
 wearisome assiduity. From the enquiries I have 
 taken occasion to make, I believe that beggary 
 in France is, to a certain extent, a mode of 
 living taken up by choice, and upon system ; 
 but that it is still more commonly the result of 
 want and necessity. Alms-giving is a species of 
 charity insisted upon by the Catholic religion ; 
 it is also one agreeable to human nature ; for it 
 requires no thought, is little costly to indivi- 
 duals, and flatters the giver by its resemblance 
 to active benevolence : it is, however, princi- 
 pally upon foreigners and strangers the French 
 mendicant reckons for relief: to give is very 
 far from being a general habit of his country- 
 men. I remember one evening stopping on the 
 Boulevards of Paris, to hear a young woman 
 sing ; her voice was very pleasing, though some- 
 what overstrained ; her figure genteel, and she 
 wore a black veil, either because her quality did 
 not correspond with her situation, or because 
 she wished to have it supposed this was the case : 
 at any rate, many well-dressed Parisians thought 
 it worth while to stop and listen to her ; but to- 
 wards the conclusion of her song they all filed 
 off, without bestowing any thing on the song- 
 stress, except a soldier and a poor woman, each 
 of whom gave her a few sous ; the soldier most 
 probably from his cheerful sympathy with wo- 
 men and music ; the female, because being her- 
 self poor, she was able to appreciate poverty. 
 Angouleme is built on a bold height above 
 u 4 
 
296 
 
 ANGOULEME. 
 
 the Charente. Some of the old gates and towers 
 are yet standing: the streets, as might be ex- 
 pected on a confined fortified eminence, are very 
 narrow, but the houses are built of white stone, 
 and have a very clean appearance : the public 
 walks command an extensive prospect, which 
 must be dearly bought in windy weather. The 
 principal church, St. Peter's, is an old building, 
 evidently of the same date with Notre Dame at 
 Poitiers, but it is ornamented in a much coarser 
 taste. There is something singular in the con- 
 struction of the roof withinside : it is crossed 
 by five arches, between every two of which there 
 is a low circular dome : that over the altar is 
 more elevated than the rest, and lighted by a 
 circle of arched windows : the effect of the 
 whole is very awkward and unpleasing. I do 
 not remember to have seen, or heard of any 
 other instance of the use of domes in this style 
 of architecture : were not the windows of the 
 central cupola of the same character with the 
 rest of the building, in which very few alter- 
 ations seem to have been made, I should have 
 suspected this roof to be a later addition: it is 
 evidently not a modern improvement, but if it 
 were a Gothic work, the arches of the windows 
 would certainly have been pointed ; besides that 
 domes belong to no style of building less than 
 to the Gothic. The church of the supprest 
 Benedictine convent is in the same style of 
 architecture with that of St. Peter's, which is 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 indeed generally prevalent, both in Angonleme, 
 and through Poitou and Gidenne. 
 
 The road from Angouleme to Saintes descends 
 the valley of the Charente, beneath vine-clad 
 steeps, and through alluvial meadows, as far as 
 Jarnac, famous for a battle fought betwixt the 
 Hugonots, under Coligni and the Prince of 
 Conde, with the Catholics, under the Duke of 
 Anjou, in which the Prince, who was uncle to 
 Henry IV., was killed by Montesquieu, captain 
 of the guards to the Duke. Mezeray says this 
 was done in cold blood, after the Prince had 
 surrendered ; but Davila describes him as still 
 righting upon one knee, when the pistol-ball 
 struck him. Whoever would see a battle related 
 with all the fire and picturesque accuracy of 
 Walter Scott, or Wouvermans, should read this 
 of Davila, in the fourth book " Delle guerre 
 " civile de Francia." 
 
 At Jarnac, there is a ferry over the Charente, 
 after which the road follows the left bank to 
 Cognac ; a town haunted by more spirits than 
 romance dreams of, or school-boys shake at j its 
 old towers rise very picturesquely over the river, 
 which flows round them towards the heights 
 of Saintes, about six leagues lower down its 
 stream. 
 
 Saintes is conspicuous at the distance of se- 
 veral miles : the approach to it is over a hand- 
 some bridge, beneath a Roman triumphal arch, 
 of imposing simplicity and grandeur. This arch, 
 
 tS 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 the banks of the river planted with rows of 
 trees, the cathedral tower rising above the 
 town, and the turrets of another church crest- 
 ing the elevation of the hill, give this ancient 
 capital of Saintonge a magnificence of character, 
 which few provincial cities can pretend to equal. 
 
 Saintes was among the free cities of the Ro- 
 man Empire, and shared with Autun, Narbonne, 
 Nismes, and Toulouse, the prerogative of hav- 
 ing a capitol, and being governed by its own 
 magistrates, called Capitouls. Considerable re- 
 mains of the Capitoline temple and fort were 
 to be seen when Henry IV. began the modern 
 bastions, with which the town is at present sur- 
 rounded.* A few remains of the old Roman 
 walls are still here and there visible, while the 
 soil beneath is almost a quarry of broken archi- 
 tectural ornaments, columns, cornices, inscrip- 
 tions, altars, and coins. The inscriptions have 
 been published and commented on by Bourignon, 
 and other antiquarians ; but there is nothing in 
 any of them sufficiently peculiar or attractive to 
 be inserted in the traveller's journal. The mo- 
 
 * I observed against these walls a stone escutcheon, bearing 
 an uruss's head ringed, surmounted by a , mullet of five 
 points between the horns : crest, a helmet barred. A very 
 common medal in Saintonge bears also a bull's head, under a 
 lion, and on the reverse side a head with the inscription 
 CONNOVIOS, who was probably some Gallic chief or ma- 
 gistrate ; but I do not believe there is any connection betwixt 
 the medal and the arras, which are probably modern. 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 numents within the town which are most gene- 
 rally interesting are, the Triumphal Arch, the 
 Amphitheatre, and part of a Roman edifice lately 
 discovered. 
 
 The Triumphal Arch, though the limestone of 
 which it is constructed is considerably corroded, 
 is little injured in its general form and appear- 
 ance. It rises from the centre of the bridge, on 
 massive piers laid in the river, from which its 
 elevation is reckoned at 60 feet : its breadth is 
 45 feet, equalling the breadth of the bridge 5 
 and its thickness 10 feet. It is pierced with two 
 arches, and may be architecturally divided into 
 four compartments : — the foundation or basis, 
 which is unadorned : the facade, as high as the 
 spring of the arches, which seems to have been 
 ornamented with fluted Corinthian pilasters, the 
 cornices of which form an impost to the double 
 mouldings round the arches : the entablature 
 above this cornice, as high as the attic, at each cor- 
 ner of which are small fluted Corinthian columns, 
 resting on the lower cornice, and supporting an 
 architrave of the same order, the frize of which 
 is terminated by a bold projecting cornice, hav- 
 ing its upper moulding, or cima-recta, inverted : 
 the attic is composed of three rows of large 
 stones, and also terminates in a cornice, the 
 upper member of which supports a Gothic bat- 
 tlement ; an addition of the middle ages. The 
 stones of the arch are from three to five feet 
 long, and two to three thick, brought from 
 the quarries of the town, and laid without 
 
300 
 
 SA1NTES. 
 
 cement, but they seem to have been mortised to- 
 gether with lead or iron. The following are the 
 inscriptions on the attics and frizes of either 
 fa9ade, as they have been deciphered by M. Bou- 
 rignon : — 
 
 Inscriptions on the attic towards the town. 
 
 1. GERMANICO : Rl-Tl- AVG- F 
 
 DIV- AVGVST- NEP- D PRONEP- AVGVRI- 
 
 FLA- AVGVST- COS IL I-P- IT. 
 
 2. CAE...DI. C F-V 
 
 PONTIF- MAXS- COS- US- IMP. VIII. TRIB- P... 
 
 3. ......... AESARI 
 
 AVG- NEP- DIV- IVLI 
 PONTIFICL AVGVRI 
 
 4>. Inscription on the frize. 
 
 VlDl- PRO. 
 
 C I.LIVS- C-IVLl- O.TVANEVNP F. RVFVS- C'L... 
 
 IS- NEPOS EPO... 
 SACERDOS- R01VLE- ET AVGVSTl- AD.A....D-... 
 
 E.TEM. PRA-P. V... FABRV 
 
 5. Inscription on the frize towards the suburbs. 
 C- IVLI- C-IVLI- O.TVANEVNl- F- RV...S- C- IVLI- 
 
 GED. DMON... NEPOS EPOTSOROVIDl-PRON. 
 ...C GVSTI...AM-Q...E- EST- AD- CONFL.ENT 
 
 PRAEFECTVS- F...RV. -D. 
 
 1. 
 
 Germanico Caesari, Tiberii Augusti fiJio, 
 Divi Augusti nepoti, Divi Julii pronepoti, 
 Auguri, flamini Augusti. Consuli secundum, 
 Imperatori secundum. 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 SOI 
 
 2. 
 
 Tiberio Caesari, Divi August! filio, 
 . Augusto, Pontifici Maximo, 
 
 Consuli quartum, Imperatori octavum, 
 Tribunitia potestate 
 
 3. 
 
 Druso Caesari, Tiberii Augusti, 
 Filio, Divi Augusti nepoti, 
 Divi Julii pronepoti, 
 Pontifici, Auguri. 
 
 4. 
 
 Caius Julius, Caii Julii Ottuaneuni Alius, Rufus : C. Iuli 
 Gedidmonis nepos Epotsorovidi pronepos, sacerdos Romae et 
 Augusti, ad aram quae est ad confluentem Praefectus fabrum 
 dedicavit. 
 
 1. 
 
 «« To Germanicus Caesar, son of Tiberius Au- 
 *« gustus, grandson of the divine Augustus, 
 " great-grandson of the divine Julius, Augur, 
 ** Priest of Augustus, twice Consul, twice Im- 
 " perator." 
 
 2. 
 
 «* To Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Au- 
 •* gustus, High Priest, four times Consul, eight 
 " times Imperator, times Tribune." 
 
 3. 
 
 " To Drusus Caesar, son of Tiberius Augustus, 
 " grandson of the divine Augustus, great-grand- 
 " son of the divine Julius, Pontiff, Augur." 
 
SAINTES* 
 
 4. 
 
 " Caius Julius Rufus, son of Caius Julius 
 " Otuaneunus, grandson of Caius Julius Geded- 
 " mon, great-grandson of Epotsorovidus, Priest 
 " of Rome and Augustus, at the altar at the 
 " junction of the streams *, as Praefect of the 
 " works has consecrated this monument." 
 
 Other antiquarians have, as may be imagined, 
 read these inscriptions differently, nor will it be 
 hereafter easy to rectify their aberrations, since, 
 unless my eyes, even with the aid of a glass, are 
 infinitely worse than those of M. Bourignon, a 
 small portion only of the inscriptions he deci- 
 phered about the year 1780 is now legible. 
 
 It will be observed that this is not properly 
 a triumphal, but a votive arch, raised probably 
 by the army, or inhabitants, as a token either of 
 their hopes or gratitude. What I find about it 
 most incredible is, that it should not have been 
 designed for its present site on the bridge, but 
 that the bridge should have been subsequently 
 built to it : yet this is the sentiment both of the 
 inhabitants and antiquarians, and can only be 
 made probable, by supposing the Charente to 
 have entirely changed its bed, which is indeed 
 generally believed; and an old arch is men- 
 tioned by Bourignon, as existing near the con- 
 
 f The Charente and Sevigne. Martial, lib. iv. ep. 40., 
 mentions a Rufus of Saintonge. 
 
 Hoc et Sfnctvnici genita est Ccesonia Rufi. 
 
k SAINTES. 
 
 vent of St. Clare, in the Faubourg des Dames, as 
 still going by the name of the Pont-Amillon, 
 under which the Charente anciently passed. JL 
 confess myself inclined to doubt on this matter, 
 though the lapse of 1800 years mayas well have 
 changed the course of the Charente as other 
 things of equally seeming invariability. 
 
 The arches of this structure are said to be 
 disproportionably low in their present situation, 
 as viewed from the level of the bridge, but they 
 would, perhaps, be still more out of proportion, 
 if viewed from the level of the river. The ge- 
 neral style of the monument is bold and simple, 
 approaching to coarseness, nor do the small Co- 
 rinthian columns and projecting massive cornices 
 seem very well to harmonise ; but it is not safe 
 to decide on the minor architectural graces of 
 a work which has been exposed to the attacks 
 both of time and man, for eighteen centuries. 
 
 The upper town, or Citadel of Saintes, is 
 divided on the south side, from a faubourg in 
 the valley, by a road forming a bold terrace on 
 the side of the hill. This road commands a 
 view of the ruined Amphitheatre, situated in a 
 hollow, in the midst of fields, which, though on 
 the very skirt of the town, give it an air of se- 
 clusion, sufficient to leave the stranger in the 
 uninterrupted enjoyment of his curiosity or ad- 
 miration. 
 
 The dimensions of this amphitheatre are 
 nearly the same with that of Nismes : viz. 
 
304 
 
 SAINTES. 
 
 The longer axis of the ellipse, in this of 
 Saintes, 399 feet; of Nismes, 399 feet. 
 
 The smaller axis ; Saintes, 324 ; Nismes, 309 
 feet. 
 
 The longer axis, measured within the arena ; 
 Saintes, 240 ; Nismes, 240 feet. 
 
 The shorter, do. do. ; Saintes, 168 ; Nismes, 
 141 feet. 
 
 It seems to have been raised but upon one 
 row of arches or vaults, probably about 60 in 
 number, 12 or 13 of which are still tolerably 
 entire : two of these are about a third wider 
 than the rest; on one of them the two narrow 
 staircases are still in good repair. The whole 
 theatre would probably contain 5000 spectators. 
 It is built, like that of Poitiers, with thin slabs 
 of stone, brought from the adjacent quarries. 
 
 On one side of the arena is a fountain, called 
 " The Fountain of St. Eustelle ;" because, says 
 tradition, and the Author of the Life of St. Eu- 
 tropius, it was to this fountain the daughter of 
 the lieutenant?governor of Saintonge retired to 
 pray, when expelled from her father's palace for 
 her attachment to the new faith of the Christians : 
 it was here she was strengthened in her pious 
 endurance by the holy Eutropius, first bishop of 
 Saintes, who had concealed himself in a hut 
 near the theatre, in the arena of which he after- 
 wards testified his faith by the pains of martyr- 
 dom. It is true all this is not matter of authentic 
 history : it is a tale of Christian mythology, 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 305 
 
 appertaining to the heroic ages of the Church, 
 and has a right to the same indulgence with the 
 tale of the Trojan war, and the labours of Her- 
 cules. For my own part, I freely confess my 
 attachment to such legends ; — I see the pious 
 virgin steal shrinkingly along the silent arena, 
 while the stars twinkle through the tall arches 
 which surround it : the hoary Eutropius is 
 sitting by the fountain's brink, to receive his 
 neophyte, who is this night to be purified from 
 her Pagan idolatries, by its baptismal waters. 
 Mark, how she has glided to his feet, while, as 
 he stands up to perform the solemn rite, a stream 
 of moon-light falls upon his upraised counte- 
 nance, investing it, as with a celestial halo ; — 
 but the wing of time brushes away the moment- 
 ary vision, — 
 
 I return 
 
 To that which is immediate. 
 
 The inscriptions of the triumphal arch men- 
 tion " a priest of Rome and Augustus:" a 
 number of medals, discovered at Saintes, with 
 the legend Romce et Augusto ; stones bearing 
 inscriptions to a similar effect; together with 
 various other records in the province, of the 
 priests and divinity of Augustus, are circum- 
 stances which tended strongly to prove that a 
 temple once existed at Saintes, consecrated with 
 a similar formula. Recent discoveries have 
 strongly confirmed this conjecture. In 1816, 
 on clearing the rubbish from a spot of ground 
 without the citadel, a building was discovered, 
 
 x 
 
306 
 
 SAINTES. 
 
 before which were the remains of two rows of 
 Doric columns, five in each row, on a front of 
 50 feet : the bases, and part of the shafts, were 
 standing ; their diameter was 24 inches. The 
 general form of the foundation indicated a paral- 
 lelogram, after the manner of the Maison Car- 
 ree of Nismes. Medals of Augustus and Tiberius 
 were dug up in great numbers, with abundance 
 of architectural • remains and ornaments. On 
 this same spot a stone was formerly dug up, in- 
 scribed Romce et Augusto provincia Gallice de 
 publico, evidently referring to the dedication of 
 an edifice of which these columns are probably 
 the remains. 
 
 Near the site of this supposed temple a ceme- 
 tery was discovered at the same time, full of 
 stone coffins, some containing one, some two 
 skeletons; they were all without external or- 
 nament, but contained rings, trinkets, lacryma- 
 tories, medals, particularly of Augustus, and 
 small pieces of money, which were for the most 
 part found in the heads of the skeletons, as if 
 they had, according to an old superstition, 
 been placed in their mouths. Among the 
 few inscriptions, the following is remarkable 
 for containing the date of the foundation of 
 Rome : — • 
 
 D. M. ET. M. 
 TVLLIiE. F. T. MARTII. 
 CENTVRIONIS. D. 
 A. iETATIS. XX. 
 ET. VR. DCC. LXXI. 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 307 
 
 " To the manes and memory of Tullia, 
 " daughter of T. Martius, centurion ; who died 
 " at the age of SO, in the year of the building 
 " of the city, 771." 
 
 Several of these tombs were marked with the 
 Ascia, and some of them have been converted 
 into watering troughs, which they resemble in 
 shape : nor will it escape observation that this 
 discovery tends very far to overthrow M. Siauve's 
 theory of the tombs of Civanx. Here we have 
 coffins of the same materials, bearing the same 
 mark, and, from their similarity of shape, con- 
 verted to the same use, but evidently belonging 
 to the Roman period of Gallic history; and, from 
 the consecration of them to the genii of the de- 
 ceased, clearly not of Christian origin : it how- 
 ever must be allowed on the other hand, that 
 unless traces of a Roman city should be dis- 
 covered near Civaux, the existence of a cemetery 
 of such extent will continue to remain a matter 
 of much perplexity and speculation. 
 
 The Aqueduct of Saintes has been traced by 
 M. Bourignon, from the fountain, called Fon- 
 giraud, issuing from the foot of a hill in the 
 parish of Ecoyeux, three leagues east of the 
 town. After being carried over the Charente, 
 the water was distributed to the amphitheatre, 
 probably for the purpose of exhibiting nauma- 
 cluce ; to the Capitol j to the temple of Mi- 
 nerva, at present, as some believe, the church 
 of St. Saloine ; and to the edifice recently dis- 
 
 x 2 
 
SOS 
 
 SAINTES. 
 
 covered; the canals to all which places have 
 been at different times traced. 
 
 I shall mention the remains of Roman edifices 
 in the neighbourhood of Saintes, as they are no- 
 ticed by M. Bourignon, that future travellers, 
 who have leisure and taste for antiquarian re- 
 searches, may know in what direction to turn 
 their rambles. 
 
 At the village of Les Arenes, on the road from 
 Saintes to Bourdeaux, are the ruins of a building, 
 which M. Bourignon conjectures to have been 
 a Roman villa. The facade is 40 feet high : 
 the walls 7 feet thick, and built with small 
 stones, alternating with rows of tiles, or flat 
 bricks, in the usual style of edifices built in the 
 decline of the Roman empire, when such a va- 
 riegated surface was probably thought a conve- 
 nient succedaneum for more graceful architec- 
 tural decoration. 
 
 A ruin, four leagues to the north-east of 
 Saintes, near the parish of Esbeon, is supposed 
 to be a mausoleum : it is a square mass of rough 
 stone, 50 feet high, and 16 wide every way, 
 terminating in a cone. 
 
 Three leagues south-west of Saintes, near the 
 road to Saujon, is a pyramidical ruin, called the 
 Tour de Pirelonge, 74 feet high, square at the 
 base, and 18 feet wide on each front : its apex 
 is in the form of a sugar-loaf, and 20 feet high. 
 The reader may choose betwixt the two etymo- 
 logies of pyra longa and pila Longini ; the said 
 Longinus being a supposed lieutenant of Caesar* 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 This building, like the former, was probably a 
 mausoleum. 
 
 Within half a league of Saujon, near the vil- 
 lage of Toulon, is the intrenchment called the 
 Terrier de Toulon, a Roman camp. It is situated 
 on a commanding eminence, is square, and sur- 
 rounded by two lines of circumvallation : the exte- 
 rior of these, which maybe 800 paces in circum- 
 ference, has a rampart 25 feet high, and a ditch 
 20 feet wide : the second line, about 200 paces 
 in circumference, has a ditch 28 feet wide, and 
 SO deep. In the centre is a square tower 12 feet 
 high, and 41 wide, built of small stones, and 
 having a parapet 4 feet high, and 5f thick. It 
 is evident this camp was a kind of castellum, or 
 fort to protect the coast, and keep the inhabit- 
 ants in awe ; but by whom raised, is both du- 
 bious and unimportant. 
 
 At Saujon there is a ruined edifice, which 
 M. Bourignon conjectures to have been a saceU 
 lum, or chapel : he describes it as having been 
 originally 50 feet long, and 25 wide. Some part 
 of the walls is still 40 feet high : the entrance is 
 an arch 15 feet high, and it has two arched 
 windows, each about 10 feet in height. 
 
 There is a second Roman camp about three 
 leagues north-west of Saintes, near St. Saveniere, 
 consisting of a single line of circumvallation, 
 about 1500 paces round, in the centre of which 
 is a square tower, called the Tour de Pilot: it 
 contains many apartments, and is 90 feet high, 
 x 3 
 
310 
 
 SAINTES. 
 
 and 42 feet 8 inches wide every way : the stones 
 of which it is built are rectangular ; nor, says 
 M. Bourignon, has the mortar that degree of 
 hardness which usually indicates Roman works. 
 
 At about a league from Brouage, a village 
 near the coast, opposite the Isle d'Oleron, is La 
 Tour de Broue, built on a tongue of land about 
 80 feet above the level of the neighbouring 
 marshes. The ruin, which still exists, is about 
 75 feet high : its form is square : it is built of 
 rough stone, and has on the side still entire rive 
 buttresses of hewn stone, 15, 18, 19, and SO 
 inches wide, with one foot of projection. There 
 are round holes in the walls, 44 inches in dia- 
 meter, and on the eastern side are two arched 
 entrances, leading into a corridor : above them 
 are two windows of the same shape, and the 
 inside of the top seems to have been intended 
 for the chimney of a light-house. There are 
 battlements on the walls ; and the remains of a 
 ditch and strong rampart are still visible at about 
 40 feet distance. It is near this tower M. Bou- 
 rignon would fix the Tortus Santonum, where, 
 according to tradition, a port once existed, to 
 which this tower might serve for pharos and 
 fortress. It would not be very amusing or im- 
 portant to discuss the question of this port; but 
 to show that it has great capabilities of enlarge- 
 ment, it is sufficient to observe, that Danville 
 places it at the mouth of the Seudre; M. De La 
 Sauvagere betwixt the Seudre and Le Pertuis de 
 
SAINTES. 
 
 311 
 
 Maumusson, towards Tremblade; the Pere Arcere 
 at the Isle d y Avort ; M. de Vallois, at Brouage, 
 and somebody else at Blaye. The reader is of 
 course free to make his choice, and enter which 
 harbour he pleases. 
 
 The mineral waters of Archingeay issue from 
 a slope betwixt the chateau of La Vallee and 
 the parish of Archingeay, three leagues from 
 St. Jean d'Angely, and four from Saintes : near 
 them are the ruins of a monastery, and a reser- 
 voir built in the Roman manner, in which two 
 medals of Constantine and Licinius have been 
 dug up : the remains of canals and pipes from 
 the springs have also been discovered near it. 
 Near the church of Archingeay was found a 
 stone tomb, containing bones, and a variety of 
 female ornaments : it was marked with a cross j 
 and several other tombs of inferior workman- 
 ship were placed near it : M. Bourignon con- 
 jectures this to have been the tomb of some 
 lady of rank, in the first ages of Christianity, 
 which is probable ; but it is a little hypothe- 
 tical to suppose this lady to have been the 
 sister-in-law of Ausonius, merely on the strength 
 of the line — 
 
 Quamvis Santonicd procul in tellure jaceres. 
 
 It must be observed, however, that some 
 commentators have fixed Novicus, the country- 
 seat of Ausonius, at Nouillers, betwixt Archin- 
 geay and St. Jean d'Angely, in preference to 
 Novioregum, supposed to be Roy an or Toulon; 
 x 4 
 
3l°2 
 
 SAINTES. 
 
 in favour of which emendation it certainly must 
 be admitted that the lines — 
 
 Terjuga Burdigalce, trino me Jlumina ceBtu 
 Secernunt turbis popularibus — 
 
 can be applied only to a situation which is se- 
 parated from Bordeaux by three rivers ; as 
 Archingeay is by the Charente, Dordogne, and 
 Garonne. 
 
313 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 
 
 I had comfortably settled myself in the Hotel 
 de France, which is perhaps the best, and cer- 
 tainly the dearest, hotel in Bordeaux, and was 
 planning over my breakfast the ramble of the 
 day, when a middle-aged, decent man entered 
 my Toom, and announced himself as the cicerone 
 attached to the house, and, by virtue of his 
 office, at my particular service : I loath a cice- 
 rone more than a night-mare, and fancied it a 
 very simple thing to reject my friend's offer of 
 his head and legs, which I did with all due 
 civility, and, as I flattered myself, with success ; 
 but no sooner did I open my door to begin my 
 walk, than I found my enemy at my elbow ; he 
 had stationed himself on the staircase, he said, 
 to be always at my command. — I had no com- 
 mands for him — no matter, I might have. — 
 I was stepping out but for a moment to the 
 post-office. — He would shew me the post- 
 office j he had the honour of attending all the 
 English who came to the hotel. — I found it 
 necessary to submit; so bade him lead the way 
 to all the sights in the city ; consoling myself 
 
BORDEAUX. 
 
 by the reflection, that, if not the most agreeable, 
 it was at least the shortest mode of sight-seeing 
 I could adopt. 
 
 The Roman Burdigala, according to the poe- 
 tical description of Ausonius, who was born 
 there, was surrounded by a square wall, 
 
 With cloud-capt towers : 
 the streets were laid out with regularity, and 
 so wide, as justly to merit the name of plateas : 
 the city gates corresponded to the direction of 
 the streets : the river flowed through the middle 
 of the town, and at high-tide was covered with 
 vessels : there was a fountain of Parian marble, 
 of dark depth, which gushed from its basin 
 through twelve apertures, which he thus apostro- 
 phises ; 
 
 Salve, Jons, ignote ortu, sacer, alme, perennis 
 Vitree, glance, prqfunde, sonore, illimis, opace. 
 
 Of birth unknown, whose bounteous springs ne'er fail, 
 Blue, glassy, deep, dark, stainless fountain, hail 1 
 
 A single monument of this ancient splendor 
 exists in the ruined amphitheatre, known by the 
 name of « The Palace of Galienus." — It is an 
 oval, of which the longer axis is about 400 feet, 
 and the shorter 250. Of the corresponding 
 portals, by which the spectators entered at 
 either end, one is nearly entire, the facade of 
 which is about 45 feet wide, and 55 from the 
 ground to the top of the pediment. It is 
 pierced by a lofty arch, 20 feet in the span, and 
 about 30 in height ; on either side of which 
 
BORDEAUX. 
 
 315 
 
 are two Doric pilasters supporting a rude cor- 
 nice ; above it the second story is also pierced 
 by an arch, about 12 feet high, directly over 
 the portal : the space on either side is di- 
 vided by three pilasters, and relieved by two 
 false arches : a triangular pediment surmounts 
 this story, and crowns the fa9ade. There are five 
 entire arches to the right of this entrance, and I 
 observed five more in the circumference of the 
 oval ; but the ground within and about it is 
 too much encumbered by houses to trace the 
 whole of the ruins. The style of architecture is 
 very coarse, the only ornaments being cornices 
 and mouldings of red tiles, which are also used 
 alternately with the stone of which the building 
 is constructed, in the manner I have had 
 several times occasion to describe. 
 
 Among the ecclesiastical edifices of Bordeaux, 
 the little church of St. Saturnine is remarkable 
 for its ancient style of architecture, the same 
 with that of Notre Dame at Poitiers, and 
 St. Peter's at Angouleme; and for a magnifi- 
 cent basso-relievo over one of its portals, repre- 
 senting the Resurrection. The rest of the 
 building is, however, mean and uninteresting. 
 
 The Church of St. Michael is an elegant 
 Gothic edifice, the bell-tower of which stands 
 apart, as is frequent in the south of Europe, 
 and is conspicuous by its elevation and graceful 
 proportions. The spire was destroyed by light- 
 ning. 
 
316 
 
 BORDEAUX. 
 
 . The Cathedral presents an union of Gothic with 
 corrupted Roman architecture.. Its interior 
 length is about 350 feet, without the chapels : 
 the nave is 240 feet long, and 62 wide, with 
 no side-aisles, so that it resembles a spacious hall. 
 The transept is 150 feet across, and is continued 
 round the choir, which is thus encompassed by 
 a double aisle: the choir and transept I imagine 
 to be Gothic additions to the edifice. The 
 northern portal is very richly ornamented : on 
 each side of it are six statues of saints and 
 bishops, in fretted tabernacles : a seventh divides 
 the folding-doors, over which is a relief 
 divided into three compartments, representing 
 the Last Supper, the Sermon on the Mount, 
 and the Transfiguration. This facade is crowned 
 by two pinnacles or small spires, curiously 
 fretted and carved ; but at a short distance their 
 slender dimensions give them the appearance of 
 two large needles. 
 
 The Public Museum possesses a very indifferent 
 collection of paintings, chiefly of the modern 
 French school : there are, however, two in the 
 manner of Perugino, and two said to be by 
 Sneyders : one of the latter represents a collec- 
 tion of hares, junketing over a dead lion : there 
 is a kind of caricature expression in the coun- 
 tenances of some of these animals very comic. 
 Among the antiques are many tombs and altars, 
 dug up in the neighbourhood : a bas-relief on 
 one of the latter represents the story of Leda : 
 
BORDEAUX. 
 
 317 
 
 there is also a very forcible comic mask, and a 
 coarse alto-relievo >, representing a man with a 
 purse, much like that discovered at Civauw. 
 
 The Theatre deserves notice for its elegant 
 Corinthian portico, which gives it the air of a 
 Grecian temple : it stands in an open quarter of 
 the city, in the neighbourhood of streets which 
 are finer than any in Paris, except the Rue de 
 la Paix. These, with a spacious exchange, the 
 broad quays, which border the stately Gironde, 
 and lastly, the river itself, with all its floating 
 riches, constitute what is best worth the 
 stranger's notice and admiration in the modern 
 city of Bordeaux. Perhaps my remembrances 
 of its beauties are less vivid than they would 
 have been had I surveyed them more at my 
 ease ; but what dog ever remembered with de- 
 light the town through which he had dragged a 
 kettle at his tail? 
 
 A steam-boat plies betwixt Bordeaux and 
 Langon, in which I engaged a passage; but 
 matters were managed so indifferently by our 
 pilot, that the tide failed us at Cadillac, and the 
 passengers had the option of spending an un- 
 comfortable night on board, or of trusting to 
 their legs to carry them on to Langon (about 
 ten miles) before night-fall. I chose the latter 
 alternative, and mounted the rocky brow of 
 Cadillac, crowned by a ruined castle, at the foot 
 of which there is a cavern, from which a spring- 
 issues beneath a Gothic arch : I paid my respects 
 to the Naiad, and passing through the little town, 
 
318 
 
 BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 
 
 found myself on a bold terrace, looking over the 
 valley of the Garonne ; after which I crossed a 
 level country to the ferry of Langon, whither I 
 arrived soon after dark. _ The next morning I 
 made my arrangements to walk to Toulouse : I con- 
 signed my baggage to a luggage-boat, packed 
 up a change of linen, and grasped my walking- 
 staff: had the same thing been to be done three 
 centuries sooner, I should, most probably, have 
 first heard mass, and promised the Virgin a 
 trifling present to frank me through my journey. 
 
 Having' re-crossed the ferry of Langon, I passed 
 the old towers and battlements of St. Macaire, 
 whence the road lay through a succession of 
 cheerful villages, embosomed in vineyards. 
 The adjacent heights followed the line of the 
 road and river; their ascent was bold enough to 
 break the tameness of the scenery, while their 
 viny steeps breathed of Medoe, Chateau-Mar got, 
 La Fitte, St. Emilienne, and all the names dear 
 to the Burdigalian Bacchus. The vines, on level 
 lands, in this part of France, are generally 
 trained on poles, and thus closely resemble hop- 
 grounds ; a form of cultivation much more 
 pleasing to the eye than the common method of 
 training close to the ground. 
 
 The heights of La jReole descend to the 
 river's edge, and are crested by an old castle of 
 some renown in the days of our valiant Edward. 
 The town was taken in 1345, after a nine-weeks' 
 siege, by the Earl of Derby, when the governor, 
 Sir Agos de Banos, a Provengal knight, retired 
 
BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 
 
 319 
 
 into the castle, ** which," says Froissard, " was 
 " erected a long time since by the Saracens, 
 " who laid the foundations so strong, and with 
 " so much curious workmanship, that the build- 
 " frigs of our time cannot be compared with 
 " it." — It cost the Earl eleven weeks to under^ 
 mine one of the courts, when Sir Agos surren- 
 dered upon terms of honourable composition. 
 A curious and romantic incident occurred dur- 
 ing this siege : — Sir Walter Manny, who, of all 
 English knights in those days, most truly merits 
 to be styled " without fear, and without re- 
 " proach," remembered that his father, on his 
 return from a pilgrimage to St. James de Com- 
 postella, which he had undertaken for the pur- 
 pose of appeasing the kindred of a knight he 
 had accidentally slain in a tournament, had been 
 murdered by that knight's relations in this town, 
 (whither he had come on a visit to the Earl 
 Charles of Valois, brother to King Philip the 
 Fair,) and had been buried in a small chapel 
 near the walls : an old man undertook to point 
 out the spot to Sir Walter ; « for he had been 
 ** present," says Froissard, " when the Lord of 
 " Manny was interred. 
 
 " When Sir Walter came to the spot where 
 " his father had been formerly buried, with his 
 " aged conductor, he found there a small tomb 
 « of marble, which his servants had erected 
 " over him ; and the old man said, ' You may 
 " be perfectly assured, that your father was 
 " buried, and lies under this tomb.' Sir 
 
320 BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 
 
 " Walter then caused the inscription, which was 
 " in Latin, to be read to him by a clerk, and 
 " found that the old man had told him the 
 " truth. Two days afterwards, he had the tomb 
 " opened, took out the bones of his father, and 
 " placing them in a coffin, sent them to Valen- 
 " ciennes, in the county of Hainault, where 
 " they were again buried in the church of the 
 " Freres Mineurs, near the choir. He ordered 
 " masses to be said, and continued yearly." 
 
 La Reole overlooks a beautiful portion of the 
 valley of the Garonne ; but the road thence 
 to Marmande runs along the flat alluvion, and 
 is somewhat uninteresting. 
 
 Marmande is a long old-fashioned town : the 
 church is Gothic, but with round columns : I 
 observed one, clustered to about one third of its 
 height, as if this decoration had been begun 
 and discontinued. I slept at Marmande, and 
 the next morning proceeded along a cultivated 
 level to Tonneins. 
 
 " Tonneins," observes the French itinerary, 
 " has always been remarkable for its industry, 
 *< luxury, and love of pleasure," — It consists 
 of a long street, well built, terminating in a 
 •place or square, one side of which is open, and 
 formed into a public walk and terrace, on the 
 edge of a precipice two or three hundred feet 
 above the river : the prospect from this bold 
 elevation is charming. I dined at an hotel 
 lately established by Le Sieur Cazanoles, and 
 would advise all who delight in woodcocks, 
 
 13 
 
BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 
 
 321 
 
 claret, and good cookery, all meriting a more 
 scientific eulogium than I can bestow on them, 
 to do the like. I do not know that Tonneins is 
 otherwise famous, except that Cameron, the 
 Scotch reformer and professor of Theology at 
 Saumur, who passed the end of his life at Mont- 
 auban, took one of his wives from hence. 
 
 The country betwixt Tonneins and Aiguillon 
 presents some pleasing scenery. At the latter 
 village I hired an old woman's poney to carry me 
 to Agen, about twelve miles : a little boy at- 
 tended me to bring him back, and ran by my 
 side the whole way without the least appear- 
 ance of fatigue : — - to be sure my nag's pace was 
 but a very hobbling sort of trot. 
 
 Agen is an extensive irregular town, surrounded 
 by old ramparts, turned into public walks ; it is 
 said to contain remains of Roman baths, and 
 other antiquities, which is probable, having been 
 the site of the Roman Agennum ; but I had not 
 leisure to seek for them : it was also the birth- 
 place of Joseph Scaliger. Several of the old 
 streets are built in the manner of bazaars ; a 
 fashion not uncommon in this part of the coun- 
 try, where the use of glass first begins to be 
 discontinued in the poorer kind of cottages. 
 In one of the streets of Agen, I observed a 
 corpse laid out for burial, in a small open build- 
 ing : a poor man who was passing by entered, 
 and kneeling down, repeated a prayer for the 
 soul of the defunct: he had no- ways the ap- 
 pearance of being more nearly related to the 
 
322 BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 
 
 deceased than by the bond of our common 
 nature; so his prayer was an action of pure Ca- 
 tholic charity. 
 
 Valence is an old town, with broad low 
 bazaars ; but not otherwise remarkable. At a 
 league beyond it I quitted the main road to 
 follow a footway to Mossaic, by the river-bank, 
 which cuts off the angle of the heights. In the 
 hamlet at which the roads separate, I observed 
 an old brick-house, ornamented with mosaics 
 exactly in the shape and style of those on the 
 front of St. John's church at Poitiers : this 
 house, which is mean, and built in the usual 
 fashion of the country, can scarcely be above 
 two centuries old, so that it is probable the 
 mosaics of St. John's are a comparatively modern 
 decoration. 
 
 On a steep hill above this village, I observed 
 the likeness of a ruined castle, to which I 
 mounted, and found workmen busy in destroy- 
 ing the massive ruins of a feudal fortress : it had 
 been, I understood, the property of a gentle- 
 man of fortune, who had sold it, with the adja- 
 cent property, to pay a gambling debt ; " but 
 » surely," thought I, as I stood among its 
 falling arches and dilapidated towers, " I would 
 " in all extremities have still reserved the castle- 
 « walls of my ancestors, though with but a 
 " single narrow footpath, by which I might 
 " reach them;" — but dissipation has no joy in 
 the past. — The view from these heights is richly 
 magnificent : half way down the steep there is 
 
BORDEAUX TO TOULOUSE. 323 
 
 a stone cross, at which formerly perchance, 
 the warrior stayed his clanking stride, " to patter 
 " an Ave- Mary," as going or returning from a 
 crusade or marauding ; and on the lowest slope of 
 the hill is a small ancient church, with its lonely 
 church-yard, most probably the burial place of 
 the family. These approximations of war and 
 devotion strongly characterise the times of our 
 forefathers, when cowls and crosiers, helmets 
 and banners, were displayed on the same field 
 of contest. 
 
 I soon found I had greatly profited by chang- 
 ing the insipidity of a rectilinear high road, for 
 the shady windings of a pathway, betwixt willow 
 hedges, through meadows, along cliffs, and 
 thickets, from which I finally emerged close to 
 Mossaic, where I ferried over the Tarn, and 
 reached Castel Sarrasin in the evening. 
 
 There was probably once a good reason why 
 this town should be named Castel Sarrasin, 
 but the reason and castle have vanished : per- 
 haps to have attempted an investigation of either 
 would not have proved a more profitable occu- 
 pation than if a French savant were to exercise 
 a similar operation upon the Saracen's Head, 
 Snow-hill. — From Castel Sarrasin to Grizolie is 
 a flat uniform alluvion. 
 
 Grizolle is a poor village ; my fare was very in- 
 different; and I augured ill of my host's honesty, 
 for he was excessively demure of speech, kept the 
 sign of the Petit St. Jean, and read none but reli- 
 gious books. My prognostics did him no injustice : 
 
 y % 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 he exactly doubled the charges made me at 
 Castel Sarrasin, and accommodated me just half 
 as well ; but then my landlord at the latter 
 place was a portly subject, who kept the heathen 
 sign of a golden lion, red griffin, or some such 
 monster, and was no ways particular in his lite- 
 rary appetite. On the present, as on many 
 other occasions, I could not help observing the 
 never Varying tranquillity of a French aubergiste : 
 an English landlord if accused of exaggerated 
 charges, never fails to set up a defence of some 
 kind, either on the ground of reason or senti- 
 ment ; a French inn-keeper, on the contrary, 
 whether male or female, opposes to your re- 
 monstrances the most invincible phlegm, and 
 taciturnity : having pocketed his money, the 
 feelings of the payer are suffered to vent them- 
 selves without interruption or remark, either as 
 things perfectly indifferent, or as a due consola- 
 tion in a case of irremediable necessity. 
 
 Betwixt Grizolle and Toulouse I overtook a 
 lad who had been lately in the service of a 
 Milord Anglais, but had been discarded in con- 
 sequence of milord's having had the misfortune 
 to be pigeoned at Billiards at Versailles, which 
 obliged him to cut down his establishment. My 
 acquaintance, though he had no stockings to 
 his legs, was a youth of some breeding, for he 
 understood Latin, as he informed me, " but 
 " neither Greek, Patois, nor English." — A 
 most extraordinary classification! 
 
 The ancient city of Toulouse is attached in 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 325 
 
 our minds to a variety of historical recollec- 
 tions, of an interesting and romantic character. 
 The noble Raymond of St. Giles, greater in 
 history than in song, since he knew how to earn 
 and refuse a crown ; his grandson, Raymond 
 VI. who so heroically defended his subjects 
 against the tyranny of the church, and the fires 
 of the inquisition ; the Floral games and Trou- 
 badours of Provence, who once scattered the 
 blossoms of poetry over Europe, are all remem- 
 brances which lead us to approach Toulouse with 
 a kind of reverential interest, as if all these 
 things had left behind them, not merely remem- 
 brances, but visible traces of their existence. 
 It must be owned, however, that Toulouse is 
 not calculated to gratify any high-wrought an- 
 ticipations of this kind. — Of its Roman great- 
 ness, of the capitol, and amphitheatre, which 
 Tolosa once boasted, I believe not a vestige 
 has survived, except, perhaps, that some part 
 of the foundation-walls of the castle may be 
 considered as of Roman construction : the castle 
 itself is a Gothic brick-building, which seems 
 to have no claims to any high antiquity. The 
 city-walls and gate-ways, which are also of brick, 
 though old, and time-worn, are no ways striking : 
 some of the streets have indeed an air of dull 
 magnificence, from the number of large houses 
 in them, embellished with stone escutcheons, 
 and a profuse display of heavy sculpture, in the 
 bad taste of Louis XlVth's time, by which we 
 
 y 3 
 
326 
 
 TOULOUSE. 
 
 recognise the town mansions of the Provencal 
 nobility. 
 
 The Town Hall, which occupies one side of 
 the principal square, is justly reckoned one of the 
 finest buildings of this description in France. 
 
 The Metropolitan Church of St. Stephen, con- 
 sists of a modern Gothic choir, added in 1608, 
 to the old nave, but with so little judgment* 
 that the left side of the latter is exactly in a 
 line with the centre of the former. This 
 church, like many others in France, is profusely 
 hung with faded tapestry, which, with the other 
 trumpery of saints, jesuses, and wicker chairs 
 used by the congregation, gives the building 
 the air of a bazaar for rags and old furniture. 
 
 The Church of St. Saturnine has better claims 
 on the traveller's attention. St. Saturninus or 
 St. Sernin, as the French call him, who have an 
 odd fancy for disfiguring names, first planted 
 Christianity in Toulouse in the year 252, during 
 the reign of the Emperor Decius. As Decius 
 was " execrabile animal, qui mocaret ecclesiam, ,f 
 it is probable Saturninus attained the crown 
 of martyrdom for his pains. A church was 
 consecrated to his memory, by Saints Sylvius and 
 Exuperius, fourth and fifth Bishops of Toulouse, 
 whose statues are to be seen on each side of the 
 entrance to the choir of the present church ; a 
 plan of which is in the hand of the latter. 
 
 " The Annals of Toulouse," make no men- 
 tion of the building of the present edifice ; but 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 327 
 
 they record its consecration about the year 1090, 
 by Pope Urban II., who visited Toulouse for 
 this purpose, after he had presided at the coun- 
 cil of Clermont. Raymond, Count of Toulouse, 
 and all the neighbouring nobility were present 
 at this ceremony, which must have been ren- 
 dered more impressive by the character of the 
 actors, who were hereafter to figure with so 
 much splendour in the annals of chivalry, and 
 strains of Tasso. 
 
 This edifice, so memorably consecrated, is a 
 very curious specimen of a style of architecture 
 scarcely known either by name or specimen in 
 England, but which goes on the Continent by 
 the name of Lombard. It is m fact Roman ar- 
 chitecture, unmixed with any of those peculia- 
 rities which are to be found both in France and 
 England, in the styles we call Saxon and Norman. 
 
 St. Saturnine's is built of brick in the form of 
 a cross, at the intersection of the branches of 
 which rises a lofty octagonal tower of five 
 stories; each story has eight windows, orna- 
 mented with slender stone pillars, supporting a 
 cornice which divides it from the one above ; the 
 windows of the three lower stories are arched, 
 those of the two upper have an angular termin- 
 ation : a stone balustrade, and spire surmount the 
 tower, but as these have been recently repaired 
 and partly renovated, their style is probably less 
 ancient than that of the rest of the building. 
 The extreme length of the interior is about 
 
 Y 4< 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 320 feet : the breadth of the nave 85. The ex- 
 ternal walls have very small buttresses, with 
 little projection. The roof is slanting, with 
 beanvends appearing under the tiles, according 
 to the primitive notion of modillions. The Lady- 
 Chapel is semicircular, and all the minor chapels 
 round the aisles are of the same form. There 
 are three rows of windows all round the build- 
 ing : those of the upper row are simple arched 
 apertures unglazed ; those of the second tier 
 are arched and ornamented on each side with a 
 slender Corinthian pillar, supporting an impost, 
 ornamented with a square billet moulding, which 
 goes round the arches of the windows, and is 
 continued all rdftid the body of the church in 
 both the lower stories. The windows of the 
 lower tier, or ground story, differ from those 
 above, by being larger, and having no pillars. 
 The roofs of all the chapels are supported by 
 stone cornices, ornamented with grotesque mo- 
 dillions: their windows, which are uniform all 
 round the church, are separated by slender 
 pillars, or slight buttresses. These pillars, the 
 billet-mouldings, and the cornices with their 
 modillions, are all the ornaments which are 
 withoutside the church. The interior is equally 
 plain, cold, correct, and naked : the architec- 
 ture is uniform throughout; flat buttresses, 
 with pilasters, are used in the place of columns j 
 the side aisles are double, and the arches are all 
 circular. Betwixt the nave and the choir are four 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 329 
 
 octagonal piers, which support the spire, the in- 
 terior of which forms a lantern : there is a crypt 
 beneath the building, and the foundations are re- 
 ported to be of extraordinary depth and strength. 
 This church is said to yield only to Rome in 
 the abundance of its relics, which are placed 
 round the choir and altar in a variety of fere- 
 teries, carved and gilt. Of course the bones of 
 St. Sernin rank first in his own house : the 
 body of this saint was once stolen by Dagobert, 
 when, by a curious kind of justice, the offence 
 was visited, not upon the offender, but upon the 
 innocent inhabitants of Toulouse ; there was 
 neither harvest nor child-bearing during its 
 absence : in fine they ransomed it with the 
 bodies of three saints, who could be better 
 spared, or were less particular about their place 
 of residence ; but it is surprising the Tolosans 
 did not discover the possession of such a relic 
 to be a very dubious blessing, since, unless 
 while it was in their keeping, their harvests of 
 all kinds were double, they had no set off to the 
 calamities to which they were, by its accidental 
 abduction, exposed. I was a little surprised to 
 see on one of the bone cases, the name of St. Gil- 
 bert, Abbe d'Angleterre, but I am not suffi- 
 ciently versed in legendary lore, to say how the 
 good man, or his bones, got here : "our early 
 history mentions indeed two Gilberts of pious 
 memory ; one the successor of Vitalis, abbot of 
 Westminster, whose epitaph is recorded by 
 Mr. Thynn, in No. lxxvi, of Hearne' s Discourses; 
 
330 
 
 TOULOUSE* 
 
 the other founded the Gilbertine Monastery at 
 Sempringham in Lincolnshire, in the year 1148. 
 The porch of the southern transept is a curious 
 piece of architecture, in its style and decorations 
 more nearly approaching the corrupted Roman, 
 as I have described it, at Poitiers and elsewhere, 
 than the general style of the church. It is 
 nearly 80 feet high, and 20 wide. The arch of 
 the portal is about 14 feet in the span, and 18 feet 
 high : on each side of it are two marble pillars, 
 the capitals of which are formed into groups 
 of figures, representing, The Massacre of He- 
 rod, The Expulsion of Adam and Eve from 
 Paradise, and two other subjects not equally 
 intelligible. Above these pillars is a flat impost, 
 elegantly carved, from which spring the numer- 
 ous mouldings of the arch, all of them plain ; 
 but the space betwixt them, and the top of the 
 folding doors, is divided into two compartments $ 
 the lower is a kind of architrave, on which are 
 fourteen small figures in low-relief, seemingly of 
 saints and apostles, surmounted by an elegant 
 arabesque of roses : the upper is filled with a relief 
 which seems to represent the image of God the 
 Father, supported by two youthful figures, pro- 
 bably an emblem of the Trinity, and attended 
 by angels : on either side of this arch are two 
 other figures, of St. Peter and some other 
 saint, trampling upon fiends, with sculptures 
 under them, which I take to be the tempt- 
 ations of St. Antony ; but these, as well as the 
 two statues, from their awkward situations, 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 331 
 
 are probably posterior additions. Above the 
 arch the porch is terminated by a cornice, 
 with eight modillions, each carved to represent 
 the head of some monster, or other quaint de- 
 vice ; between every two is a star in relief, and 
 the same ornament is carved on the soffit. 
 There is a second gateway in advance of this 
 porch, decorated with arabesques, executed so 
 gracefully, that I cannot but think them the 
 production of a comparatively recent period ; 
 probably of the time of Francis I. or Henry III. 
 
 The cemetery round this church was called 
 ** the Burying-ground of the Nobles," from its 
 having been assigned in 1081 to receive the 
 remains of the Counts of Toulouse, at a period 
 when burying within churches was very rarely 
 practised. The cemetery has been destroyed, 
 but there is a garden on part of its site, round 
 the east end of the church, in which, by the 
 permission of the proprietor, I accommodated 
 myself to make a sketch of the building. The 
 stone coffins of several of the ancient Counts 
 of Toulouse are still to be seen carelessly 
 stowed in a little vault in one of the outer 
 walls : I observed one of them to be sculptured 
 to represent scales, and another to be entirely 
 covered with flowers and other reliefs. The 
 French talk about chivalrous feelings : surely it 
 would be in unison with such feelings, to rescue 
 from degradation the remains of the Counts of 
 Toulouse : their bones must at the least be worth 
 
33% 
 
 TOULOUSE. 
 
 as much as those of saints Exuperius and Sylvius, 
 with my countryman the Abbe Gilbert's into 
 the bargain. 
 
 Several of the other churches of Toulouse 
 have evidently been built upon the model of 
 that of St. Sernin ; others are Gothic, a style 
 which is not seen to advantage in brick build- 
 ings, such as are all the ancient edifices of 
 Toulouse. 
 
 The Revolution necessarily made havoc among 
 the antiquities of the city, but some pains have 
 been taken to repair the destruction, by forming 
 a museum, very much on the plan of M. Lenoir's 
 at Paris. The Gothic cloisters of the cidevant 
 Augustine Convent, have been consecrated to 
 this use : one side of them is occupied by Ro- 
 man altars, amphorae, and other classical anti- 
 quities ; the remaining three are filled with mo- 
 numents, tombs, and pieces of sculpture, from 
 the various monasteries, which have been sup- 
 pressed, and converted into barracks. Among 
 the Roman relics I noticed an altar inscribed 
 DE^E LAHE SACRVM, « Sacred to the 
 " Goddess Lake,** probably a. Gallic divinity, 
 with whom Tooke's Pantheon has left me wholly 
 unacquainted., Another altar has a vase sculp- 
 tured on it, with a plant resembling ivy, and 
 these inscriptions on the two sides : 
 
 1. DEVS HERCVLIS INVICTVS SIGNVM 
 ARGENTEVM PPXII. DE SVA PECVNIA 
 FECIT. 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 333 
 
 2. CN POMPEIVS 
 CNL HYLA 
 
 HERCVLI 
 ILVNNO A.NDOSE 
 
 V. S. L. M. 
 
 The only difficulty here, with the exception of 
 bad grammar, is in the barbarous word Ilunnoan- 
 dose, which Dr. Meyrick, who has favoured me 
 with his opinion on it, supposes to be a Celtic 
 epithet of Hercules, and to bear the following 
 interpretation; —the I standing for Y (pro- 
 nounced E), is the article " The :" " Lunnoan" 
 resembles the British Lluan or Llugan, which 
 signifies « glittering with light :" " Dose" may 
 be a contraction for Dim ose, " God of fire," 
 as in the inscription already quoted on the Irish 
 cromlech. The altar is therefore consecrated 
 to Hercules, the glittering God of fire. Her- 
 cules was worshipped by the Celts under the 
 name of Arcol. 
 
 Among the Gothic relics is a tomb, on which 
 is carved a mounted warrior, with a long narrow 
 buckler, bearing six bosses, or besants, % % 
 and % (a style of bearing extremely ancient,) 
 the same blazon is on his horses' trappings. But 
 of all the monuments in this collection, we look 
 with most interest on such as have reference to 
 the " Gay Society of Trobadours," and their 
 " floral games," once so famous in Europe. A 
 square cenotaph, supported by four small Gothic 
 pillars, and surmounted by a bust, daubed over 
 
-334 
 
 TOULOUSE. 
 
 with red paint, bears this inscription, which may 
 be called rather Spanish than French. 
 
 Souvenensa 
 den Guilhem Molinicrs 
 trobadqr de Tolosa 
 que dictet las 
 leges damors. 
 
 " Remember William Moliniers, Trobadour 
 « e of Toulouse, who dictated the laws of love." 
 
 This William Moliniers was the first chan- 
 cellor of the " gay society," established in 
 1323. The poem of Arnaud Vidal of Castel- 
 naudari, who gained the first prize, may be still 
 seen in the " Annals of Toulouse." It is a me- 
 taphysical canzone, in honour of the Virgin ; for 
 it is to be observed, that though the society 
 gave its regulations the name of " The Laws of 
 ffl Love," the subjects to be treated were always 
 of a solemn cast, from which love of a terres- 
 trial kind, was carefully excluded. 
 
 Towards the end of the fourteenth or begin- 
 ning of the fifteenth century, Clemence Isaure, a 
 lady of Toulouse, endowed the academy with 
 the means of furnishing yearly three golden 
 flowers, a violet, an eglantine, and a marigold, 
 to be given as poetical prizes. Nothing is 
 known of her history, but her statue is still in 
 one of the rooms of the Hotel-de-Vilie, where it 
 is, or was, crowned with flowers on each third 
 of May, when the prizes are distributed. There 
 is also a bust of her in this museum : the coun- 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 335 
 
 tenance and drapery are Roman, but I know 
 not. what authority there is for the likeness : 
 under it is written : 
 
 Clem ; Isaur : lud Jloreal. restauratrix. 
 Sparge, Poeta, rosas : illis Clementia gaudet, 
 Atque tegi cineres mandat, Isaura, suos. 
 
 Strew roses, minstrel : Clemence lov'd their bloom, 
 And bids thee shed their sweetness on her tomb. 
 
 Near to this bust is an inscription to the me- 
 mory of Bernardus Andreas, a Trobadour of 
 Toulouse, who travelled into England, where 
 he was made poet-laureat by Henry VIII., ac- 
 cording to the inscription, but Mr. Thynn, in 
 No. lxxvi. of f Hearne's Antiquarian Dis- 
 " courses," quotes an epitaph on Cadwallader 
 as " delivered by Bernadas Andreas Tolose- 
 '« tanus, who wrought a compendious historye 
 " of the reign of King Henry the Seventh, in 
 " whose time he lyved, with whom he was 
 " greatly in favour, and to whom he was poet- 
 " laureat." 
 
 The Canal des deux Mers, (so named from its 
 uniting the Mediterranean and Bay of Biscay,) 
 surrounds Toulouse from east to north, and falls 
 into the Garonne immediately below the town : 
 regular passage-boats ply on it to Carcassonne, 
 and thence to Beziers, affording an easy and 
 eheap communication with the Southern Depart- 
 ment. Beyond this canal, to the north-east, 
 
336 
 
 TOULOUSE. 
 
 are the heights on which the Duke of Welling- 
 ton engaged and defeated Marshal Soult ; the 
 road to Alby crosses the end of the French po- 
 sition ; the ground swells gradually from thence 
 into a ridge, which was covered with redoubts 
 and entrenchments : I walked over the field of 
 battle in company with the proprietor of it. 
 His farm-house formed the key of the position ; 
 it was here our columns succeeded in mounting 
 the heights from the valley to the east of them, 
 and carried the entrenchments, which were 
 speedily abandoned by the French troops, many 
 of whom were raw conscripts. The farmer in- 
 formed me that General Harispe was giving 
 orders to set fire to his house when a ball struck 
 him on the foot, and the house was thus pre- 
 served. When the French lose a battle they 
 always cry out " treachery." they pretend 
 that it was Soult's plan to hold these heights, 
 until Suchet should arrive and attack our army 
 in the flanks and rear, but that Suchet refused 
 to march. Even Soult's officers are said to have 
 betrayed him : the officer of engineers he had 
 dispatched to take up and fortify the heights 
 amused himself by the puerility of barricading 
 the town, and making loop-holes in the houses 
 of the suburbs, so that the Marshal found every 
 thing to do on his arrival. But when a general, 
 occupying a commanding position, finds it ne- 
 cessary to protect his troops by redoubts and 
 lines, his defeat can scarcely be a matter of 
 
TOULOUSE. 
 
 337 
 
 much surprise, or require to be effected by 
 treachery. 
 
 I am sorry to remark, that the character of 
 the people of Toulouse by no means answers to 
 the ancient reputation of their country. It 
 seems as if the persecution of the Albigenses 
 had sown among them a spirit of religious and 
 political bigotry, which time has never been able 
 to eradicate. We recognise its lineaments in 
 the murder of the virtuous and venerable Du- 
 ranti, first president of the parliament j and of 
 Affis, advocate-general, who supported the cause 
 of Henry III. against the Guises and the League, 
 and were torn in pieces by the mob ; we remem- 
 ber the judicial murder of Calas, and have very 
 recently witnessed a more atrocious exemplifi- 
 cation of the same feelings. Soon after the re- 
 storation of the Bourbons, a corps was raised 
 in this city, upon the principle of a devoted at- 
 tachment to the most bigotted members of the 
 royal family : they were called the Verdes, from 
 their uniform, and intended as a kind of ultra 
 police guard, to- maintain the interests of fanati- 
 cism, as embodied in the Duke d'Angouleme. 
 Their zeal was not long in finding an object : the 
 commandant of the troops of the line, General 
 Ramel, was suspected of Bonapartism ; a party 
 of the consecrated corps, principally officers, 
 broke into his lodgings, and assassinated him, 
 with circumstances of the most revolting bar- 
 barity. Their men were under arms before the 
 general's house, during the acting of the mur- 
 
 z 
 
 \ 
 
338 
 
 TOULOUSE. 
 
 der. The second in command of the troops of 
 the line never stirred to defend his superior 
 officer. The actors in the plot were well known, 
 yet no enquiry was instituted, nor did any 
 punishment follow the deed. It is just, how- 
 ever, to state, that the assassins are regarded 
 with horror by many of their fellow-citizens, 
 and excluded by the force of opinion from so- 
 ciety. The popularity of the Due d'Angou- 
 leme is said to have been lately on the decline, 
 both in Toulouse and generally in the south, 
 from his inability to gratify the feelings of into- 
 lerance, and revenge with which his faction is 
 agitated. 
 
 It was with some surprise I observed the be- 
 haviour of the inhabitants of the two most loyal 
 cities in France, Bordeaux and Toulouse, to be 
 characterised towards the English, by evident 
 rudeness and dislike. As far as regards the 
 lower classes, this is but saying that a mob is 
 a mob, both in France and England; but in 
 Bordeaux, especially, I observed this petty and 
 vulgar insolence in many well-drest young men, 
 seemingly of the best quality in l the city ; it is 
 true they appeared to be loungers, who are in- 
 deed but a mob 4 dandified ; but then a French- 
 man without politesse is infinitely more disagree- 
 ble than any plumeless two-legged animal witft 
 which I am acquainted. 
 
389 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 The knowledge of a country which can be 
 acquired by being conveyed through it in a 
 diligence, mail-coach, or any other public con- 
 veyance, is so very meagre, that, on an average, 
 a page to each hundred miles is ample allowance 
 of memorial. Something, indeed, may be learned 
 on the score of character, which probably pre- 
 sents itself with less reserve and disguise in such 
 situations than in any other form of social inter- 
 course. Passengers are mutually in a state of 
 too great independence and familiarity, while 
 thus emboxed in a common vehicle, to make 
 any attempts at cloaking their sentiments with 
 regard to subjects on which they choose to be 
 communicative. My fellow-travellers, betwixt 
 Toulouse and Paris, were an elderly lady, and 
 her son, a young officer of the line, about to join 
 his regiment ; a student in surgery, vulgar and 
 good-natured ; a woman with " no character at 
 * all and a gentleman, such as could be met 
 with no where but in France : he was a man, 
 seemingly about forty, of a gentlemanly ap- 
 
 z C Z 
 
TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 pearance, and (as I learnt during our journey,} 
 both in family and connection, above the mid- 
 dling classes of society : he was, moreover, well- 
 informed, even scientific, and combined per- 
 fectly easy manners, with a fund of humour and 
 vivacity. Such elements should have consti- 
 tuted a very agreeable fellow-traveller, and so* 
 doubtless, he would have been, had he had as 
 much taste as wit; but this was not the case ; he 
 was an intellectual Yahoo, in whom Dean Swift 
 would probably have admired the discussions, 
 ingeniously filthy, and scientifically obscene, with 
 which he uninterruptedly amused us during the 
 two days he was our companion. It is to be 
 observed, that all this went on in the presence of 
 a lady, not only of respectability, but of rank and 
 good breeding, to whom he frequently addressed 
 his observations, without any seeming intention 
 of giving offence, or even consciousness of over- 
 stepping propriety. The lady, though she once 
 slightly remarked the licentious freedom of his 
 conversation, exhibited no symptoms of indig- 
 nation, even when it was addressed to her, and 
 usually joined in the laugh it occasioned ; nor 
 did her son appear to feel he was in any respect 
 called upon to resent what our notions would 
 interpret most indelicate familiarity. In Eng- 
 land this could not have occurred without 
 mastering three impossibilities : — First, the 
 impossibility of finding a gentleman of edu- 
 cation, who would indulge in such conversation 
 before a lady, or a decent female, or even before 
 
TOULOUSE TO PARIS. &4>f 
 
 any female : secondly, that of finding a lady 
 or female who would unconcernedly listen to it: 
 thirdly, that of finding fellow-passengers, who 
 would not conceive themselves bound to repress 
 such behaviour in a woman's presence. I wished 
 to ascertain the political sentiments of an indi- 
 vidual, who was evidently not only a thinking 
 being, but one endowed with considerable 
 strength of intellect : I found them to be such 
 as are usually embraced by those who seek to 
 disguise the shame of submission under an ap- 
 pearance of philosophy, and to erect despotism 
 into a law of necessity. " The French," he 
 said, " required to be governed by a rod of 
 " iron." Thus individuals exculpate themselves 
 at the expense of human nature : the rulers of 
 the earth cry out, " Mankind are wicked and 
 " must be governed by fofce the reply na- 
 turally is — " Granted; but you also are men, 
 «. and as such, need the rod as much as any of 
 " us : how then do you pretend to wield it ?" — 
 But the timid and indolent dreaders and admir- 
 ers of power assent to this shallow sophism, and 
 flatter themselves they are philosophers when 
 they are only cowards. It was of a piece with 
 his general system of human nature, that my fel- 
 low-traveller, who had visited and admired the 
 comforts of England, should be utterly incre- 
 dulous as to the general fairness with which 
 justice is, in our country, administered betwixt 
 individuals. He could not imagine an uncorrupt 
 judge. His reasoning was simple, — " Human 
 
 z 3 
 
34,2 TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 " nature is every where the same : it is impos- 
 " sible, therefore, but that in England, as well 
 " as in France, a pretty woman must be able 
 " to influence the judge before whom her suit 
 " is tried." Probably, had he seen several of 
 our judges, he would have been less incredulous 
 of the impotence of female attractions. 
 
 So much for the dramatis persona? of my 
 journey ; now for the scenery, which will merely 
 suffice to form a back-ground. 
 
 The road from Toulouse to Paris by way of 
 Limoges traverses a tract of country which 
 forms the extreme boundary of the mountainous 
 departments of Aveiron, Cantal, and Put/ de 
 Dome, in which almost all the rivers which in- 
 tersect France have their sources. Its hilly 
 ruggedness commences betwixt Montauban and 
 Cahors, and continues as far as Argenton, and 
 the vicinity of Chateauroux. Cahors, the Ro- 
 man Divona, is built on a steep above the Lot: 
 its grey walls, and square towers had a very 
 picturesque effect, as we mounted the adjacent 
 hills, round some of which clouds of mist were 
 sweeping before the wind, and descending in 
 heavy showers among the valleys. — As winter 
 was now setting in, the scenery had an air of 
 bleak and Scottish wildnessj but in summer 
 when the vines which clothe the numberless 
 steep monticles to their summits are in their 
 bright liveries, and the narrow valleys below 
 them look like green streamlets, the scene must 
 be delightfully soft and pleasing, especially as 
 
TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 348 
 
 there is abundance of streams, massy cliffs, wild 
 grottoes, and dingles full of copse-wood, and 
 fine chesnut-trees. — The towns and villages are 
 built of grey-stone : most of them are ancient, 
 with little beauty or convenience when ap- 
 proached, but adding much to the beauty of 
 the landscape by their old towers and picturesque 
 situations. Donzenac is one of these ; — the 
 road to it from Br'vce, winds along the crest of 
 a deep glen, down which a torrent rushes to the 
 Creuse : about half way up there is a fountain 
 cut in the rock ; and a ruined Gothic church, 
 almost buried in ivy, is the first object at the 
 entrance of the town. I had walked from 
 Brive to Donzenac ; a kind of relaxation I ge- 
 nerally managed to procure after breakfast, — if 
 the first daily meal you make, when travelling 
 by a diligence, may be so called, consisting, as 
 it always does, of two courses, with fruit and 
 wine. Fortunately for me, the French have no 
 idea of hurrying over their meals j partly, be- 
 cause they believe, with Dr. Johnson, that few 
 things are really more important than dinner, 
 and partly because they would consider it bad 
 economy to pay for a meal without eating as 
 long as they possibly could, besides pocketing 
 some of the relics. — This disposition I ac- 
 counted fortunate j first, because, like them- 
 selves, I consider a hurried mastication as neither 
 pleasant nor profitable ; and secondly, because 
 it gave me half an hour's start of the vehicle, 
 which, in an uneven country, and according to 
 
 z 4 
 
344 
 
 TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 the French rate of travelling, secures the en* 
 joyment of a whole day's pedestrian exercise, 
 should the traveller be inclined for it. I had 
 wandered on in this way when night overtook 
 me, beyond Donzenac, and 1 entered a cottage 
 by the road side to request leave to sit down, 
 and wait the arrival of the diligence : the 
 owner, however, very coolly told me there was 
 an auberge not far off, where I might wait if I 
 chose it. The proverb says, " One swallow 
 " makes not summer" — I considered it un- 
 safe to conclude any thing generally against the 
 hospitable character of the French peasants 
 from this single specimen ; so I went on to ano- 
 ther cottage, and seated myself on a stone 
 bench near the door ; but I had scarcely done 
 so when the owner of the house came out and 
 invited me to enter. I found a roomy cottage 
 which seemed, however, to consist but of the 
 single apartment in which the family was col- 
 lected: the floor was of earth, uneven enough: 
 above were bare rafters, which served as a 
 storehouse for a variety of domestic utensils and 
 lumber: there were two large beds, with curtains ; 
 one near the fire, the other at the farther end 
 of the room : a bench and two or three stools 
 were round the hearth, on one of which I 
 was requested to seat myself. It was supper- 
 time ; a coarse cloth was spread on a narrow 
 wooden table, on which were arranged as many 
 pewter porringers as equalled the number of the 
 members of the family, who were to share the 
 
TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 345 
 
 meal: a large brown loaf was taken from a 
 shelf, and cut into slices, with the only knife with 
 which the cottage seemed to be furnished : a 
 large three-legged kettle was next taken from 
 the fire, and each porringer filled with a soup, 
 very much like gruel, poured over the bread. 
 The father of the flock, his wife, two sons, and 
 as many daughters, placed themselves at table : 
 the old grandam sate in the chimney-corner, 
 and as she was in ill health had a few spoonfuls 
 of wine mixed with her porridge : I was in- 
 vited to join the party : after the gruel, a large 
 kettle of chestnuts was served out, which con- 
 cluded the meal. I found I understood very 
 little of the Patois spoken by my host, who, on 
 his part, understood so little of French as to be 
 ignorant, from my pronunciation, that I was a 
 foreigner. When the diligence came up, I 
 wished the family good night, and was lighted 
 to the coach-door, that I might not step in the 
 mud round the cottage. 
 
 The village of Pierre Biifiere, besides being 
 picturesquely placed on a mountain-stream, 
 over which there is an antique bridge, is re- 
 markable for its castle, in which the celebrated 
 Mirabeau was confined for many years, by his 
 father, and in which he probably first im- 
 bibed his dislike to bastilles and lettres de ca- 
 chet. The tall, square donjon-keep is still en- 
 tire, but the remainder of the building has 
 been modernised into a gloomy-looking farm- 
 house. It stands at the bottom of the dell, 
 
346 
 
 TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 towards the end of the village, and is washed 
 on both sides by the torrent which divides 
 round it. 
 
 The city of Limoges is connected with an in- 
 cident in English history, which would be better 
 forgotten, were not truth essential above all 
 things, and historical flattery proportionably 
 deserving of reprobation. Mr. Hume has thus 
 drawn the character of the Black Prince: — 
 
 " The Prince of Wales, after a lingering ill- 
 " ness, died in the forty-sixth year of his age ; 
 " and left a character, illustrious for every emi- 
 « nent virtue, and, from his earliest youth till 
 " the hour he expired, unstained by any blemish. 
 " Hls valour a nd military talents formed the 
 <• smallest part of his merit ; his generosity, 
 " humanity, affability, moderation, gained him 
 " the affections of all men j and he was qualified 
 " to throw a lustre, not only on that rude age 
 " m which he lived, and which nowise infected 
 " him with its vices, but on the most shining 
 " period of ancient or modern history." 
 
 I feel as if to undo this eulogium were almost 
 To pluck a jewel out of England's crown ; 
 
 yet the following passage from Froissart's 
 description of this Prince's treatment of the in- 
 habitants of Limoges, after he had captured 
 the city, will show how cautiously we must 
 credit the praises with which kings and con- 
 querors have been spangled by historians : — 
 « The Prince, the Duke of Lancaster, the Earls of 
 
TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 847 
 
 Cambridge and of Pembroke, Sir Guiscard 
 d' Angle, and the others, with their men, 
 rushed into the town. You would then have 
 seen pillagers, active to do mischief, running 
 4 through the town, slaying men, women, and 
 4 children, according to their orders. It was a 
 4 most melancholy business ; for all ranks, ages 
 4 and sexes cast themselves on their knees be- 
 
 * fore the Prince, begging for mercy; but he 
 
 * was so inflamed with passion and revenge, 
 
 * that he listened to none, but all were put to 
 4 the sword, wherever they could be found, 
 4 even those who were not guilty : for I know 
 4 not why the poor were not spared, who could 
 
 * not have had any part in this treason ; but they 
 
 * suffered for it, and indeed more than those 
 " who had been the leaders of the treachery. 
 
 " There was not that day in the city of 
 " Limoges any heart so hardened, or that had 
 44 any sense of religion, who did not deeply 
 44 bewail the unfortunate events passing before 
 44 their eyes; for upwards of three thousand 
 44 men, women and children, were put to death 
 44 that day. God have mercy on their souls! 
 44 for they were veritable martyrs." — T. iv. c. xxi. 
 
 The old town of Argenton, built on the 
 steep banks of the Creuse, is remarkable for 
 having been the residence of Philip de Comines, 
 the massive ruins of whose castle seem to have 
 grown to the colour and substance of the rock 
 on which they stand. 
 
 The country beyond Argenton, quitting its 
 
348 
 
 TOULOUSE TO PARIS. 
 
 mountainous character, becomes undulating, till 
 towards Orleans it sinks into an extensive level, 
 several miles of which are heath and forests. 
 
 A conspicuous object, five leagues from Paris, 
 is the tower of Montelhery, beneath the walls 
 of which a battle was fought in 1464, betwixt 
 Louis XL, and the Count of Charolois, " Pour 
 " le Men public" — but the castle of Montelhery 
 had been long abandoned to solitude, when 
 Boileau dispatched Night thither to fetch the 
 owl, which was to be lodged in the Lutrin. The 
 poet thus aptly characterises its appearance. 
 
 Les murs dont le sommet se derobe ii la vue, 
 Sur la cime d'un roc s'attongent dans la nue, 
 Et presentant de loin leur objet ennuyeux 
 Du passant qui lefuit semble suivre lesyeux. 
 
 Voiture too, in one of his songs, thus speaks 
 of it: 
 
 Nous vimes dedans la nue 
 La tour de Mont-le-heris, 
 Que pour regarder Paris, 
 AUongeoit son col du grue. 
 
349 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 OP THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 We esteem it both pleasant and profitable to 
 make ourselves acquainted with the character of 
 a neighbour with whom we are in habits of fre- 
 quent intercourse : we expect such acquaintance 
 will both aid us to avoid giving offence, and 
 gradually pave the way towards the intimacies 
 of lasting friendship. We may fairly draw 
 similar conclusions when the neighbours are not 
 individuals, but powerful nations. — It must be 
 admitted, however, that if the advantages in this 
 case are equally obvious, the attainment of the 
 necessary knowledge is by no means equally 
 easy. It is difficult for one nation to fix a moral 
 standard for another: the same virtues and 
 vices are not equally influential upon the hap- 
 piness of different nations so that while each 
 regards with prejudice or partiality the moral 
 qualities most powerfully affecting its own social 
 
 system,, it is apt to exercise a Procrustes-like 
 judgment upon those of its neighbours. There 
 
 are difficulties too in estimating the character of 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 nations highly civilised, which more than 
 counterbalance the facilities of judging afforded 
 by increased means of information, and frequent 
 intercourse. — When we read of the manners of 
 the old Greeks, of the modern Tartars and 
 Arabs, of the American Indians, of the inha- 
 bitants of the Tonga Islands, or generally of any 
 people in a semi-barbarous state of society, we 
 are at first struck by the strong contrasts of their 
 dispositions, by those fierce extremes of good 
 and evil, so opposite to the blending and demi- 
 tinting observable in our own characters ; but a 
 very little reflection not only renders us familiar 
 with these seeming disproportions, but even 
 compels our surprise into an opposite channel, 
 by showing us the singular uniformity of the 
 human character, in all climes and ages, when 
 subjected to the operation of few and simple 
 moral impulses. The case is very different, when 
 we seek to estimate the character of a people 
 grown hoary amid the whirling vicissitudes of 
 civilised life. Moral habits are here the result 
 of causes, obscure, remote, and contradic- 
 tory. We have to calculate the influence of 
 various and opposing tendencies; the working 
 of passions, in all the stages of combustion, 
 strength, and decrepitude ; the spirit of the age 
 at war with existing institutions ; together with 
 the operation of those many minuter causes, 
 which, though conjunctively they have great in- 
 fluence on the national character, have too little 
 firmness for moral dissection. Under these cir- 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 351 
 
 cumstances, however steadily we may endeavour 
 to steer our judgment, we are perpetually en- 
 countering under-currents, which often not 
 only carry us wide of just inference, but leave 
 us stranded in utter doubt and perplexity. 
 
 The consideration of the public or political 
 character of the French nation may properly be 
 referred to the head of government ; in the pre- 
 sent chapter I remark on it no further than is 
 necessary to show its connection with, and in- 
 fluence upon, social and domestic habits. My 
 object is to point out the characteristic moral 
 differences betwixt a Frenchman and an En- 
 glishman, in the relations of private life : nor 
 am I unaware of my personal disqualification 
 for the undertaking. An individual must draw 
 his conclusions either from individual experi- 
 ence, or still more fallacious sources ; but the 
 experience of an individual, even when it is 
 much more extensive than I can pretend to, is 
 limited in its range, liable to be warped by ac- 
 cident, and too commonly tinctured by preju- 
 dice, or distorted by theoretic preconceptions ; — 
 such as it is, however, its results, as delivered 
 by various travellers, are the only sources from 
 which, by a juxta-position of evidence, and 
 cross-examining of witnesses, something like an 
 approximation to truth may be expected; — and 
 with this apologetic procemium I proceed. 
 
 No Englishman (that is to say, no English- 
 man betwixt whose eyes and brains there sub- 
 sists the most ordinary degree of intercourse) 
 
85% OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 can have amused himself by a quarter of an 
 hour's saunter through the gardens of the 
 Tuileries, or by a lounge of equal length about 
 the Parisian Bond-street of the Boulevards, 
 without having been struck by the great variety 
 of physiognomies perpetually crossing his walk, 
 and frequently arresting his attention. — I do 
 not mean such simple varieties of features as go 
 to the manufactory of mere sets of odd faces, 
 but countenances displaying such marked oppo- 
 sition of habits and character, as to denote the 
 generations of distinct social epochs ; and such 
 as may, without much hazard of mistake, be 
 classed according to the different eras of French 
 history. — Do we seek, for instance, the repre- 
 sentatives of the old French character, the de- 
 voted and superannuated admirers of royalty, 
 Corneille and Madame de Maintenon ? — The 
 race is, indeed, fast dying off : a remnant, how- 
 ever, which seems to have been preserved by 
 being dried, is still visible ; — straight, spare- 
 looking-gentlemen, with their coat-collars glisten- 
 ing with the pomatum distilled from their queues, 
 their cravats stained with snuff, and the order 
 of St. Louis, at their button-holes : loquacious 
 as -grasshoppers, nor much unlike those insects 
 in limb and feature ; but polite withal, according 
 to that school of manners, which once held the 
 **■ glass of fashion," by which the World, in the 
 Morning-Post signification of the term, was wont 
 to " dress its carriage." — It may be supposed 
 the court is the genial focus from which, these 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 353 
 
 anatomies of legitimacy imbibe the vital warmth 
 of existence ; it is here, therefore, the curious 
 in human entomology will do well to search for 
 specimens : but to those who have no means of 
 pursuing their researches within the hallowed 
 precincts of the Tuileries, it may be interesting 
 to learn, that it is individuals of this class who 
 compose the male majority of the thin congrega- 
 tions assembled in each Parisian church : one of 
 them in particular may almost always be ob- 
 served in the van of every religious procession, 
 like an emblem of decrepit piety : they are 
 the cicerones of almost all the palaces, and con- 
 tinue to fill such humble offices of church and 
 state, as were below the blast of revolutionary 
 changes. Of their moral character little need 
 be said ; they have outlived the ability to do 
 either good or evil ; their voices are, indeed, 
 heard at intervals, like the feeble wailing of 
 Ossian's ghosts, when they mourn over the evils 
 of toleration and freedom : they are not, how- 
 ever, without their moments of exultation: 
 Protestants are sometimes persecuted, and saints 
 restored to their niches ; his majesty dines with 
 uncommon appetite; a royal duchess con- 
 ceives, or the Virgin glitters in new-spangled 
 petticoats. 
 
 A second class of characters may occasionally 
 be distinguished in the crowd, consisting of men 
 usually about the middle age, whose features, 
 dress, and demeanour, bear a stern simplicity, be- 
 
S54f OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 fitting republicans, who have survived a com- 
 monwealth ; but these 
 
 Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto — 
 
 and it is especially useless to seek them either 
 at church or court. 
 
 A third, and important portion of the Parisian 
 population consists of the military, and their 
 imitators, who have grown up to manhood dur- 
 ing the era of martial vanity and despotism. 
 Their black stocks and soldier-like demeanour 
 would become them better, if their countenances 
 did not too frequently exhibit such an expression 
 as becomes the gentlemen with smutted brows 
 and whiskers, who perform the subordinate 
 banditti in " The Iron Chest," or " Miller 
 «* and his Men — nor are their manners much 
 at odds with their looks : the ladies complain of 
 their brusquerie, and the more respectable 
 among their countrymen, of their taste for low 
 company, and vulgar debauchery. In whatever 
 provincial city a regiment is quartered, the 
 houses of the prefet and principal inhabitants 
 are open to its officers, yet very few, I have 
 been told, take advantage of this civility. — 
 They lounge away their vacant hours in coffee- 
 houses, at billiards, dominos, or some other 
 petty species of gambling; drink drams, and 
 frequent the society of such females as are best 
 qualified to be trulls and camp followers. 
 
 Of the mass of Bourgeois faces, in Paris, as 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 355 
 
 elsewhere, it may be said, they are such as 
 nature manufactures by the million, and affixes 
 to the bodies of such as are designed to con- 
 stitute the vis inertice of society, the ship's 
 ballast of stones, or pig-iron ; though with re- 
 ference to their political conduct they might, 
 perhaps, be better compared to that vegetation 
 which grows at the bottom of rivers, and con- 
 stantly lies in the direction of the stream, whe- 
 ther the tide set up or down. Altogether, how- 
 ever, I believe the present French Bourgeois 
 both look and feel more rationally than their 
 forefathers ; and when acting as national guards, 
 have given proofs of steadiness, activity, and 
 good sense, highly creditable to them. 
 
 These same distinctions of face and manner 
 are to be found in all the provinces of France, 
 mixed in greater or less proportions according 
 to circumstances. In the villages, and among 
 the peasantry, old French queues, and sharp linea- 
 ments, have a comparative predominancy. In all 
 great towns there is a dash of martial coxcomb- 
 ery ; but the one thing most rarely to be met 
 with throughout the kingdom is a gentleman. 
 
 In England there is a pretty numerous class 
 of individuals who, whatever may be their ge- 
 neral moral character, will feel that they dare 
 not stoop to vices of a mean and petty descrip- 
 tion, towards which they may indeed be said 
 to feel almost a physical abhorrence : such per- 
 sons consider that there is a certain style, both 
 of dress and manner, by which it becomes them 
 
 A A 2 
 
 * 
 
356 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 to be distinguished \ and although in both these 
 they may not unfrequently deviate into foppery 
 and affectation, according to the ruling fashion 
 of the day, they seldom fail to escape vulgarity, 
 and by their appearance to give such an assur- 
 ance of their sentiments and behaviour as very 
 rarely proves deceptive. In France such a class 
 can scarcely be said to exist. Indisputably 
 there are many Frenchmen of sufficient honour 
 to resent an indignity offered to their noses ; 
 but that moral delicacy which shrinks from the 
 contagion of meanness is, I fear to say, little 
 known among our Gallic neighbours. The 
 nobleman, or man of property, who lets part of 
 his hotel, as is frequently the case, will not 
 disdain to take all the advantages, and employ 
 all the disingenuity of a petty broker. In all 
 cases of imposition the stranger would in vain 
 look to be enlightened or protected by the 
 French gentleman, even though the latter should 
 profess to be his friend : to connive at the 
 frauds of his countrymen is a piece of patriotism 
 injurious neither to his purse nor his feelings. — 
 If the old school of French manners be justly 
 charged with professing much and meaning 
 little, the new is more disgustingly characterised 
 by coarse familiarity amounting to a levelism, 
 far more radical than is to be found in the 
 United States of America, where each man re- 
 spects his fellow-citizen, because he respects 
 himself ; but in France nothing is respected but 
 a gendarme. 
 
 i 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 357 
 
 There is something in the fate of the word 
 gentleman which deserves a moment's reflection. 
 It originated in France, where it was applied to 
 such persons as, by their birth and accomplish- 
 ments, were thought to merit the flattering epi- 
 thet of gentils ; and as property in feudal times 
 always went along with the other advantages of 
 fortune, it was a distinction necessarily confined 
 to such as held lands by the most honourable 
 kinds of tenure ; such holding being courte- 
 ously supposed to include all those moral quali- 
 ties combined in the term gentility. With us, 
 on the contrary, the borrowed term was never 
 used but in its primitive sense, because territo- 
 rial distinctions were determined by laws and 
 customs peculiar to our own form of polity. As 
 long, however, as holding lands by certain kinds 
 of service and tenure continued in France to 
 imply birth and breeding, beyond what could 
 belong to the commonalty, a part of the old 
 meaning of the word still adhered to it, and 
 foi de gentilhomme was an engagement which no 
 knight could violate with impunity : but when 
 the last dreams of chivalry vanished with the 
 laws and prejudices of feudal institutions; when 
 moral qualities could no longer be imagined to 
 have the remotest connection with this or that 
 species of property, the word ceased to have 
 any other than a titular signification, which nei- 
 ther includes moral qualities, nor imposes moral 
 obligations. It would, however, be refining 
 too far to infer, that because in France there is 
 a a 3 
 
358 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 no word answering to our term gentleman, there 
 are, therefore, no gentlemen ; albeit they are 
 very rare : neither can I altogether assent to 
 Lady Morgan's hypothesis, who supposes that 
 the young Frenchmen of the present day are 
 so deeply occupied by lectures and scientific 
 pursuits, that they have no leisure for the trivial 
 graces of dress and deportment. The following 
 reasons will perhaps go nearer to explain the 
 matter. The French are par excellence an imi- 
 tative people : — during the ascendancy of Re- 
 publicanism, the watch-words were " Liberty, 
 Equality," by which the body of the nation 
 unfortunately understood the right of cutting 
 off the heads of their political opponents, and 
 wearing their own, greasy and uncombed, 
 on their shoulders. To make themselves good 
 citizens, the young men of the rising generation 
 found no shorter way than to divest themselves 
 of good manners, and fraternise with every spe- 
 *• cies of vulgarity. The evil, however, would 
 
 have been temporary, had France continued 
 free, but the equality of slaves is a common por- 
 tion of degradation, destructive of every feeling 
 of individual dignity. Then came the military 
 mania, with all the graces of a camp and mess- 
 room; so that one may say, French manners 
 underwent the fate of their muskets ; the old- 
 fashioned polish was exchanged for a coat of 
 bronze — an exchange serviceable in the field, 
 but not equally becoming on the parade. In 
 the progress, however, of habits of sound thiuk- 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 359 
 
 ingj and in the diminution of that influence 
 which the military spirit has assumed, to the de- 
 gradation of the peaceful occupations of society; 
 in the growth, in short, of political freedom and 
 consequent self-respect, will be found a remedy 
 for that unbecoming petulance by which the 
 modern school of French manners is indisputa- 
 bly blemished. 
 
 That the ordinary duties of social life are less 
 attended to in France than elsewhere, will rea- 
 sonably be doubted by those who consider how 
 powerful a guarantee self-interest is for their 
 performance. The police is considered to act 
 efficaciously in the prevention of great crimes ; 
 and probably there are fewer open robberies, 
 and offences of a violent description in France, 
 than in England ; but the claims of a military 
 police to the amendment of public morals must 
 be received with much caution : it is more pro- 
 bable the compression of vice in one direction 
 forces it into another, and not always a purer 
 channel : to exchange a highwayman for a pimp 
 or sharper is no great moral profit. If, however, 
 France has any advantages in this particular, 
 it is less probably because she is better watched, 
 than because she is less taxed than our own 
 country : taxation, when it encroaches on the 
 necessary means of subsistence, is a wholesale 
 manufacturer of vice and crimes. 
 
 The domestic virtues are not supposed to be 
 highly cultivated by the French. The prevalence 
 of conjugal infidelity is, indeed, so generally ad- 
 a a 4 
 
360 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 mitted by themselves, that they can scarcely 
 blame a stranger for believing that, according to 
 the old proverb, what every body says must be 
 true. I have sometimes questioned females on this 
 point, (which, by the way, may be done without 
 any fear of giving offence,) " The French ladies, 
 " Madam, sometimes play their husbands false ?" 
 " Oh, mats out, Monsieur, dix fois pas jour — 
 " et les Anglaises? jamais, n'estce pas? elles sont 
 " glacees." I confess the liberality of such 
 concessions often tended rather to shake, than 
 to confirm my belief, till I met with, what I 
 must be allowed to call, the unexceptionable 
 testimony of an officer of cavalry, with whom I 
 happened to discuss the matter at a table d'hote 
 at Angouleme. I urged the usual mode of ex- 
 aggeration peculiar to moral declaimers, and 
 worshippers of old times ; instancing the de- 
 baucheries and corruption of the old French 
 court, as well as that of Charles II. in England. 
 He admitted the truth of this, but observed, 
 that the contagion was then confined within the 
 narrow circle of the court and capital, " mats d 
 " present," said he, with the air of an angry 
 monopolist, " tout le monde s y y mele." The 
 fact, after all, is too probable. Under despotic 
 governments the action of despotism spreads, 
 and is multiplied over the whole surface of so- 
 ciety. Slaves are hard task-masters to one an- 
 other, and children are sacrificed in marriage 
 from motives of ambition and interest by parents 
 who have been victims of similar inhumanity. 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 36 1 
 
 Nor is the remembrance of their own destiny 
 likely to deter them from visiting it on their 
 children : they suffered in the season of youth 
 and romantic feelings : they inflict a similar 
 suffering at a time of life when such feelings 
 are either wholly forgotten, or regarded as 
 childish follies. Use has made their necks cal- 
 lous to the yoke they prepare for others. Con- 
 jugal infidelity is the necessary result of such a 
 system, and, most probably, is regarded by all 
 parties as its natural remedy. Where mutual 
 inclination cements the bond of union, there is 
 little reason to doubt that the marriage vow is 
 as purely kept in France as in England. 
 
 The French are a parsimonious people. A re- 
 spectable Frenchman will haggle an hour for a 
 so u y give the waiter of a coffee-house a half sou, — 
 and pocket the overplus sugar after sweetening 
 his cup of coffee. In their travelling, in their 
 amusements, in their whole social system, eco- 
 nomy is the dominant principle. To account 
 for habits so little in unison with the national 
 love of enjoyment, we must consider that fre- 
 quent political changes may have generated a 
 feeling of doubt and insecurity, which prompts 
 every man to hoard a resource against a day of 
 trouble, while the same feeling represses that 
 spirit of commercial enterprise and expenditure, 
 which would serve to correct it. Commercial 
 men spend willingly in proportion to their gains, 
 which being usually on the increase, the conco- 
 mitant habit increases with them, and becomes 
 
$62 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 national. In France, on the contrary, few 
 young men who start in life with a bare compe- 
 tence, think of enlarging their means by addict- 
 ing themselves to commercial or professional 
 pursuits: they are consequently forced into a 
 mode of living suited to their scanty incomes : 
 the numerous coffee-houses and billiard-tables 
 to be met with in every country town, are sup- 
 ported by, and render supportable the existence 
 of these idlers, who are ready, whenever a war 
 breaks out, to be manufactured into heroes. 
 
 A feature of the French character, which 
 merits the metaphysician's attention, is its want 
 of simplicity. An end seems valued in propor- 
 tion to the complexedness of the means used to 
 produce it. The ephemeral constitutions got 
 up during the Revolution are fatally marked by 
 this defect; nor, till very lately, could the 
 French people comprehend the advantages of 
 plain and direct representation and election — but 
 the same point is no less forcibly illustrated in 
 matters, the trifling importance of which affords 
 no apology for superabundant machinery : pass- 
 ports are a good example : the French govern- 
 ment deem it essential to know who and what 
 every man is who sets foot in the country — and 
 how does it work towards this important end ? 
 You arrive with a passport from the French 
 ambassador in London, who grants them to all 
 applicants : on landing you give this paper to 
 an agent of the police, and receive in return a 
 permit to proceed to Paris, containing a full and 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 363 
 
 particular description of your person, a dupli- 
 cate of which is dispatched to the Minister of 
 Police : thus fortified, with a certificate of your 
 own identity, you arrive at Paris, where you 
 find your original passport has previously ar- 
 rived, and is now re-delivered to you. When 
 you have occasion to quit the capital, you again 
 apply to the Bureau de Police, whence you are 
 dispatched to the British ambassador to have 
 your passport countersigned, after which you 
 return to the office, where it is again several 
 times signed and sealed j and if you are return- 
 ing to England, you are dispatched to the Mi- 
 nister of Foreign Affairs, to whom you pay ten 
 francs, (a very intelligible part of the process,) 
 but if you are continuing your journey through 
 the country, the ceremony of signing, &c. is to 
 be repeated at every great town by the Mayor, 
 or other magistrate, and so on, till the whole 
 document is stuck over with stamps and signa- 
 tures. Now it is plain, after all this, the Minis- 
 ter of Police knows nothing more of yourself, 
 and destination, than you choose to tell him, 
 being yourself the whole and sole source of in- 
 formation ; so that if you have any interest in 
 misrepresenting yourself in the first instance, 
 the whole subsequent formula must be a multi- 
 plication of the same falsehood : but a French- 
 man could never persuade himself that all these 
 formalities really amounted to nothing, except 
 the Minister's perquisite of ten francs. The 
 whole police system is in fact similarly ndicu- 
 
364 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 lous : an immense engine is set to work, which 
 with infinite labour, expense, and vexation, oc- 
 casionally succeeds in catching a pickpocket, 
 but never revealed a single important conspi- 
 racy, or prevented a revolutionary explosion : 
 yet it is regarded in France as the ne plus ultra 
 of political mechanism. A trivial, yet ludicrous 
 instance of this same love of the complex, may 
 be seen in every coffee-house, where the news- 
 papers are fastened to a flat board, and secured 
 by a small bar of iron with a padlock : the 
 Irishman laughed at a " lock upon leather/* 
 what would he have said to a lock upon paper ? 
 — In calculating national character, religion 
 is an item which can scarcely be overlooked ; 
 yet if, in any case, the omission might be made, 
 without any considerable variation in the result, 
 it is in that of France. It has been justly ob- 
 served, that though the churches are still open, 
 the congregations are gone. In Paris, and all 
 the considerable towns, the women, children, 
 and a few aged relics of former times, form at 
 least nine-tenths of the frequenters of Divine 
 worship. The zeal of the reigning family is too 
 well known to admit a doubt that, 
 
 Si Pergama dextrd 
 Defendi posset, etiam hdc defensa Jiiisset — 
 
 And the priests might well add, 
 
 Sacra suosque tibi commendat Troja Penates. 
 
 But it is a much easier task to build a new reli- 
 gion, than to restore an old one. The Bourbons 
 
 8 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 3$5 
 
 have done all they could with prudence, and 
 not a little more. A decree was issued, soon 
 after their restoration, to shut up all the coffee- 
 houses and shops of Paris on the sabbath, except 
 those of apothecaries ; upon which a caricature 
 appeared, representing an apothecary adminis- 
 tering a clyster, with the subscription, Dejeune 
 de Dimanche. In France 'tis a serious matter 
 to have the laugh against you, and so the people 
 have been permitted to keep the sabbath accord- 
 ing to their own discretion, which leads most of 
 them to make of it, if not a day of prayer, at 
 least a day of rest and recreation. Assuming 
 that the French people, or at least that portion 
 of them which speaks and acts for the rest, are 
 very bad Catholics, the next question is, whe- 
 ther it is to be wished, or expected, they should 
 be £oo d ones. It must be owned, our national 
 sentiments towards the Catholics are a little 
 whimsical. Of the creed of our Catholic fellow- 
 citizens we entertain a devout horror, accompa- 
 nied by a consistent degree of persecution ; but 
 for the Catholics in all foreign countries, with 
 the Pope at their head, we have, of late years, 
 entertained a very singular affection. During 
 the period of Bonaparte's elevation, an accre- 
 dited public journal went so far as to recom- 
 mend a crusade in his Holiness's favour * ; and 
 
 * " The people of Italy must, to a man, be enraged at 
 " the conduct of Bonaparte towards the Pope. Raise the 
 
366 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER* 
 
 ever since our great foe's downfall, we have not 
 failed duly to rejoice over the resurrection of 
 the Pontifical sovereignty, the restoration of the 
 Jesuits, and holy inquisition, with all and sundry 
 fooleries, which our forefathers wasted their brains 
 over the midnight lamp to teach us to despise. 
 We can well understand how the resuscitation 
 of idols is grateful to " the cause of priests all 
 " over the world," but it is not equally intelli- 
 gible how England is to profit by the growth 
 of absurdity among her neighbours, unless, in- 
 deed, it could be shown that Roman Catholic 
 kings never go to war without just cause, never 
 break their words, nor commit any of those 
 heathenish pranks, which constitute bad neigh- 
 bourhood : but the contrary of this is somewhat 
 notorious j nor does there seem to be any reason- 
 able probability that infidels would be much 
 worse neighbours than Catholics. We know, 
 indeed, that among the latter, breaches of pri- 
 vate and public faith, perjuries, and murders 
 may, after penance done, receive due absolution, 
 but that these things find no acquittal at the 
 bar of philosophy. — I am not disputing the pro- 
 priety of absolving repentant sinners, but in a 
 mere temporal point of view, if the evil be great 
 to have a neighbour who would have small scru- 
 ples about cutting your throat, it is a little 
 
 " Papal standard, and invite all true Catholics to rally 
 " round it." Courier of August 13. 1808. 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 367 
 
 greater to have one who believes he may com- 
 mit the offence, and yet go to heaven. 
 
 But whatever may be our wishes, or sup- 
 posed interests with regard to the restoration 
 of religion in France, there is little probability 
 of such an event taking place. — Could the 
 Roman Catholic Clergy have been restored to 
 the pre-eminence of wealth and intellectual do- 
 minion which they enjoyed during the ages of 
 feudal barbarism, something perhaps might have 
 been done, though even in this case the enter- 
 prise would have been difficult, and the event 
 doubtful : or had they accommodated them- 
 selves so far to the better understanding of the 
 times, as to have suffered the more prominent 
 absurdities of their creed to fall into oblivion, 
 have re-modelled their mode of worship, and 
 suited the whole tenor of their system to that 
 philosophised Christianity which, under various 
 denominations, is still respected in Europe, they 
 might probably have recovered a portion of their 
 vanished influence ; but in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, to erect crucifixes, Jesus-boxes, and Virgins, 
 to restore relic-worship, penance and purgatory, 
 with all the mummery of " candle, book, and 
 " bell," was calculating too far on the imbeci- 
 lity of the human intellect. It is common to 
 see notices stuck against the church-doors of In- 
 dulgences for so many days, granted to such as 
 perform acts of devotion in honour of a parti- 
 cular saint, with a nota bene subjoined, " The 
 f above indulgences are applicable \o souls in 
 
368 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 " purgatory;" — but more of these holy doings 
 under the head of Government. For then- effect on 
 the reasoning part of the French population, 
 I quote the sentiments of a gentleman of emin- 
 ence at the Parisian bar, with whom happening 
 to speak of these things, he produced a volume 
 of Volney, which he had about him, saying, 
 " Do you think, while men carry such books as 
 '* these in their pockets, they will return to 
 " these antiquated absurdities ?" 
 
 Of the state of Parisian society I can say little 
 from personal experience : the remarks, however, 
 I have to make, as borne out by unexceptionable 
 testimony, may tend to dissipate the illusions of 
 many of my countrymen, who are apt to regard 
 a Parisian salon as a kind of fairy -land ; of the 
 wonders of which they entertain notions, ex- 
 aggerated by the difficulties of gaining admit- 
 tance. From whatever causes, political or eco- 
 nomical, these difficulties may arise, Lady Mor- 
 gan must be allowed to have, in great measure, 
 overcome them, and trodden the enchanted 
 circle, 
 
 Unde refert nobis victor quid possit oriri 
 Quid nequeat. 
 
 But in truth it seems to have happened to her, 
 as was wont to befal the few adventurous knights 
 who shared the Elfin banquets of old; and when 
 they thought to bring back samples of the glow- 
 ing fruits and flowers, by which their senses 
 had been dazzled, found they had brought 
 
OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 369 
 
 nothing but dirt and stones. We learn little 
 more from Lady Morgan's narrative, than that 
 the ladies are passionate lovers of Cachemire 
 shawls, and receive their company in a recum- 
 bent, instead of a standing posture, which is 
 certainly less convenient. The testimony of 
 Madame de Stael is much more important : she 
 has testified to the decay of those social talents 
 which she was so eminently able to appreciate*. 
 Nor is there any thing surprising in this vicissi- 
 tude. Society may be reduced to its elements, 
 and the analysis will afford us means of judging 
 of the compound. The old noblesse may indeed 
 possess polish of manner j but besides that they 
 are too few and little regarded to give a ge- 
 neral tone to society, their intellectual powers 
 have, in very few instances, kept pace with the 
 progress of an age with which their feelings are 
 rarely in unison. To say nothings with grace, is 
 
 * " Les etrangers ne sauroient coneevoir le charme et 
 " l'eclat tant vante de la societe" de Paris, s'ils n'ont vu la 
 " France que depuis vingt ans : mais on peut dire avec verity 
 " que jamais cette societe" n'a et6aussi brillante, et aussiserieuse 
 " tout ensemble que pendant les trois ou quatre premieres 
 « annees de la revolution, a compter de 1788 jusqu'a la fin 
 ■ lt de 1791. ■ — C'est la derniere fois, hilas ! que l'esprit Fran- 
 " coise se soit montre dans tout son eclat ; c'est la derniere 
 " fois, et a quelque egards aussi la premiere, que la societe 
 " de Paris ait pu donner l'idee de cette communication des 
 " esprits superieurs entre eux, la plus noble jouissance dont 
 " la nature humaine soit capable." De la Revolution Fran- 
 poise, i. 386. 
 
 B B 
 
370 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 no longer the secret of conversation. The new 
 aristocracy is still less likely to contribute to so- 
 cial elegance. The best among those who com- 
 pose it are soldiers of fortune ; brave and 
 skilful in the field, rude in the drawing-room, 
 with very few ideas beyond the sphere of a pro- 
 fession in great measure mechanical. The pro- 
 fessed literati, and men of science, besides that 
 they have too frequently degraded themselves 
 by habits of slavery and adulation, are too few, 
 and too much occupied to supply the defects of 
 all other classes. 
 
 That brilliant period of social existence in 
 France, which immediately preceded the Revo- 
 lution, and on which Madame de Stael has dwelt 
 so delightedly, was the result of a happy concur- 
 rence of circumstances no longer in existence. 
 The frame of despotism still indeed existed, but 
 in a state of suspended animation ; while a new 
 life of freedom and philosophy circulated through 
 the body of a nation, developing its noblest 
 energies, and directing them towards the sub- 
 limest objects. The upper classes, in most in- 
 stances, participated in the universal feeling: 
 the intoxication of hope ran through the social 
 system ; and genius, taste, and enthusiasm, be- 
 came the very elements of its existence. We 
 know the issue : — the bright scene closed in 
 blood ; the superior planets were hurled from 
 their spheres into the abyss of death and revo- 
 lutionary madness ; while the minor satellites 
 remained sunk in oblivion and darkness, till 
 
OP THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 37 1 
 
 they were permitted to revolve, with faded 
 lustre, round the centre of new-born power. 
 Poets, rhetoricians, and men of science, lent 
 their aid to degrade the sunken cause, and in 
 this wreck of public feeling and good taste, 
 all the nobler elements of social intercourse were 
 absorbed and lost. 
 
 Despotism is necessarily suspicious, and was no 
 sooner throned in the person of Napoleon, than 
 society was placed under the police drill : es~ 
 pionage crept into domestic privacy, and con- 
 versation was so modelled, that it might be re- 
 peated without suspicion in the imperial anti- 
 chambers. To flatter, or be silent, became thus 
 the only alternative ; and, had the system lasted 
 half a century, the French would doubtless have 
 rivalled the Ottomans in smoaking and saying 
 nothing: Un grand talent pour le silence, once 
 the object of their ridicule, was fast growing 
 into a necessary accomplishment. Little can 
 be expected to have survived so many changes, 
 beyond an easy and graceful manner, and such 
 superficial agremens, as may be called the com- 
 mon-places of good-breeding. Political free- 
 dom will, however, redintegrate the sinews of 
 social life, by giving intellectual faculties a limit- 
 less field of exercise : the increased dignity of 
 civil institutions will bring into discredit the 
 affectation of military rudeness, and each man, 
 by respecting himself, will learn to respect, and 
 consequently seek to make himself agreeable to, 
 others. 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 OF THE FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 I would gladly finish off this feeble por- 
 traiture of the French character, with some 
 brighter tints than I have as yet found occasion 
 to employ on it. I have little doubt, that such 
 Englishmen as have resided long enough in 
 the country to obtain a footing of intimacy 
 with its inhabitants, could furnish abundant 
 proofs, that those virtues and mutual benevo- 
 lences, " which are dead in no man," blossom 
 as well on the genial soil of France, as in our 
 own country # ; but it is the ordinary fate of 
 travellers to encounter the selfish side of human 
 nature only : in the deserts of Arabia, and plains 
 of Tartary, stranger is a sacred name : in civi- 
 lised Europe, it is little more than a signal for 
 plunder. 
 
 * I have heard officers who were quartered on the northern 
 frontier, speak in very high terms of the polite hospitality of 
 the gentry in the neighbourhood of their cantonments. 
 
373 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 It could scarcely be expected that the character 
 of a man who has fired the passions of the whole 
 civilised world, should be fairly appreciated 
 during his life-time. Had Napoleon remained 
 seated on the imperial throne, it would have 
 been difficult to find an anchorite so divorced 
 from the contagion of human sympathies, as to 
 be able to bring a calm spirit of investigation to 
 such a subject ; but there is something in his 
 present condition, which affords a vantage-ground 
 to dispassionate reflection : he may be said 
 to attend the obsequies of his own fame, as 
 Charles V. did those of his mortal tenement ; 
 or, like the old Egyptian kings, to stand before 
 the judgment-seat of history, before he has be- 
 come, like them, deaf to her final sentence. — Is 
 Bonaparte to be accounted a great man ? will 
 he stand among the giant statues which surround 
 the throne of Fame, or be classed among those 
 minions of Fortune, who have risen and sunk, 
 like cock-boats, on her billows ? — Before we 
 attempt, presumptuously perhaps, to anticipate 
 b b 3 
 
374 
 
 OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 the judgment of posterity, we must endeavour 
 to affix some determinate notion to the word 
 " great j" as, whether it includes the idea of 
 goodness; whether it is referrible to talents, in- 
 dependently of actions ; or whether it is applica- 
 ble to such individuals as have been instrumental 
 in the production of great events, rather as mi- 
 nisters of destiny, than efficient causes. — If 
 authority be admissible in a matter so arbitrary 
 as the signification of a relative term, it must be 
 that of the common opinion of mankind, as set 
 forth in examples which have stood the test of 
 ages. Our school-books teach us to call Alex- 
 ander " the great," nor when our riper judg- 
 ment have taught us to analyse his character, do 
 we feel justified in robbing him of this epithet, 
 not even when the blood of Clytus is on his 
 spear, or his whole army perishing on the Libyan 
 desert. — Pompey is still * ' the great," in spite 
 of his Pharsalian overthrow; and Charlemagne, 
 notwithstanding his bloody conversion of the 
 Saxons. No one is ignorant of the utter want 
 of heart and principle which distinguished Fre- 
 derick III., yet the bitterest revilers of Bona- 
 parte * have never scrupled to remind the Prus- 
 sians of " the glories of the great Frederick." — 
 Moral goodness is not therefore ordinarily im- 
 plied by the epithet " great," the metapho- 
 rical acceptation of which seems constantly 
 referrible to its original signification : — thus 
 
 * The Quarterly Reviewers. 
 
OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 375 
 
 objects are physically great, when they oc- 
 cupy a considerable space in our circle of 
 vision j they are morally great, when they oc- 
 cupy a considerable space on the map of general 
 events ; and greatness becomes attached, in our 
 minds, to such individuals as are most powerfully 
 influential in producing or controlling them. 
 But the exertion of such influence supposes a 
 state of circumstances, both changeful and dif- 
 ficult : as long as the tide of events flows smooth 
 and unobstructed, the helmsman can expect little 
 praise beyond the approbation of his own con- 
 science : he presents to the imagination no 
 image of greatness ; he creates no wonder j and 
 must, consequently, be content to lack that ge- 
 neral applause which builds up the fame of 
 heroes. Nor does the performance of great 
 actions in all cases constitute a great man. Uni- 
 versal opinion has refused to confirm the title of 
 " the great," bestowed by flattery on Louis XIV. 
 because the splendid events of his reign were 
 clearly seen to be less owing to the command- 
 ing energies of his intellect, than to a fortuitous 
 concurrence of circumstances. The ministers 
 who wisely planned, and the generals who suc- 
 cessfully executed, demand their share of praise, 
 leaving the monarch little more than the merit 
 of having employed wiser heads than his own ; 
 and even this merit he outlived. — But the case 
 is very different with respect to Bonaparte. The 
 architect of his own fortune, he raised it to a 
 b b 4 
 
376 
 
 OF BONAPARTE, 
 
 height which it is probable his own imagination 
 only dared anticipate. The balance of power 
 in Europe had begun to be regarded as fixed on 
 a basis no longer liable to great political changes : 
 a system of perpetuity seemed established on 
 laws as durable as those which limit the planets 
 to their orbits. Bonaparte shattered this system 
 to atoms, and made a footstool of thrones and 
 old opinions. The dream of universal empire 
 began to be regarded as a waking reality, to 
 which France looked with confidence, and the 
 rest of the world with dismay. He who did this 
 was no born-king, but a stranger in the land he 
 ruled; an obscure individual, with neither friends 
 nor faction. Never did human being traverse 
 the mighty span of ambition and earthly power 
 with steps so gigantic. Nor was the close of 
 his career less splendid. Like Patroclus, in the 
 Iliad, it was not till he had been disabled by ce- 
 lestial interposition that the kings of the earth 
 dared encounter him in combat: he sunk indeed, 
 
 While banded monarchs gave the fatal wound, 
 And hostile millions prest him to the ground ; 
 
 but, in his lowest downfall, he was and is an ob- 
 ject of terror and admiration ; while his enemies 
 gaze and gibber in the idiocy of wonder at their 
 own triumphs. Assuredly this is not a man to 
 suffer depreciation from the puny attacks of 
 small statesmen, and their smaller secretaries : 
 it is not by affecting to style him General, or 
 
 5 
 
OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 377 
 
 Mister Bonaparte, that they will reduce him to 
 the vulgar level of their own insignificancy. 
 The world will call him " great," when they, 
 who now " strut and fret their hour upon the 
 stage" of royalty, have been whole centuries 
 mingled with the dust and oblivion of their fore- 
 fathers. 
 
 When we consider Bonaparte as a moral agent, 
 who has held in his hand the destiny of millions 
 of his fellow-creatures, it is natural to demand 
 some account of the manner in which power so 
 exorbitant has been employed. The world 
 rings with his ambition, and the crimes and mi- 
 series by which it has been attended ; but who 
 are they who shall judge him for this delin- 
 quency ? Not, surely, the potentates of Europe, 
 who, by the partition of Poland, set the first 
 broad example of political profligacy: not the 
 same powers, who, after hypocritically abjuring 
 the sin of spoliation, have retained the spoil, di- 
 vided Saxony, enslaved Italy, annihilated the 
 ancient republics of Venice, Genoa, and Ra- 
 gusa, and made the rights of mankind a jest 
 and mockery. Neither can the people of France 
 cast the first stone ; for they triumphed in their 
 champion's victories, and shared the full extra- 
 vagance of his ambition: even those nations 
 which have suffered under its scourge, have 
 chronicled with enthusiasm, in their own annals, 
 the same spirit of aggression and conquest which 
 they reprobated in Bonaparte. Is it only when 
 brought to their own doors that mankind learn 
 
378 
 
 OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 to appreciate the quality of an evil ? Historians 
 have flattered, and poets sung, the desolators of 
 the earth ; and if from time to time philosophy 
 has ventured to protest against their sentence, 
 her voice has been drowned in the, obstreperous 
 applause of successive generations, whose paeans 
 have sounded round the car of victory. 
 
 It is to philosophy only Bonaparte is justly 
 accountable for the pernicious employment 
 of his great means to benefit mankind ; nor 
 has she left herself without a witness against 
 him. It is a current anecdote, that, during one 
 of his marches into Italy, he made a visit to 
 M. Necker, at Coppet, and before his departure 
 had a private interview with Madame de Stael, 
 in the course of which she exhorted him, with 
 the passionate eloquence of genius, to consult 
 his true glory, by giving to his country freedom, 
 * and to Europe peace ; he replied with that calm 
 disdain, which the wisdom of selfishness deems 
 most withering to romantic virtue, " Madam, who 
 " looks after your children ?" He considered it 
 idle to argue against the empty names of patrio- 
 tism and freedom, and feared nothing so much as 
 that men should reckon him the dupe of generous 
 enthusiasm. In his eyes there was nothing real 
 but power ; yet he has lived to feel, that, accord- 
 ing to the phrase of one of our old dramatists, 
 4 4 Ambition hath one heel nailed down in hell, 
 " though with her hand she stretcheth to the 
 " heavens." It is not, however, surprising, 
 when we consider the circumstances by which 
 
OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 379 
 
 the early life of this extraordinary man was sur- 
 rounded, that he should not have chosen his po- 
 litical career more wisely. He was not nurtured 
 in the lore and discipline of philosophy, but 
 trained to a life of military adventure : his prin- 
 ciples were naturally modelled by his education ; 
 and, as in war, right is but the slave of victory, 
 he must early have been taught by the revo- 
 lutions and factions which distracted France, 
 that success was in like manner the sole touch- 
 stone of justice. In usurping political power, 
 he might flatter himself he was about to remedy 
 its abuses ; in sacrificing freedom, he gave the 
 last blow to a victim already stretched on the 
 altar. His conduct after his elevation can 
 scarcely be considered extraordinary. He 
 followed the high road of glory, according to 
 the most approved examples of ancient and mo- 
 dern times. He sought to subdue the world; 
 and had he succeeded, he would have wept, like 
 Philip's son, that nature had set a limit to his 
 conquests. He was not cruel; for he had no 
 delight in blood and persecution : but he had 
 few human sympathies, — none, probably, which 
 extended beyond the sphere of his personal con- 
 nections ; towards these he was kind and indulg- 
 ent, but he regarded the rest of mankind with a 
 disdain, which his own experience probably too 
 well justified. If he meant their good, and 'tis 
 possible he may have deceived himself into this 
 belief, it was without regard to their feelings or 
 convenience : he sought to fashion them, like 
 
380 
 
 OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 clay, according to his own conceptions, and cast 
 them away like potsherds, when he found them 
 unsuited to his purpose. He had a great poli- 
 tical system, and 300,000 men left their bones 
 on the frozen plains of Russia, because a part of 
 it was, that the nations of Europe should drink 
 no coffee, and eat no sugar but what was made 
 from beet-root. What wonder men at length 
 deemed his political experiments too costly? 
 
 A review of Bonaparte's internal policy shows 
 us traits of littleness, which we find some dif- 
 ficulty in reconciling with his gigantic abilities. 
 It provokes a smile, when we consider the vic- 
 torious Napoleon gravely, discussing the minute 
 fooleries of imperial etiquette : it moves a deeper 
 feeling to remember his persecution of Madame 
 de Stael, because Freedom proscribed at 
 court, found refuge in her drawing-room : yet 
 all this was in harmony with his character : 
 his mind was essentially systematic ; and having 
 laid down a plan of despotism, he pursued it 
 through all its dark ramifications, while he pro- 
 bably loathed the features of the demon he had 
 evoked : hence he deviated into the inconsist- 
 ency of attempting to unite in his government 
 the discipline of a barrack, with the intelligence 
 of science and philosophy. He disdained to be 
 lord of a Tartar camp, with no worthier homage 
 than the adulation of ignorant soldiers ; but he 
 fell into the absurdity of supposing that science 
 would deign to light her torch at the flame of 
 arbitrary power, or that, when lighted, its rays 
 
OF BONAPARTE. 
 
 381 
 
 would never pierce beyond the sphere of his 
 authority. 
 
 It is scarcely credible that the ex-emperor 
 would have tamed himself into the first magis- 
 trate of a free state : yet he consented, on his 
 returned from Elba, to re-assmme the republican 
 fasces, and listen to lectures on the rights of 
 man. He was evidently ill ait ease in this new 
 character ; yet two men at least, of undisputed 
 talents and honesty, believed him sincere, — 
 Carnot and Sismondi. The bulk of the nation 
 thought otherwise ; though many lent them- 
 selves to the farce of freedom, as the reigning 
 novelty of the day. It is needless to enquire 
 what would have been the consequence of his 
 success. His re-appearance on the political 
 arena, resembled the eruption of a volcano, 
 which men have supposed extinguished. The 
 burning torrent was stayed, ;and when the lava 
 began to harden, old powers and abuses were 
 seen tottering over it with ara air of monkey de- 
 fiance, heedless that they were walking 
 
 Per ignes 
 Suppositos cineri dolaso. 
 
 But these have their day. — Napoleon, in the 
 meanwhile, sits in his island-dungeon, teaching 
 himself severe endurance. The eagle-spirit 
 which spread its strong wing on the storm and 
 whirlwind, is caged and cooped to prey upon its 
 own fierceness. " The insolence of office" 
 Vents itself on his hourly occ upations, and forces 
 
382 
 
 OF BONAPARTE, 
 
 him into a petty warfare of complaint and recri- 
 mination : the fable of the gnat and the lion 
 is thus verified, — the lordly animal is stung to 
 madness ; while the insect, by its insignificance, 
 escapes with impunity. That England, in con- 
 stituting tyerself a gaoler for the rest of Europe, 
 is acting a necessary part, will be slowly ad- 
 mitted by those who love their country with 
 the jealousy for her honour inspired by real 
 affection. To have successively afforded an 
 asylum to the rival dynasties of France, would 
 have filled a proud page of history. As it is, 
 we barter fair fame and justice, for the dubious 
 praise of prudence, — a virtue which may some- 
 times have enabled both individuals and nations 
 to escape peril, but never gifted them with one 
 glorious recollection. 
 
383 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 OF THE PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 Almost all European states present, with re- 
 spect to government, three distinct points of 
 consideration : — 1st, Their constitutions dejure, 
 as existing in national records, and charters; 
 2d, Their constitutions de facto, according to 
 present practice ; and 3d, Their national spirit, 
 which is frequently in harmony with neither the 
 one nor the other, but like a magical mirror 
 dimly shadows out their approaching destinies. 
 I propose observing this triple distinction in the 
 remarks I am about to offer on the present go- 
 vernment of France. 
 
 § 1. Of the Charter. 
 
 " Society," observes M. Carnot, in his Me- 
 morial of 1814, "as at present constructed, is 
 " a perpetual struggle betwixt a love of domi- 
 " nation on the one hand, and a desire to escape 
 " subjection on the other." The charter is a 
 result of this struggle in France. It was a ca- 
 pitulation betwixt two parties, neither of which 
 was sufficiently strong to crush the other. It 
 
S84s PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 contains the hopes and pretensions of each ; the 
 elements both of freedom and despotism, which 
 time is to develop e in favour either of the 
 nation or the king, as each finally acquires the 
 power of interpreting it. When Louis XVIII. 
 instead of accepting the constitution, granted a 
 charter, by the free exercise of his royal authority , 
 (par le libre exercice de notre autorite royale,) 
 and dated his reign from the death of the son of 
 Louis XVI., he looked to establish the principle 
 of hereditary, indefeasible right in its broadest, 
 and most obnoxious signification. It is true, 
 that when the Royal government was threatened 
 by the apparition of Bonaparte, its friends 
 wished to throw the folly of this preamble on 
 the Chancellor Dambray.* Had this excuse 
 been well grounded no time would have been 
 lost in repairing an official blunder, insulting to 
 the nation, and therefore pregnant with mis- 
 chief to the royal cause: but not so — The king's 
 proclamation of the 28th June 1815, declares 
 " That the principle of the legitimacy of so- 
 " vereigns is one of the fundamental bases of 
 " social order adding, " this doctrine has 
 " been proclaimed as that of all Europe." — Its 
 assertion in the preamble was therefore part of 
 a preconcerted system common to all the kings 
 of Europe. But what imports it, it may be said, 
 
 * Vide " Observations generates sur le Gouvernement actuel, 
 SfC." first published in the Censeur, and republished in Lon- 
 don, 1815. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 3&5 
 
 whether Louis had, or had not a meaning, \vh en 
 he declared all authority in France to reside in 
 the king, and all the rights of the people to 
 emanate from their monarch's liberality ? Would 
 an empty enunciation of arbitrary principles 
 establish arbitrary power, or the vain formula of 
 the preamble destroy the essential securities 
 bestowed by the body of the charter? The na- 
 tural reply is — Abstract political principles are 
 never contended for on their own account, 
 but for the sake of the consequences deducible 
 from them. However extravagant and imprac- 
 ticable they may seem when promulgated, they 
 constitute an armoury from which despotism, on 
 fitting occasions, extracts her weapons. This 
 was the old policy of the See of Home : when 
 its most extravagant pretensions encountered 
 unfavourable times and circumstances, they 
 were suffered to stand over, with a protestation, 
 till, an opportunity occurred for again reducing 
 them to practice, when they were brought 
 forward as incontrovertible, because they had 
 never been formally abandoned. The principle 
 of legitimacy is not, however, a dead letter in 
 the code of sovereigns : " Time hath given it 
 " proof," and it is at this moment arming almost 
 all the established government of Europe 
 against the rights of nations. One obvious and 
 , practical deduction from it is this — If certain 
 persons have inherently a right to command cer- 
 tain nations, then every right or charter con- 
 ferred on the people must proceed, according to 
 
886 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 Louis's phrase, from a modification of the use 
 of such authority, according to the will' -and 
 pleasure of the sovereign ; but he who has the 
 right to give, has also the right to refuse, recall, 
 or withhold; so that, the principle being ad- 
 mitted, should Louis, " by the free exercise of 
 " his royal authority," revoke the charter he 
 has of his good will and pleasure conceded, the 
 nation might indeed petition and implore, but 
 resist they could not, without setting the ad- 
 mitted right at defiance: nor is this a light 
 matter in civil contests : the name of " right" 
 sways the most conscientious part of every com- 
 munity ; so that when a government has once 
 established the belief that it cannot rightfully 
 be resisted, it may reckon with certainty, if not 
 on the co-operation, at least on the neutrality, of 
 the honestest part of the population. 
 
 Moreover, if all legitimate monarchs are the 
 sole fountains of authority, no one of them can 
 diminish the inherent authority of his successor ; 
 so that Louis XVIII. in granting the charter 
 " for himself and successors," was prejudicing 
 their right of absolute sovereignty ; for as we 
 say, one parliament cannot bind a succeeding 
 parliament, neither can one king bind another 
 his successor and equal. The people can con- 
 sequently have no guarantee for rights and privi- 
 leges conferred " by the free exercise of the 
 *« sovereign's authority." 
 
 t* When we examine the Articles of the charter, 
 We Jfind a spirit of Jesuitism running through them* 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 387 
 
 by which every provision in favour of liberty is 
 capable of being explained, and modified into 
 a nullity. — I shall presently show in what spirit 
 the royal government has construed and illus- 
 trated them : I now consider the articles ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 1. Of personal Freedom. — By Art. 4*, " no 
 ** one can be prosecuted, or arrested, except in 
 '* cases provided for by the law, and by regular 
 " process." Suppose, however, (which is the case 
 particularly to be provided against,) an indivjU 
 dual to be arrested, imprisoned, or otherwise 
 persecuted, by an agent, or subaltern agent of 
 government, what is his remedy ? By an article 
 of the Constitution of the year 8 of the Re- 
 public, no subaltern ministerial agent can be 
 proceeded against, but by virtue of a decree of 
 the Council of state ; that is, the injured indi- 
 vidual must obtain the sanction of ministers for 
 proceeding against their own employes : should 
 the attempt fail, or should the ministers them- 
 selves be the primary agents, the individual 
 may, if he can, procure their impeachment by 
 the Chamber of Deputies, provided he can prove 
 against them either treason or violence, for in 
 these cases only they are responsible, t 
 
 * 4. Leur liberty individuelle est egalement garantie, per- 
 sonne ne pouvant etre poursuivi ni arrete que dans les cas 
 prevus par la loi, et dans la forme qu r elle present. 
 
 f|r 56. lis ne peuvenfe etre accuses que pour fait de trahison 
 on de concussion. Des lois particulieres sp&ifieront cette 
 nature de delits, et en determineront la poursuite. 
 
 C C °Z 
 
388 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE, 
 
 Again, by Art. 62 # , " no one can be deprived 
 " of his natural judges :" nor, by Art. 63 1, can 
 any extraordinary commissions or tribunals be 
 erected. Observe, however, the conclusion of 
 the article : " Under this head court-martials 
 «' are not included, should their re-establishment 
 " be judged necessary." So that if the govern- 
 ment should design the destruction of an indi- 
 vidual, who has either committed no legal 
 offence, or one which the ordinary courts would 
 not punish in the manner agreeable to the 
 ministry, a court-martial is appointed, the 
 members of which become by law, his natural 
 judges ; and the constitution suffers no viola- 
 tion. — A delicate distinction which has been 
 liberally acted on since the restoration. 
 
 2. Religious Freedom. — Articles 5, 6, and 7, 
 tolerate and protect all forms of religious wor- 
 ship : but the Catholic religion is that of the 
 state ; that is, it is the one patronised by the 
 government, and professed by the Bourbons, 
 emigrants, priests, and old women, with some 
 thousands of fanatics in the southern depart- 
 ment. It might have been readily anticipated, 
 that favour and affection would not in this case 
 be long exercised without partiality, A state 
 
 * 62. Nul ne pourra etre distrait de ses juges naturels. 
 
 f U ne pourra en consequence 6tre cre'e' de commissions 
 et tribunaux extraordinaires. Ne sont pas comprises sous 
 cette denomination les jurisdictions prevotales, si Ieur re- 
 tablissement est juge" n€cessaire. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 389 
 
 religion, where the members of the govern- 
 ment are bigots, means a great deal. 
 
 3. Freedom of the Press. — By Art. 8*, "The 
 French have the right of publishing and print- 
 ing their opinions, conforming themselves to the 
 laws which are to repress the abuse of this 
 liberty — that is, the French shall have all the 
 freedom in this respect the laws we intend to 
 make will leave them. The intention of Louis 
 was evidently to grant the minimum. 
 
 4. The royal or executive Power. — By 
 Art. 14 1, " The king is commander-in-chief by 
 sea and land, makes peace and war, appoints to 
 all public offices, and makes the regulations 
 necessary for the execution of the laws, and 
 safety of the state." 
 
 All this is according to received maxims, of 
 the nature and extent of the executive autho- 
 rity ; but in a country like France, trained to 
 habits of military and domestic submission, and 
 constantly maintaining a large standing army, 
 it is impossible freedom should co-exist with 
 
 * 8. Les Fran9ais ont le droit de publier et de faire im- 
 primer leurs opinions, en se conformant aux lois qui doivent 
 reprimer les abus de cette liberty. 
 
 f 14. Le roi est le chef supreme de l'etat. Commande 
 les forces de terre et de mer, declare la guerre, fait les 
 traites de paix, d'alliance et de commerce, nomme a tous les 
 emplois d'administration publique, et fait les reglemens et 
 ordonnances necessaires pour l'execution des lois et la surety 
 de l'etat. 
 
 c c 3 
 
 X 
 
390 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 such powers, provided the times admit of 
 their being fairly put in action. Let us suppose 
 the monarch, in full enjoyment of his prero- 
 gative, backing an unconstitutional act with 
 100,000 bayonets, what checks has the Charter 
 provided to resist him ? Does the composition 
 of the two Chambers offer any thing like a gua- 
 rantee of adequate resistance? We shall per- 
 ceive that they are an inadequate counterpoise 
 to the royal power, even in the ordinary course 
 of legislation ; but against the king, as the head 
 of the army, supposing a king of France capable 
 of placing himself with due effect in such an at- 
 titude, they are absolutely nothing. But the 
 nations of Europe seem not yet fully sensible* 
 that betwixt freedom, and large standing armies, 
 there can be no eoalition, which is not built on 
 principles if possible more fraudulent than those 
 of the Holy Alliance. 
 
 5. The Chamber of Peers. — By Art. 27*, 
 H The nomination of Peers belongs to the king : 
 their number is unlimited : he may vary their 
 dignities, appoint them for life, or render them 
 hereditary at his pleasure." 
 
 A House of Peers owing its existence to the 
 royal pleasure, and forming a third part of the 
 legislature, gives the Executive two-thirds of 
 
 * 27. La nomination des pairs de France appartient au 
 t bi : leur nombre est illimite" : i! peut en varier les dignites? 
 les nomnier a vie on les rendre her^ditaires, selon sa volonte, 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. S91 
 
 the whole legislative authority; and since by 
 Art. 33*, the Peers constitute a court for the 
 trial of high treason, and attempts against the 
 safety of the state, the king has an engine con- 
 stantly prepared to crush, by a constitutional 
 process, the victims who may escape a court- 
 martial, or ministerial commitment. If a House 
 of Peers could, under any circumstances, form a 
 barrier against the crown, it must be by resting 
 on some basis, either of power or opinion, inde- 
 pendent of the crown. The old feudal barons 
 maintained a proud equality with the royal 
 power, and even frequently overshadowed it, for 
 they had vassals, lands, castles, and all the at- 
 tributes of independent sovereignty : there was 
 no illusion here j they were a substantial Aristo- 
 cracy, whether for the good or evil of their 
 country ; but the present Peers of France are 
 not only phantoms with respect to power, but 
 phantoms unillumined by a single beam of po- 
 pular opinion. M. Constant observes, " Of all 
 " our constitutional institutions, the hereditary 
 " peerage is perhaps the only one which public 
 " opinion rejects with an obstinacy hitherto 
 " unconquerable. No sooner does it acquire 
 " liberty to express itself, or regain the hope of 
 M seeing this institution modified, than it pro- 
 
 * 33. La Chambre des pairs connait des crimes de haute 
 trahaison et des attentats a la surete" de l'&at qui sefont 
 d^finis par la loi. 
 
 c c 4 
 
392 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 " noimces against all hereditary privilege with 
 " a strength and consistency which cannot be 
 ** mistaken." — Ouvrages, v. i. N. H. He sub- 
 joins Bonaparte's opinion on this subject, when 
 the question was discussed of introducing a 
 Peerage into the Additional Act: it is the quint- 
 essence of sound reasoning : " Take notice a 
 " peerage is out of tune with the present state 
 " of men's minds. It will wound the pride of 
 " the army ; it will deceive the expectations 
 " of the partisans of equality : it will stir up a 
 " thousand individual pretensions against me. 
 " Where am I to find the elements of aristo- 
 " cracy necessary for a peerage ? The old for- 
 " tunes are hostile to us, many of the new ones 
 " are disgraceful. Five or six illustrious names 
 " are not enough. Without recollections, with- 
 " out historical eclat, without great estates, on 
 " what is my peerage to be built? The English 
 " peerage is quite another thing. It is above 
 " the people, but has not been against it. The 
 " English nobility gave England liberty: the 
 ** great Charter comes from them. They have 
 " grown up with the constitution, and are one 
 " with it. But for thirty years to come my 
 " mushroom peers will be nothing but soldiers, 
 " or chamberlains. People will see nothing but 
 " a camp or an anti-chamber." — Idem.* 
 
 * " Bonaparte lui-m£me, qui, sans avoir le sentiments 
 " de la liberty avait l'instinct de ce qui etait populaire. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 393 
 
 6. The Chamber of Deputies. — By Art. 35*, 
 the deputies are to be elected by the electoral 
 colleges, the organization of which was deter- 
 mined by a law of 18 17, which gave all payers 
 of direct taxes to the amount of 300 francs, a 
 right of voting for the deputies of their depart- 
 ment ; an arrangement by which the mass of 
 the nation is directly excluded from all share in 
 the government, and the number of electors 
 limited to about 100,000, in a population of 
 28,000,000.t The number of departments is 
 
 " s'etait apperQu de cette disposition generate. II disait 
 " sur la pairie : prenez garde, qu'elle est en desharmonie 
 " avec 1'^tat present des esprits. Elle blessera l'orgueil de 
 " Parm£e, ell trompera l'attente des partisans de l'e'galite, 
 " elle soulevera contre moi mille pretentions individuelles : 
 " Ou voulez-vous que je trouve les elemens d'aristocratie 
 *f que la pairie exige ? Les anciennes fortunes sont enne- 
 " mies, plusieurs des nouvelles sont honteuses. Cinq ou six 
 " noms illustres ne suffisent pas. Sans souvenirs, sans £clat 
 " historique, sans grandes propriety, sur quoi ma pairie 
 *' sera-t-elle fondle? La pairie anglaise est toute autre 
 " chose, Elle est au-dessus du peuple, mais elle n'a pas 6t6 
 " contre lui. Ce sont les nobles anglais qui ont donne la 
 " liberte" a l'Angleterre. La grande charte vient d'eux. 
 " lis ont grandi avec la constitution, et sont un avec elle. 
 " Mais d'ici a trente ans, mes champignons de pairs ne sont 
 " que des soldats ou des chambellans. L'on ne verra qu'un 
 " camp ou une antichambre/' — Page 235. 
 
 * 35. La Chambre des d£put£s sera composee des depu- 
 " t^s elus par les colleges etectoraux, dont l'organisation 
 " sera d£terminde par des lois. 
 
 f I assume the greatest number, according to the political 
 writers of the day. M. Sismondi says, " Scarcely 12,000 
 
894> PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 85, and these return 258 deputies, so that each 
 deputy virtually represents, as some of our poli- 
 ticians facetiously term it, above 100,000 citi- 
 zens. The payers of direct taxes to the annual 
 amount of 1000 francs are alone eligible, so that 
 the national choice is confined to a list of about 
 5000 individuals. The deputies must be 40 
 years of age (Art. 38*), and are elected for five 
 years (Art. 37t). Such is the rampart provided 
 by the Charter to secure the liberties of the na- 
 tion against the Executive, and two branches of 
 the legislature. There are several minor articles 
 conceived in the same spirit, but it is sufficient 
 to remark on such cardinal points as Personal 
 and religious freedom, The freedom of the 
 press, The extent of the royal power, and The 
 constitution of the legislature, to show that 
 the whole Charter was a compromise of oppo- 
 site principles, accepted from necessity, and 
 rendered acceptable by the hope each party en- 
 tertained of interpreting it, like an old manu- 
 script, according to its own sense and interest. 
 It was probably with this view, M. Carnot de- 
 
 citizens in all France would thus have the right of concur- 
 ring in the election of the national deputies." — Examen 
 de la Constitution Franpaise, p. 41. 
 
 * Aucun depute" ne peut §tre admis dans la Chambre s'il 
 n'est age" de quarante ans, et s'il ne paye une contribution 
 directe de mille francs. 
 
 f Les deputes seront 6lus pour cinq ans, et de maniere 
 que la Chambre soit renouvel£e, chaque annee, par cinqui- 
 eme. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 395 
 
 clared the Charter to contain guarantees suffi- 
 cient for the general safety ; but the number of 
 provisoes with which he qualified the assertion, 
 clearly shows that he understood the double- 
 faced monster. * , 
 
 § 2. Of the Practical Spirit of the present 
 Government. 
 
 The restoration of the Bourbons was hailed 
 with general enthusiasm, not for the affection 
 borne to their persons or character, but as the 
 harbingers of order and free government. A 
 very short experience dissipated these flattering 
 anticipations, in which men of all parties, with 
 the exception perhaps of part of the military, 
 had cordially united. It was too speedily re- 
 marked " that they had learnt nothing, and 
 ** forgotten nothing during the period of their 
 " exile." The emigrants who arrived in their 
 train, regarded their country, and her acquired 
 rights, as their lawful prey, and sought the re- 
 vival of whatever was most odious in the ancient 
 regime. A system of favouritism, with every 
 tendency towards the most violent re-action, was 
 set up at court : the most respectable members 
 were expelled from the senate ; the friends of 
 freedom were religiously excluded from all of- 
 
 * C'est dans la charte constitutionelle qu'il faut chercher 
 le salut comraun ; elle contient assez de garanties pour nous 
 sauver tous, si nous ne souffrons pas qu'elle t soit entam^e r 
 mais il faut, &c. — P. 30. 
 
396 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 fices of government ; the Legion of Honoir, 
 and regular army were studiously degraded \ 
 Vendean uniforms made their appearance at 
 royal levees, and the smiles and affectionate sa- 
 lutations ojf the royal family were exclusively 
 lavished on foreigners, emigrants, and insurrec- 
 tionary commanders. 
 
 Of the provisions of the charter favourable 
 to freedom, not one was carried into effect. 
 The judges were not rendered independent : 
 tbe responsibility of ministers was not fixed: 
 the liberty of the press was not only not esta- 
 blished, but placed under a severe censorship : 
 the defenders of freedom and the charter were 
 silenced and discountenanced, while the most 
 flagrant assailants of the principles of the Revo<- 
 lution enjoyed a licentious impunity. Universal 
 suspicion necessarily followed. When a censor- 
 ship was once established, the public could not but 
 conclude that while certain journals and articles 
 were suppressed, such as were permitted to ap- 
 pear had the ministerial sanction : in some of 
 these it was openly avowed that the charter was 
 to be regarded but as a provisional measure, and 
 even when such sentiments were attributed to 
 the ministers themselves, they were found to 
 pass the censorial ordeal. * Yet, as if the minis- 
 
 * The following is a specimen quotted by M. Carnot ; — 
 " Trois ministres assurent que ces changemens (La Charte 
 " Constitutionelle) ne sont que provisoires." Yet Chateau- 
 briand, with the impudence of a quack and a courtier, writes, 
 
 6 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 397 
 
 ters deemed it insufficient to leave the dispo- 
 sitions of the government to inference and 
 speculation, one of them, M. Ferrand, who, for 
 his generous devotion, was quickly created a 
 Count, in a pamphlet entitled, ' ' Du Retablisse- 
 «* merit de la Monarchies openly recommended 
 above 80,000 citizens to the baptism of the scaf- 
 fold. " All- those," says he, " who took the 
 m oath at the Tennis-Court, without exception, 
 " betrayed the state, were guilty of lese-majesty, 
 " and should be judged accordingly." P. 56. 
 " The constitutionalists beheld the guillotines 
 " raised for themselves, which they had believed 
 " prepared for the royalists. Their impure 
 " blood flowed without honour : it excited nei- 
 « ther regret, nor pity, nor could even the 
 " baptism of the scaffold wash away their 
 " crimes." P. 77- " It is not sufficient to tear 
 
 " La censure genereuse que les ministres de Bonaparte" 
 « osent reprocher a votre ministre 6tait bien plus &a- 
 " blie pour eux que pour nous ; elle forcait le public a se 
 " taire sur le passL" — Rapport de sur VEtat de la France, 
 fyc. p. 9., published during the J 00 days. Even the de- 
 fenders of the royal government are obliged to acknowledge 
 the general distrust created by the language of the licensed 
 journalist. " On ne peut se dissimuler que certaines feuilles 
 " periodiques, telles que la Gazette de France, le Journal 
 " Royal, et la Quotidienne, n'aient fait au gouverneraent un 
 " mal prodigieux, en excitant la m&iance des propri&aires 
 « de domaines nationaux ; et les ministres qui ont toler6 
 " ces feuilles, pouvant les supprimer, ont de graces re- 
 «' proches a sefaire." — De F Impossibility d'Etablir un Gou- 
 vernement Constitutionnel sous un Chef Militaire, Far M. 
 Comte, p. 20. 
 
398 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 ** away the fruit of the tree planted by the con- 
 *'* stitutionalists : it must be cut down. If there 
 " be left the slightest germ of this execrable 
 race, the lightest breath of discord or dis- 
 " content will scatter it where a thousand un- 
 m foreseen circumstances may develope it for the 
 " misfortune of the human race." P. 90. "What 
 " resource, just God ! will France have left, if 
 *' the atrocities of the jacobins procure pardon, 
 4< or oblivion for those of the constitution- 
 " alists." P. 160. Is it surprising, that when 
 the public mind had been thus alienated, not a 
 sword should have been drawn in defence of the 
 Bourbons, till they reached Ghent ? * 
 
 The re-appearance of Bonaparte did but acce- 
 lerate a Revolution, the natural progress of 
 events could scarcely have failed to bring about, t 
 It was unfortunate, however, because it rendered 
 the cause personal instead of national. The 
 consequences would most probably have been 
 the same with respect to the conduct of the 
 allied powers, but had the Bourbons been ex- 
 pelled by principles only, every attempt to re- 
 store them would not only have been a barefaced 
 violation of the right of self-government, but 
 might from this very circumstance have alto- 
 
 * It is impossible to forbear smiling at the campaigns of 
 this family: they lead the van of each retreat, and form the 
 rear of each advance. 
 
 f M. Carnot observes, " Get etat de malaise ne aaurait 
 " subsister," Memoire, fyc. p. 29. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 399 
 
 gether failed of success. The princes of Ger- 
 many, who found no difficulty in arming their 
 subjects against the man by whose ambition 
 they had been bruised, might have found it less 
 easy to effect a crusade against liberty : France 
 too in recovering her freedom would have re- 
 covered those republican energies, far more 
 essential to her national independence than even 
 Bonaparte's generalship, and the devotion of his 
 soldiers. The Additional Act offered indeed 
 securities on all those points in which the charter 
 was defective, and thus far met the wishes of 
 the nation : but the French had some experi- 
 ence in paper constitutions; they saw too a dis- 
 position to revert to the maxims of despotism, 
 even at the moment of re-establishing a free 
 government : the struggle was in consequence 
 left to the general and his soldiers : the stage is 
 once more cleared, and the Bourbons re-enter 
 amid the enthusiasm created by 600,000 foreign 
 bayonets. 
 
 While King Louis was under sequestration, 
 he issued two proclamations, from Ghent and 
 Gambrai, in which he acknowledged the errors 
 of his government, professed his resolution of 
 amendment, and promised to pardon " all mis- 
 led Frenchmen," with the exception only of 
 the " instigators and authors of the horrible 
 plot" of Bonaparte's invasion.* — If a king's 
 
 * H My government was liable to commit errors — perhaps 
 it did commit them. There are times when the purest in- 
 
400 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 word were ever synonymous with that of an 
 honest man, this exception applied to such per- 
 sons only, as could be proved, by some previous 
 connection, plot, or intercourse to have been ac- 
 cessary to the return of Bonaparte ; yet neither 
 Labedoyere, Ney, norLavalette were in this pre-r 
 dicament : no attempt was made to show that 
 they had even a knowledge of the invasion be- 
 fore it happened. — How then had they plotted 
 his return ? If any persons were likely to have 
 been previously aware of his intentions, it was 
 those whom he appointed his ministers ; yet the 
 principal of these, Fouche, was made Minister 
 of the interior, and signed the proscription of his 
 late coadjutors. * If by any double dealing this 
 able but wily politician had merited this " bad 
 eminence," common decency required that 
 the royal word should not be falsified towards 
 
 tentions are insufficient to direct, or sometimes they even 
 mislead. Experience alone could teach- — it shall not be lost." 
 Proclamation dated Cambrai, 28th June, 1815. 
 
 " 1 promise — I who never promised in vain [all Europe 
 knows it) — pardon to misled Frenchmen. I owe it to the dig- 
 nity of my crown — to except from pardon the instigators 
 and authors of this horrible plot." — Ibid. 
 
 * Fouche says in his letter to the Duke of Wellington : 
 " The idea of a conspiracy was spread by those who wished 
 for proscriptions. — I took the resolution to sign the ordi- 
 nance of the 24>th of July, in order to enchain re-action, 
 and to lessen the number of those whom it wished to sacri- 
 fice. Then, as now, every one desired to see his enemy 
 upon this list, the ministry left upon it only those names 
 which it could not remove from it." 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 401 
 
 inferior agents j — but he " who never promised 
 in vain,*' thought otherwise* If Louis kept 
 his promises of forgiveness ill, he kept those of 
 amending his government still worse. Either 
 from weakness, or revenge, he suffered the 
 Ultras again to possess themselves of the reins 
 of power ; and a system of re-action was set up 
 to be paralleled only by the kindred govern- 
 ment of Spain, or the era of 1793. — A code 
 was extracted from the charter, fitted for the 
 meridian of Turkey ; and well was it then 
 shown, that this instrument might as conve- 
 niently be interpreted in favour of despotism as 
 the Imperial Pandects. I exemplify the spirit 
 of the royal government under the same heads as 
 I have considered the theory of the charter, viz. 
 I. Personal Freedom. II. Religious Free- 
 dom. III. Freedom of the Press. IV. Exe- 
 cutive Power ; and V. and VI. Composition of 
 the Two Chambers. 
 
 I. By the decree of the 24th of July, 1816, 
 countersigned by Fouche, nineteen individuals, 
 principally generals, were consigned to military 
 commissions, and thirty-eight banished without 
 a shadow of trial, or constitutional authority. 
 " We have declared and declare, ordered and 
 " order,' * is the emphatic tautology with which 
 the noblest names of France were erased from 
 the list of her citizens. This proscription was 
 the signal-flag of vengeance through the 
 bigoted departments of the south and west. — 
 Bigotry, political or religious, gorged herself 
 
 1) D 
 
402 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 with blood : even the local authorities, who 
 sought to restrain these legitimate excesses, were 
 made their victims : Marshal Brune was assas- 
 sinated at Avignon, and accused by the govern- 
 ment gazette of suicide : General De La 
 Garde was murdered at Nismes, and General 
 Ramel at Toulouse. The infamous * Trestaillon 
 organised the massacre of the Protestants, while 
 the government, so powerful against its enemies, 
 and strengthened by foreigners, was unable to 
 protect its subjects, or punish a single murderer, 
 of the many who boasted of their crimes in 
 open day. 
 
 By the law of the 29th of October, every nidi" 
 vidual charged with crimes or offences against 
 the person or authority of the King, against the per- 
 sons of the royal family, or safety of the state, might 
 he detained in custody, if not brought before the 
 tribunals A The whole population of France 
 
 * This wretch, when brought before the tribunals at 
 Nismes for the massacre of thirteen Protestants, was not 
 only dismissed, but promoted to the rank of adjutant-major 
 of the national guards. 
 
 f This law was suspended in December 1816, by another 
 in the same spirit. — Art. 1. " Every individual accused 
 (< of plots or ( machinations against the king's person, the 
 " safety of the state, or the persons of the royal family. 
 " may, until the expiration of the present law, and without 
 * * being brought before the tribunals, be arrested and detained 
 « in virtue of orders signed by the president of our council 
 " of ministers, and of our minister, secretary of state for the 
 « general police." .. . - 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OE FRANCE. 40$ 
 
 Was thus legally delivered over to some hundred 
 thousands of police-officers, and agents of mi- 
 nisterial power, to be held in the slow torment 
 of indefinite imprisonment, without a chance of 
 disproving their guilt, or establishing their in- 
 nocence : — not that a law was necessary for all 
 this ; for, as Count Lanjuinais observed during 
 the discussion of this p^ojet, the ministers had 
 already, in every department of France, assumed 
 and acted urjon this authority to its fullest ex- 
 tent. A mock amnesty soon after followed, 
 which was more properly a fuller proscription 
 list, by which all who had shared as ministers, 
 deputies, or other authorities in the govern- 
 ment of the 100 days, were devoted to the penal- 
 ties of high treason. Eighty -five courts-martial 
 were next organised, to take cognisance of se* 
 ditious cries, disloyal offences, and insults to the 
 'white flag. Their jurisdiction was without ap- 
 peal, and sentence executed within twenty-four 
 hours. Throughout 1816 and 1817, these in- 
 quisitorial tribunals were in full vigour : spies 
 were busy in stirring the embers of disaffection ; 
 the prisons were crowded with victims, and then 
 thinned by military executions : fourteen were 
 shot at Grenoble, of whom six had been vainly 
 recommended to mercy ; for the mild Louis 
 was even less merciful than his own satellites. 
 The lieutenant-general in command at this place 
 published an order, that all the inhabitants of 
 the house, in which the leader of the conspiracy 
 (Didier) might be found, should be shot. No 
 
 d d 2 
 
404 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 rank was privileged against official despotism ; 
 the prefet of the department of the Cher exiled 
 14 persons of rank on his own suspicions : at 
 Ardennes, a tailor was transported for displaying 
 a disloyal standard j and at Valenciennes, a 
 beggar was similarly punished for crying Vive la 
 Mepublique, At Loiret, four men and a woman 
 w T ere shot for taking part in seditious meetings 
 near Montargis ; and four were similarly executed 
 at Melun. I take these specimens at random 
 from the official newspapers ; but we have a 
 more detailed account of the system as pursued 
 at Lyons, written by Colonel Fabvier, Chief of 
 Marmont's staff, while the Marshal commanded 
 there. This officer describes the machinery by 
 which these conspiracies were got up, with all 
 the accuracy of one of Lord Sidmouth's official 
 agents : — 
 
 " Une Joule d'agens parcouraient la ville et les 
 " campagnes, s'introduisaient dans les cabarets 
 " et jusque dans les maisons particulieres, y 
 " prenaient le role d'un mecontent, exhalaient 
 " les plaintes les plus vives contre I'autorite, an- 
 " noncaient des changemens, des revolutions ; et 
 " s'ils arrachaient un signe d'approbation a de 
 * { malheureux citoyens presses par la misere, ou 
 " tourmentes par mille vexations, ils s'empres- 
 " saient d'aller les denoncer et recueillir le prix 
 " de leurs infames stratagemes. 
 
 *\ Les procedures de la cour prevotale ont 
 " atteste Femploi de ces moyens odieux, mais 
 
 Peaces meme avec lequel on s'y lew ait les a 
 H 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE, 405 
 
 " bientot rendus publics : chacune des autorites 
 «« ayant ses moyens de police a part, a chaque 
 " instant ces vils instrumens se rencontraient 
 " sans se connaitre, s'attaquaient avec une egale 
 M ardeur, et bientot le moins diligent, denonce 
 " par l'autre, expiait un moment sous les ver- 
 " roux son infamie. II fallait alors decliner sa 
 " mission : l'autorite intervenait pour reclamer 
 *' son agent ; le prisonnier disparaissait, et allait 
 " ailleurs chercher une nouvelle proie, ou pre- 
 * ( parer un nouveau scandale. 
 
 " A Taide de ces nombreux delateurs, les 
 " prisons regorgeaient de victimes entassees avee 
 " un tel desordre que la lecture seule des regis- 
 " tres d'ecrou prouvait a quel point etait porte 
 «« le mepris des lois et de l'humanite : indepen- 
 " damment de celles que la procedure ordinaire 
 " pla9ait sous la main de la cour prevotale, on 
 " voyait encore dans les caves de l'lidtel de 
 " ville, des centaines de malheureux, prives de 
 " tous soins comme de tout secours, attendaient 
 « pendant des mois entiers la faveur d'etre in- 
 4t terroges ; et tel, qui ne ?a ete qu'au bout de 
 4< quatre-vingt-deux jours, a fini par etre ac- 
 " quitte : l'arbitraire etait porte dans toutes les 
 " parties de I'administration. Les autorites 
 " municipales prenaient des arretes contraires 
 « aux lois, et condamnaient d V emprisonnement 
 « pour des faits qu'aucune loi ne considere 
 " comme des delits." P. 8—10. 
 
 Even the mockery of a court-martial was not 
 always granted to the unfortunate victims : the 
 
 D D 3 
 
406 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE, 
 
 slightest noise in the prison was sufficient reason 
 for the soldiers on duty to fire in upon their 
 captives; and Colonel Fabvier relates, that an 
 officer of the guard, who, on M. Marmont's arrival, 
 was called before a council of war to answer for 
 such conduct, justified himself by the established 
 practice, — " Jusqu'a present, disaiUl, on a tire 
 dans les prisons presque journellement" 
 
 II. Religious freedom was not, indeed, for- 
 mally abolished on the restoration ; yet the In- 
 quisition itself could scarcely have suggested a 
 more orthodox course than was at least tolerated 
 by the administrations of 1815 and 1816, in the 
 southern departments. Accounts of these pro- 
 ceedings have been published in English by the 
 Rev. J. Cobbin, and in French by M. Lauze de 
 Ruet, in a work entitled, " Causes et precis des 
 crimes, des troubles, des desordres dans le depart- 
 ment du Garde, et dans d'autres lieucc du midi de 
 la France" 
 
 That the government looked with an indul- 
 gent eye on these excesses of its idtra friends, 
 may be justly inferred from the circumstance of 
 its suffering the excesses of a comparatively in- 
 significant faction, while it had strength to crush, 
 with the aid of foreign bayonets, both the Bona- 
 partists and Constitutionalists. A confirmation 
 of its criminal connivance may also be found in 
 its subsequent conduct. Since the withdrawing 
 of the allied troops, and the comparative re- 
 ascendancy of liberal principles, it is true, that 
 fanaticism no longer carouses the blood of living 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 407 
 
 victims : she is content to embitter the last mo- 
 ments of the dying j to refuse the rites of 
 burial to the dead*, to sow discord among fami- 
 lies, for the purpose of winning souls to Christ, 
 and property to the church, and to breathe out 
 the odium theologicum, the holy leaven of 
 " hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness," 
 upon the whole kingdom. The priests, never 
 so successful as when their influence is exerted 
 on the weaker sex, are busied in re-establishing 
 convents, of which there are already four in the 
 department of the Gironde only. The Jesuits 
 are with equal zeal possessing themselves of the 
 education of youth: at St. Achueil, near 
 
 * In religious quarrels, the horrible is always seasoned by 
 the ridiculous. The following anecdote is from the Minerve 
 of last February : — « A sick man in the neighbourhood of 
 Liege sends to the parish-priest to administer to him the last 
 sacraments. The Cure hesitates ; for the applicant has not 
 been seen in a church for the last 15 years. He writes to 
 the bishop for instructions ; but death refuses to wait the 
 issue, and the man dies unannealed and unanointed. Now, 
 as a Roman Catholic who dies without the viaticum is neces- 
 sarily damned, the Cure refuses to bury him. Being, how- 
 ever, of an accommodating disposition, in consideration of 
 the defunct's goqd intentions, he relaxes so far as to com- 
 mute hell for purgatory; to effect which, the body is exposed 
 at the church-door, and while masses are singing and bells 
 ringing, is well flogged by the Cure and his assistant: never- 
 theless, as the sinner is but half saved in spite of this casti- 
 gation, a grave is dug half within and half without the 
 church-yard, in which the body is deposited for the devils 
 and angels to fight out the matter as they can." 
 
 DD 4 
 
408 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 Amiens, they have a seminary of 500 pupils, 
 who daily tell their beads, with 50 Paters, and 
 as many Abes. In the meanwhile, the depart- 
 ments of the south and west are overrun with 
 missionaries*, preaching against the Revolution, 
 
 * The following song from the Minerve of April, 1819, 
 very neatly hits off the quality of these missions. 
 
 LES DIABLES MISSIONNAIRES. 
 Satan dit un jour a ses pairs ; 
 
 On en veut a nos hordes ! 
 C'est en ^clairant l'univers 
 
 Qu'on eteint les discordes. 
 Par brevet d'invention, 
 J'ordonne une mission, 
 
 En vendant des prieres, 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu ! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rallumons le feu. 
 
 Exploitons, en diables cafards, 
 
 Hameau, ville et banlieue. 
 D'Ignace imitons les renards, 
 
 Cachons bien notre-queue. 
 Au nom du pere et du fils, 
 Gagnons sur les crucifix. 
 
 En vendant de prieres, 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu ! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rallumons le feu. 
 
 Que de miracles &n va voir, 
 
 Si le ciel ne s'en m£\e \ 
 Sur des biens qu'on voudrait ravoir, 
 
 Faisons tomber la grele. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 409 
 
 the Charter, and Voltaire* They are formed 
 into companies, each under a spiritual leader; 
 and, for their rhodomontades and quackeries, 
 might pass for travelling mountebanks, did they 
 not reveal their apostolic character by the dis- 
 putes, scandal, and bad passions which kindle 
 under their footsteps. An attempt was made 
 
 Publions que Jesus-Christ 
 Par la poste nous ecrit. 
 
 En vendant des prieres, 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu ! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rail unions le feu. 
 
 Chassons les autres baladins ; 
 
 Divisons les families. 
 En jetant la pierre aux mondains, 
 
 Perdons femmes et filles. 
 Que tout le sexe enflamme' 
 Nous chante un asperges me. 
 
 En vendant des prieres ; 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu ! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rallumons le feu. 
 
 Par Ravaillac et Jean Chatel, 
 
 Plains dans chaque prGne, 
 Non point le trone sur l'autel, 
 
 Mais l'autel sur le trone. 
 Comme aux bons temps feodaux 
 Que les rois soient nos bedeaux. 
 
 En vendant des prieres, 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rallumons le feu. 
 
410 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 during the late discussion of the law relative to 
 the press, to arm these fanatics with the scourge 
 of authority , by substituting in the projet offences 
 " against the Christian religion," for offences 
 against " public morals.'' This amendment, 
 proposed in the house of peers by the Duke of 
 Fitz-James, a worthy descendant of the Stuarts, 
 was negatived in both chambers ; though the 
 words " religious morals" were adopted as a 
 compromise. The missionaries are, however, 
 left to fight their battles with such artillery of 
 deceit and impudence, as Satan may be sup- 
 posed to furnish to all such as promote the em- 
 
 L'intolerance, front leve, 
 
 Reprendra son allure. 
 Les protestans n'ont point trouve 
 
 D'onguent pour la brulure ; 
 Les philosophes aussi, 
 Deja. sentent le roussi. 
 
 En vendant des prieres, 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu ! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rallumons le feu. 
 
 Le diable, apres ce mandement, 
 
 Vient convertir la France. 
 Guerre au nouvel enseignement, 
 
 Et gloire a l'ignorance ! 
 Le jour fuit, et les cagots 
 Dansent autouf de fagots. 
 
 En vendant des prieres, 
 Vite, soufflons, soufflons, morbleu ! 
 
 Eteignons les lumieres, 
 
 Et rallumons le feu. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 411 
 
 pire of discord upon earth. Even the royal 
 family can do little more than pray for their 
 success. 
 
 III. The liberty of the press was fixed by a 
 royal ordinance, dated August 8th, 1815, in the 
 following terms : — - 
 
 Art. 1. All authorisations given to public 
 journals up to the present moment, whatever 
 the nature of these journals may be, are revoked; 
 and none of the said journals can appear with- 
 out receiving fresh authority from our minister- 
 general of police, before the tenth of this pre- 
 sent month of August, for the journals of Paris, 
 and before the 20th of August for those of the 
 departments. 
 
 Art. 2. All periodical writings shall be sub- 
 mitted to the examinations of a commission, 
 whose members shall be appointed on the pre- 
 sentation of our minister-general of police. 
 
 It is needless to observe how completely this 
 decree annihilated the 8th article of the charter; 
 but it was perfectly in unison with the royal 
 system, that Frenchmen should think, speak, 
 and write conformably to the sentiments of a 
 minister-general of police. Could the power of 
 government as adequately reach the two former 
 functions as the latter, the mass of mankind 
 would, ere this, have lost the distinctive attri- 
 butes of the human species. It may be ima- 
 gined, authority so unconstitutionally obtained, 
 was not sparingly used : every Parisian news- 
 paper continued to announce the seizure or sup- 
 
412 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 pression of some obnoxious journal or pamphlet: 
 even M. Comte, who had written to prove the 
 impossibility of a free government under Bona- 
 parte, found that the liberty of decrying a fallen 
 despot was not extended to the abuse of des- 
 potic principles : an edition of his pamphlet 
 was seized, because it contained, in a note, re- 
 marks unfavourable to legitimacy j — hence the 
 remark, that though the Bourbons refuse to 
 consider themselves successors to Napoleon, 
 they lose no occasion of proving themselves in- 
 heritors of his worst principles. 
 
 The Censorship continued in force till the 
 month of May last, when it was replaced by a 
 law, by which the editors and proprietors of all 
 newspapers and periodical publications are 
 obliged respectively to give security to the 
 amount of 10,000, and 5000 francs of yearly 
 income. The editors and authors are made alike 
 responsible for every offensive article : nor does 
 the appearance of the latter exonerate the 
 former. A copy of each journal, or periodical 
 publication, is lodged with the Frefet, or other 
 magistrate, before the publication. Official 
 communications of government are immedi- 
 ately to be inserted. The same law includes a 
 variety of penalties for raising seditious cries or 
 signals, offending against public morals ; for de- 
 faming the chambers, tribunals, and constituted 
 authorities ; in short for writing, saying, or doing 
 any thing disagreeable to the powers that be : 
 the only points gained are the removal of pre- 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 413 
 
 vious censorship, and the trial of offences of 
 publication by a jury. The intention of this 
 law is evidently to compensate the government 
 for the loss of the former, by surrounding pub- 
 lic writers with snares and penalties. The 
 required securities give the ministers, and the 
 rich a monopoly of publication, which must 
 be severely felt in the departments where the 
 profit of the journals, which rarely exceeds 
 2000 francs yearly, is altogether out of propor- 
 tion to the required security. The method of 
 rendering both author and editor responsible is 
 an admirable invention to close the journals 
 against the needy victims of oppression, who 
 have no means of indemnifying the publisher 
 of their complaints. The deposit of a copy with 
 the magistrate seems intended to delay or even 
 prevent the publication of an offensive journal : 
 it cannot appear till the receipt of the copy is 
 acknowledged; and who shall compel the Prefet 
 %o do this, before he finds it convenient ? The 
 compulsory introduction of official articles may 
 be adroitly contrived to occupy the whole of a 
 paper, in which the agents of authority have 
 cause to apprehend any unpleasing communi- 
 cations. 
 
 IV. I observed that the strength of the Exe- 
 cutive, as organised by the charter, had no ade- 
 quate counterbalance in the other branches of 
 the constitution. Public opinion becomes daily 
 enlightened in this respect, and designates, as 
 especially obnoxious to freedom, 1. the ex- 
 
414 PRESENT GOVERNMENT" OF FRANCE. 
 
 istence of a standing and foreign army ; 2. the 
 irresponsibility of ministers and their agents; 
 3. the defects of the existing municipal insti- 
 tutions. 
 
 Without reckoning those general reasons 
 which render the co-existence of freedom and a 
 standing army next to impossible, we may remark 
 two circumstances in the present organisation 
 of the French army, which cannot fail both to 
 gall the feelings, and jeopardise the liberties of 
 the nation. One is the existence of a royal 
 guard, consisting of 1000 cavalry, all young 
 men of family, who have the pay and appoints 
 ments of officers : such a corps, besides creat- 
 ing invidious, distinctions, is too well fitted to 
 corrupt the young nobility, by drawing them 
 into the service of the court, where they are 
 taught to barter their country's interests for 
 favour, and to call their bondage of corruption 
 loyalty. But a still more unpopular measure is 
 the maintenance of 10,000 Swiss guards, part of 
 whom are always on duty over the king's *person. 
 This corps, besides exclusive privileges t, costs, 
 upon calculation, 1,500,000 francs above an 
 equal number of French soldiers ; but the charge 
 is the least matter : the presence of these fo* 
 
 * If his Majesty remembers the devotedness of his Swiss 
 guard to Louis XVI., he should also remember how feeble 
 a protection it afforded against popular indignation. 
 
 f In cases of offences committed against citizens, the Swis<- 
 are tried by a jury of Swiss. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 415 
 
 reigners, is regarded as a continual insult on 
 the nation ; mutual dislike is the consequence, 
 and breaks out into disastrous broils : in April 
 last, an affray of this kind, attended with blood- 
 shed, took place near Metz. The inhabitants 
 of Metz in consequence addressed a petition to 
 the Chamber of Deputies, praying the defence 
 of their king and country might be intrusted to 
 its citizens : I quote a passage from this petition, 
 remarkable for its clear statement of the prin- 
 ciple upon which governments employ the aid 
 of foreign mercenaries : — " If despotism require 
 " the aid of foreigners for the maintenance of 
 " interests, which are not always those of the 
 " nation, the case is not the same " with re- 
 " spect to a constitutional government, all the 
 " acts of which being expressions' of the ge- 
 <£ neral will, should be entrusted for execution 
 «* to the national power : the existence of any 
 " other force must create a suspicion of views 
 " contrary to those of the nation, and maintain 
 " a fatal mistrust betwixt it and the monarch 
 " who governs it." Petitions to a similar effect 
 are becoming daily frequent. At the same time 
 the organisation of the national guard is loudly 
 complained of ; its officers being appointed by 
 the Prefer a mere ministerial agent. In the 
 debates on the budget for the present year, 
 M. de la Fayette, ever true to his principles, 
 demanded the formation of a military force, 
 to consist of the bulk of the population, to 
 be subjected to the civil authority, and to be 
 
416 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 officered by men chosen by their fellow- 
 citizens. * 
 
 Est hie aut nusquarti quod quaerimus. 
 
 The statue of liberty must rest on the pedestal 
 of physical power. 
 
 As for the responsibility of ministers, a com- 
 mittee of the Chamber of Deputies reported on 
 a projet, in April last, for the purpose of de- 
 fining the terms " Treason and Violence," 
 used in the charter. — The report stated them 
 to apply to acts mechannement omis, or such as 
 attacked the constitutional powers of govern- 
 ment, and the rights consecrated by Articles 4, 
 .5. 8, and 9 of the charter. This last proviso 
 would, indeed, have proved a substantial gua- 
 rantee, were any guarantee intended ; but by a 
 subsequent clause, such violations of individual 
 rights must, by their numbers and weight, (par 
 leur gravite) be such as to amount to a violation 
 of general public rights — a wretched specimen of 
 political sophistry, according to which a few in- 
 dividuals may be arrested, a Jew imprisoned, a 
 few banished, a few victims, in short, sacrificed 
 to ministerial vengeance, provided general rights 
 remain untouched ; as if the general rights of 
 
 * Vide also a pamphlet intitled De la Force des Gouverne- 
 mens ou du Rapport que la Force des Gouvernemens doit avec 
 leur Nature et leur Constitution, by Lieutenant-General 
 Tarayre. 
 
 M. Constant has treated this point with his usual judg- 
 ment. Vid. Ouvrages Completes, t. i. c. vi. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 417 
 
 the public could mean any thing but the aggre- 
 gate of individual rights. 
 
 A more fatal constitutional defect than even 
 the irresponsibility of ministers, is the irrespon- 
 sibility of the subaltern agents of authority, not 
 the meanest of whom can be brought to trial 
 for abuse of his power, without the consent of 
 the Executive. " If a citizen is oppressed, 
 " calumniated, or in any way injured by the 
 " mayor of his village, the present constitution, 
 " by inheriting the 7^th article of that of the 
 " year 8, interposes betwixt him and the ag- 
 " gressor. There are thus, in this class of public 
 " officers alone, at least 44,000 . irresponsible 
 " agents, and, perhaps, 200,000 in the other 
 " grades of power. These irresponsibles can 
 " do what they please; while no tribunal has 
 " the power of commencing a process against 
 " them, as long as the superior authorities re- 
 " main silent." Ouvrages de M. B. de Constant, 
 C. 3. N. 1. 
 
 The public voice is gradually rising throughout 
 France against the present form of her Muni- 
 cipal administration. It is indeed such as is 
 incompatible with either civil or political free- 
 dom. It was constructed upon the imperial 
 jprinciple of a centre of power, from which all 
 
 i subordinate authorities should emanate, like 
 radii * — one of those agreeable metaphors, 
 
 \ * Bonaparte substituted Pr 'fets in the place of depart- 
 mental administrators chosen by the people. 
 
418 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 which every nation is occasionally compelled to 
 accept in lieu of substantial enjoyments. — The 
 administration of each department is at present 
 confided to a Prefet, who has under him a Sous 
 prefet, at the head of each arrondissement, or 
 subdivision ; and a mayor for each town, or 
 village. All these officers are appointed by the 
 crown, and hold the whole local executive power 
 of government. The Prefet appoints the officers 
 of the national guard, acts as justice of the peace, 
 and grand jury, and finally chooses the petty 
 jury. " Thus," observes M. Constant, " one 
 " man ascertains the crime, interrogates the 
 " accused, delivers him to the tribunals, and 
 " chooses his judges.", Ouvrages, N. I. 
 
 No wonder the institution of prefectures has 
 been called " a dreadful instrument of ty- 
 " ranny."* Add to it the system of a military 
 
 * M. Etienne, in the Minerve, No. 61. draws the following 
 picture of the evils flowing from the present municipal 
 system : — " Si des crimes ont 6te* commis, la responsabilite' 
 n'en appartient elle pas aux autorites locales? Des temoins 
 n'ont craint de dire la verite" que parce qu'ils ont c£de a la 
 terreur ; et qui l'avait £tablie cette terreUr? Des jures n'ont 
 acquitte* des assassins que parce que l'esprit de parti avait 
 preside* a leur nomination ; et qui les avait choisis, ces jures? 
 Le sang n'a coule^ que parce que les gardes nationales ne 
 voyaient a leur t§te, et quelquefois dans leurs rangs, que des 
 hommes avides de vengeance ; et qui les avait organisees ces 
 gardes nationales ? Toutes les reactions, tous les exces, tous 
 les crimes, il faut done les attribuer aux mesures d'exception, 
 a la maniere dont se nomment les jures, a lamanibre dont se 
 nomment les chefs de la force publique ! Or, qui nomme en- 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OE FRANCE. 419 
 
 police, and the Executive will clearly be seen to 
 possess an authority, which, but for the check 
 of opinion, is capable of rendering the charter 
 a mere scroll of parchment. As a specimen of 
 what the French police is, it suffices to observe, 
 that no Frenchman can on any pretence move 
 five miles from his dwelling without being fur- 
 nished by it with a passport, for which he pays 
 two francs ; and without which he is liable to be 
 arrested by the first gendarme who chooses to 
 demand it of him. Even the proprietors of 
 stage-coaches are entitled to demand it of every 
 passenger, who presents himself at a coach- 
 office, and to refuse him conveyance unless he 
 produces it : wherever the coaches stop the 
 same investigation is liable to take place, and 
 always does, once at the least in the day's jour- 
 ney. It is with difficulty an Englishman is per- 
 suaded that these regulations are no less, or even 
 more strictly enforced towards Frenchmen than 
 foreigners. Every man's liberty, his mere lo- 
 comotive faculty, is thus placed at the discre- 
 tion of the government : upon the poor the 
 price of the passport alone is no inconsiderable 
 restraint ; but still more pernicious than the price 
 or inconvenience is the effect produced on the 
 
 care aujourd'hui les jur<;s ? La plupart des preTets qui les 
 nomraaient en 1815. Qui est encore charge" de l'organisation 
 des gardes nationales, qui designe leurs officiers au choix de 
 l'autorite" supe>ieure? Les prefets qui les designaient en 1815. 
 Que ces grandes lecons ne soient pas perdues pour nous !" 
 
 v Ejr E 2 
 
420 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 mind by this constant dependence on authority — 
 this degrading habit of appearing at the Bu- 
 reau de Police, to ask a licence for the use 
 of a man's own limbs in his own country. 
 
 5. The Chamber of Peers, set up in despite of 
 nature, can have no political character, as distinct 
 from that of the other classes of society: its 
 public conduct must flow from the individual 
 characters which compose it, with no other con- 
 necting chain than the influence of the crown, 
 to which, from gratitude or expectation, it must 
 always have a disposition to adhere, with more 
 servility than would be usually found in a body 
 of more popular origin : it represents no gene- 
 ral interests ; it has no native importance arising 
 either from property, power, or opinion s its mem- 
 bers must consequently be content to wear the 
 royal livery, and lackey the heels of each suc- 
 cessive ministry, by which it will be fashioned to 
 suit the purpose of the season. In 1814, it was 
 composed of three grand dignitaries of the empire, 
 nine marshals, eighty-three senators, and six gene- 
 rals, representing the interests of the Revolu- 
 tion: on the other hand, three ecclesiastical 
 peers, twenty-five old dukes and peers, thirteen 
 old hereditary dukes, four grandees of Spain, 
 and six generals of Conde's army, represented 
 the ancient interests of legitimacy : the parti- 
 sans of the Revolution having thus a decided 
 majority, the re-active ministry of 1815, by the 
 decree qf the 24th of July, expelled twenty- 
 three peers of the majority, which had already 
 i, P on rfWV 1 K " thirteen deaths, while the new 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE* 421 
 
 batch of the 17th of August, added eighty-one 
 to the minority, and only ten to the former ma- 
 jority. The present ministry, which steers a 
 middle course betwixt the Ultras and the Con- 
 stitutionalists, thus finding themselves in a mi- 
 nority on a great consitutional question, again 
 turned the scale by the creation and restora- 
 tion of the 6th of March last, which added 
 sixty, mostly Bonapartists, to the late minority. 
 So little regard, however, was had on this oc- 
 casion, either to the dignity of the Chamber, or 
 to constitutional propriety, that several execu- 
 tive agents, and even prefets, were among the 
 new creations : the creatures of the ministry 
 being thus placed among those appointed by 
 the charter to be its judges. All which tends 
 to show the absurdity of creating an aristocra- 
 tical branch in the constitution without a single 
 essential political element. 
 
 6. A system of representation, which gives 
 28,000,000 of inhabitants 250 representatives, 
 and entrusts the sole choice of these to about 
 100,000 comparatively wealthy individuals (to 
 say nothing of the direct influence of the crown 
 by its appointment of the Presidents of the 
 Electoral Colleges* and its indirect influence, 
 through the prefets),is evidently neither adequate 
 to the political wants, nor the political know- 
 ledge of France. The number of deputies is 
 so inconsiderable, that a very little time and 
 management will suffice to make them all place- 
 men and executive agents : the majority are 
 EE 3 
 
422 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 said to be already in this situation. M. de Fon- 
 tanes, who constitutes himself the Apostle-gene- 
 ral of slavery to all powers that be, was naif 
 enough to declare, in supporting the law of 
 direct election, that he did it because it privi- 
 leged 100,000 electors at the expense of the 
 28,000,000 of the people; — all monopoly of 
 power being, according to his creed, a blessing, 
 and the blessing greater as the monopoly is 
 closer. The electors have not, however, yet 
 learned to consider themselves a privileged 
 cast : on the contrary, they continue more and 
 more to amalgamate their sentiments with those 
 of the public ; and as the latter tend strongly 
 towards freedom, the law of election is re- 
 garded as the sheet-anchor of the constitution * : 
 the proposition of M. Barthelemy for its revi- 
 sion, by which was understood a design to ren- 
 der the appointment of deputies indirect, and 
 still less popular, was accordingly met with 
 every demonstration of dislike and uneasiness : 
 
 * " La loi des elections est, pour le peuple, toute la charte : 
 c'est la seule chose peut-etre qu'il en connaisse : cette loi est 
 devenue une necessity de la position respective de la France 
 et de son souverain. Je ne puis plus les concevoir sans elle. 
 Qu'elle disparaisse un instant, qu'elle soit modifiee au gre de 
 l'aristocratie, qu'elle devienne de sagement populaire re- 
 diculement oligarchique, la deplorable lacune des vingt- 
 deux annees si reproduit : elle creuse un vide immense entre 
 les Franc;.ais et leur roi, et ce vide devient un abime." Ad- 
 dregs of M. Keratry, Deputy of Finisterre, on the proposi- 
 tion of M. Barthelemy. 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 42S 
 
 petitions poured in against it from every quarter 
 of France 5 and so sensible were the ministers 
 that this attack meant the rallying of ultra prin- 
 ciples, that they reinforced the House of Peers, 
 and joined with the public in procuring its rejec- 
 tion. The public is, nevertheless, deeply sen- 
 sible of the evils adhering to the present system, 
 and unequivocally expresses its conviction of the 
 necessity of a more adequate representation. 
 
 § 3. Of the National Spirit, and State of Parties. 
 
 There are few, if any, European states 
 whose national spirit is in harmony with their 
 form of government. Governments move -in a 
 routine established by fraud and power, the 
 secret of which is to extract from the people 
 the greatest possible quantity of self-gratifica- 
 tion. Nations, as they become enlightened, per- 
 ceive the folly of thus sacrificing their own en- 
 joyments to the interests of a few individuals, 
 who pretend to rule them with rods and so- 
 phisms. As the illusion dissipates, a strife grows 
 up betwixt established institutions and new 
 opinions : the " fear of change perplexes mo- 
 il arch s," who put forth all the strength of an- 
 cient prejudices, with the more substantial enery 
 gies of physical force, to quell the impending 
 danger. Then a contest begins, in which a/i- 
 thority has the advantage of contending for an 
 object which is clear and intelligible, beca/use 
 already possessed and enjoyed : whereas the 
 
 EE 4 
 
4^4 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 people strive for rights of which they have no 
 /experience, and are consequently exposed to 
 error, perplexity, and self-injury. The parti- 
 sans of power take advantage of these aberra- 
 tions, to cover the popular cause with abuse 
 and derision ; but the gaoler might as reasonably 
 scoff at the captive whom he has held in subter- 
 ranean bondage, because his eyes, when he is 
 first restored to freedom, are dazzled with the 
 new-born flash of day-light. No country has 
 exhibited more strikingly than France the gra- 
 dations of suffering, crime, and error, through 
 which nations, long fettered in the abyss of 
 despotism, toil up into intellectual sunshine. 
 When we read the Abbe de Mably's excellent 
 observations on French history, we find whole 
 generations and centuries passing away amid 
 the cheerless vicissitudes of ignorance, fana- 
 ticism, and slavery: once only betwixt the 
 foundation of the monarchy and the Revolution 
 a small and almost unnoticed party essayed, 
 about the year 1575, to step aside from the 
 madness of the times, and to take their stand 
 on the neutral and neglected territory of the 
 public good : they were called Les Politiques, 
 accused of atheism, and quickly doomed to 
 extinction, for having lived two centuries too 
 early. With this curious and solitary exception, 
 the war-horse is not a blinder instrument of 
 human passions than was the French nation of 
 those of its rulers, whether saints, or sinners, or 
 leaguers, during the endless tissue of wars and 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 4>% 
 
 civil commotions which runs through the page 
 of its history. * 
 
 At the period of the Revolution, the desire o 
 change was in the bosoms of the enlightened fe^ 
 a philosophical aspiration after a definite good 
 but with the mass and multitude, it was little 
 more than an instinct produced by suffering. 
 As long, however, as the aristocracy of talents 
 continued to govern, the Constituent Assembly 
 presented one of the most imposing and grati- 
 fying spectacles ever exhibited on the political 
 stage : France was then at her perihelium of 
 character and greatness, but she traversed this 
 brief and brilliant portion of her orbit too ra- 
 pidly : the insincerity of the court, and the 
 ignorance of the people, enabled the Jacobins to 
 rule the public mind by alarm and exaggera- 
 tion : the reign of terror left an impression 
 too deep and bewildering to suffer the nation to 
 reap the fruits of its bitter experience : France 
 sought refuge from the vanished horrors of 
 anarchy in the embrace of despotism ; a mon- 
 
 * " II est demontre" par l'histoire, qu'avant 1789, il n'y a 
 jamais eu en France rien de fixe dans le gouvernement 
 qu'une instability perpetuelle, universelle, si ce n'est l'exist- 
 ence d'une autoritS royale quelconque, toujours fondee sur 
 le consentment commun, toujours proclamee telle par des 
 ceremonies inaugurates, toujours partag6e, toujours limitee 
 par les lois, par l'usage, et par les droits de tous et de cha- 
 cun ; mais de fait, tour a tour usurpant ou usurped, trop 
 faible, ou trop arbitraire, jamais assez bien connue, jamais 
 definie par une loi nationale.*' Minerve, No. 66. P. 9. 
 
4^6 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 ster which, like the Boa serpent, first expresses 
 the vital spirit, and then devours the carcass of 
 its victim. All traces of public virtue and in- 
 dependence were whelmed in this worst over- 
 throw of liberty. Even the volcanic soil of the 
 Revolution was found not incapable of pro- 
 ducing heroic actions, and generous devotion ; 
 but on the barren waste of despotic power, what 
 virtue will shed its sweetness ? Each man is 
 contracted into self ; and to succeed by ram- 
 pant flattery, or escape by abject submission, 
 becomes all the business of the citizen. — 
 Vanity, the vanity of conquest, is a poor succe- 
 daneum for the patriotic interest felt by citizens 
 who share and protect the general weal : vanity 
 affords no guarantee for principles ; it feeds on 
 success, without reference to end or means: a 
 vain man will as readily be vain of his vices and 
 follies, as of his virtues, provided those vices and 
 follies are of a fashionable description y but to 
 the music of self-approbation, sounding in soli- 
 tude, he is a deaf listener: all sacrifices are 
 consequently foreign to his character, except 
 such as are compensated by public applause: 
 but under an absolute government, every one 
 feels the ridicule of sacrificing his private emo- 
 lument to a public good, which means only his 
 master's profit: hence Madame de Stael ob- 
 serves, in her history of the Revolution, that 
 though in England it is no uncommon thing for 
 place and profit to be sacrificed to principle, a 
 Frenchman who should make a similar sacrifice 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 427 
 
 of a lucrative office, would pass for a lunatic. 
 Even M. Carnot, whom no one has accused of 
 undervaluing his country, complains that the 
 French have little or no national spirit * : and 
 M. de Constant observes, in an article of the 
 Minerve, " For the last 12 years there has been 
 " nothing independent in France but solitary 
 " thought;'* — and, we may add, very little of 
 that, or it would have given birth to more inde- 
 pendence of action : yet it continued to exist ; 
 and as soon as the incubus of military power 
 was removed, began to develope itself even be- 
 yond expectation. The republicans struggled 
 for, and obtained a charter, which, with all its 
 imperfections, at least serves for a rallying point ; 
 but the principles of this party were still more 
 forcibly illustrated after Napoleon's second ab- 
 dication, when the Chamber of Representatives 
 protested against the forcible imposition of an 
 unconstitutional government by foreign armies, 
 and proclaimed the only bases on which the 
 nation would consent to recognise the Bourbon 
 dynasty. This declaration was subjected to 
 some ridicule at the moment when physical 
 force bore down all opposition ; but a solemn 
 recurrence to principles, especially on the edge 
 of danger, is no fleeting ceremony : it is setting 
 up a land-mark, which, though it cannot subdue 
 
 * " Voila pourquoi il y-a plus d'isolement en France, plus 
 h egoi'sme, peu ou point d esprit nationale.".— Mmoire,^. 44. 
 
428 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 the tempest, will guide the future navigator. 
 As long as France was held by the allied armies, 
 a feeble party triumphed, and represented its 
 fanatical prejudices as the sentiments of the 
 nation : they were indeed those of the throne, 
 and royal family: hence the re-action of 1815. 
 Fouche, in his admirable Memorial, let the king 
 into the secret of the real strength of his ultra 
 friends. " Scarcely a tenth part," he observes, 
 " of the French nation can be found, who are 
 " willing to revert to the old regime, and 
 " scarcely a fifth part who are heartily devoted 
 " to legitimate authority. On the supposition 
 " of civil war, the royalists would reign absolute 
 " in ten departments, in fifteen others the par- 
 " ties would be balanced, and in all the rest 
 " of France only a few handfuls of Royalists 
 " would be found opposed to the great mass of 
 " the people." Fouche and Talleyrand would 
 not be the dupes and tools of a despicable mino- 
 rity j they were replaced by an administration 
 which suffered itself to be governed by the ultra 
 faction, in opposition, as was pretended, to the 
 royal will. The letter addressed by the late 
 ministers to the king, whether genuine or not, 
 seems to contain the secret : the king was 
 duped into a belief that the ultras, with the aid 
 of the allies, were able to effect the conquest of 
 their country ; so he suffered them to under- 
 mine his ministers, whom he left unsupported 
 The proceedings of the court on this occasion 
 were, as usual, deceitful, bigoted, and cruel $ 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 429 
 
 but after an epoch of vengeance and folly, it was 
 forced, being deprived of foreign aid, to retrace 
 its steps, and appoint the present administration 
 as a pledge of constitutional dispositions. The 
 recall of five of the exiles of the 24th of July, is 
 a partial redemption of this pledge; but this 
 measure seems rather to have been forced upon 
 the ministers by loud and repeated expressions 
 of the public feeling, relative to that arbi- 
 trary measure *, than to have resulted from 
 any desire on their parts to adopt a liberal 
 policy : they move with doubt and irreso- 
 lution, trusted by no party, and trusting none, t 
 Fate seems to have divorced sincerity from 
 
 * 22 towns petitioned for their recall. 
 
 f The following extracts from Nos. 70. and 71. of the 
 Minerve, give a forcible picture of the present administration, 
 and the view entertained of it by the nation: — " Le minis- 
 ter actuel debute par de magnifiques promesses : il s an- 
 nonce comme eminemment constitutionnel ; il blame tous es 
 exces, devoile les funestes erreurs des tribunaux, s.gnale les 
 crimes de Tesprit de parti. La confiance renalt on se hvre 
 auplusdoux espoir; comment penser en effet que des hommes 
 qui veulent assurer la justice a tous, la refluent a quelques 
 uns; que les ennemis de l'arbitraire soient les partisans 
 de l'eil ? On devait done s'attendre, on s'attendait en ettet 
 au rapport des lois de 1815: 1'opinion generale n eta. t pas 
 Equivoque, elle se manifestait par des petitions respectueuses 
 venues de toutes les parties de la France; la seance du 1 1 
 Mai vous a montre comment on y a repondu. 
 
 « Depuis cette epoque le ministere est dans une position 
 presque aussi fausse que l'ancien ; en defendant des mesures 
 prises malgre la charte, il a inspire des doutes sur sa bonne 
 
430 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 the descendants of St. Louis. The Chamber 
 of Deputies is divided into three parties : the 
 
 im k en soutenir les principes ; son allure est genee, sa marche 
 ificertaine, son systeme nul. Je le repute, hors la charte 
 point de salut pour les ministeres ; elle est comme Vhonneur. 
 Quand on s'en £carte, on n'y rentre plus. C'est que la 
 charte est la garantie de tous les interets, et quand tous les 
 interSts sont compromis, il n'y a plus de confiance dans les 
 gouvernes, il n'y a plus de force dans les gouvernans," 
 No. 70. p. 210. 
 
 " Sous un regime representatif, on ne gouverne que par 
 Topinion, et le ministere n'en tient pas assez de compte. 
 Jamais il n'est sur de + la majority dans les chambres. Dans 
 le cdte droit il ne trouve que d'implacables ennemis ; en 
 maintenant les violations faites a la charte, il a perdu 1'appui 
 du cdt6 gauche ; le centre meme, en le voyant si incertain, 
 semble craindre de le soutenir, et cherche plut6t a deviner 
 ceux qui seront ministres, qu'a servir ceux qui le sont. 
 Ainsi, le ministere, plac6 entre la haine et la defiance, ne 
 peut leur opposer que la foiblesse et l'irresolution. Tels 
 sont les tristes resultats de la seance du 17 Mai. Les ministres 
 nous font repdter jusqu'a satiete par leurs ecrivains, qu'ils ne 
 pouvaient pas deeemment se laisser forcer la main par des 
 petitions ; et pourquoi les attendaient-ils ? La derniere ses- 
 sion n'avait-elle pas retenti de plaintes contre les exiles? 
 Le moment n'etait-il pas venu de faire rentrer en France 
 tous les Fraucais, lorsque les Strangers en sont sortis ? 
 Quand on ne veut pas paraitre c£der a l'opinion, il faut du 
 moins avoir Part de la prevenir. 
 
 " Pouvait-elle etre douteuse pour le ministere ? Pas une 
 seule voix, meme parmi les frendtiques de 1815, n'osait sou- 
 tenir l'ordonnance du 24 Juillet. Mais la nomination de 
 M. Corcelle rentrant dans ses foyers au bout de quatre an& 
 d'exil, et recevant a son arrivee les suffrages de la seconde 
 ville du royaume, n'annoncait-elle pas hautement ce que 
 voulait la France ? Ce choix si remarquable, ce choix que 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF PRANCE. 431 
 
 right side, the left side, and centre. " I have 
 " reflected," says a writer in the Minerve of 
 last June, " on the history of what are called 
 " the three parties : I perceive privileges are 
 " the banner of the first, pelf and places of the 
 «' second, and the national rights of the third : 
 " privileges, power, freedom, — these are the 
 " standards hoisted; but the two first are distin- 
 " guished by a very trivial gradation of colours. 
 " The centre, composed of placemen, demands 
 
 les agens du ministtJre ont tant fait pour emp£cher, n'etait-il 
 pas a lui seul plus significatif que toutes les petitions possi- 
 bles ? Ne les a-t-il pas precedes ? ne prouve-t-il pas 
 qu'elles sont, non l'ouvrage d'une coterie comme on n'a pas 
 craint de la dire, mais f expression du voeu de tous les Fran- 
 cais qui veulent la liberty sans exile, et la charte sans 
 proscriptions ? 
 
 " Que les ministres examinent la position oil ils se sont 
 places, et qu'ils disent si j'en exagere le danger; leurs 
 pr^decesseurs ont presque autant d'influence qu'eux. M. 
 Laine* parle encore en ministre de l'interieur, et parfois 
 les deputes du centre votent comme s'il l'^tait toujours. 
 Les departemens le croient aussi ; il ne se sont pas apergus 
 qu'il ait quitte" les renes de l'administration. Ils ont les 
 memes preTets, les m£mes maires, les mSmes conseils gen£- 
 raux, les memes gardes nationales ; seulement ils ont un plus 
 grand nombre de missionaires. C'est la seule amelioration 
 qui ait pu leur faire soupconner un changement. Au mois 
 de Decembre ils en avoient entendu parler ; un instant toutes 
 les victimes respirerent, tous les oppresseurs fremirent, mais 
 l'espoir des un ne dura pas plus que la crainte des autres. 
 Les choses reprirent leur cours ordinaire, et, trois mois apres 
 l'ordonnance du 5 Mars, on se trouvait tout aussi avance" que 
 trois ans apres l'ordonnance du 5 Septembre." No. 71. p. 268. 
 
432 PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 " power as a privilege : the right side, com- 
 " posed of the relics of the old regime, and the 
 " wrecks of 1815, demands the exclusive pri- 
 " vilege of power ; accordingly the right and 
 " centre always unite to concentrate authority, 
 " or legalise arbitrary power. They unite, be- 
 " cause the latter possess power, and the former 
 " hope to inherit it in perpetuity : they are di- 
 " vided only on the question of whose hands it 
 " shall be lodged in: the placemen wish to keep 
 •'■ it ; the supporters of privilege to regain it." 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the insidious dis- 
 position of the court, and the consequent fluc- 
 tuations of ministerial policy, it is gratifying to 
 perceive the national spirit advancing in the 
 direct line of good sense and freedom. Exag- 
 gerations of all kinds begin to fail of effect : 
 names cease to persuade by their mere sound. 
 " Formerly," observes a political writer, " it 
 " was easy to declaim in the name of the throne 
 " and altar ; but now it is necessary to be in 
 " the right, even when speaking of the throne 
 " aud altar." Political discussion assumes a 
 tone of sober eloquence, without being deficient 
 in wit and humour, when old absurdities pro- 
 oke the lash of ridicule. The Minerve, a poli- 
 ;al periodical publication, is probably unrivalled 
 Europe, for the general merit of the articles 
 ntained in it. Its responsible editors and 
 ntributors are, MM. Aignan, Benjamin Con- 
 :nt, Dumoulin, Etienne, A. Jay, E. Jouy, 
 ....in elder Lacretelle, the historian, and M. Tis- 
 
 6 
 
PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 438 
 
 sot, Professor of Latin Poetry in the Royal Col- 
 lege. These gentlemen, by their union and 
 character, have been able to maintain them- 
 selves, during the period of slavery to which 
 the press was subjected by the * censorship, 
 France is not ungrateful to her literary cham- 
 pions. Mi Constant has lately been returned a 
 deputy for the department of the Sarthe. M. Du- 
 moulin is another instance of welhdirected po- 
 pular feeling. This gentleman Was deprived of 
 his situation of keeper of the records, by the 
 ultra persecutions of 1815, after which the 
 Royal College invited him to fill the place of 
 Historical Professor : the ministers in vain op- 
 posed this choice 5 he was not only installed, 
 but almost immediately chosen a deputy by the 
 electors of Finisterre : he is a member of the 
 Institute, and has published a work Sur les Ga- 
 ranties individuelles que ?*eclame VEtat aciuel de 
 
 * Le Conservateur has been set up by the Ultras in oppo- 
 sition to the Minerve. Chateaubriand is its chief support, 
 Chateaubriand's character is remarkable. He is probably 
 the only man of talents belonging to his party : in his earlv 
 opinions he was a very Southey among the Jacobins ; but he 
 found himself espousing a cause already too well defended \ 
 he sought, in consequence, to take the ball in the rebound, 
 and make himself a reputation by his defence of expiring 
 prejudices ; but such is his natural propensity to extremes, 
 that even the dourt was obliged to discard him after the 
 reign of terror of 1815. He is still, however, the luminary 
 of the Ultras, and seeks, through the medium of The Conser* 
 i-aieur, and a coterie of priests and old women, « to raise 
 " the earth by a chain fastened to the heavens." 
 
 F F 
 
iSi PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE. 
 
 la Societe. The city of Lyons has chosen 
 M. Corcelle, a victim of the persecutions of 
 1815. 
 
 Whenever opinion has free speech, it expresses 
 itself in favour of liberty, and rejects, with equal 
 disdain, the bondage of old prejudices and old 
 institutions. The rising generation is especially 
 distinguished by sound political notions. The 
 scholars of the Ecole de Medecine, at Montpel- 
 lier, and the Ecole de Droit, at Paris, have re- 
 cently given proof that they know, and will 
 maintain in due season, the rights which are the 
 common good of all. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, 
 Printers^ Street, London. 
 
I