^1 ^^^^^'^^hu^ ^^^^^y, 
 
TRAVELS IN FRANCE. 
 
 VOLUME FIRST. 
 
TRAVELS IN FRANCE, 
 
 DURING THE YEARS 
 1814-15. 
 
 COrviPRISING A 
 
 RESIDENCE AT PARIS DURING THE STAY 
 OF THE ALLIED ARMIES, 
 
 AND 
 
 AT AIX, 
 
 AT THE PERIOD OF THE LANDING OF 
 
 BONAPARTE. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 PRINTED FOR MACREDIE, SKELLY, AND MUCKERSY, 52. PRINCe's STREET J 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN; BLACK, 
 PARRY, AND CO. T. UNDERWOOD, LONDON; 
 AND J. CUMMING, DUBLIN. 
 
 1816. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Second Edition of the following Work 
 having been demanded by the Booksellers, the 
 AiithOT has availed himself of the opportunity 
 to correct many verbal inaccuracies, to add 
 some general reflections, and to alter materially 
 . those parts of it which were most hastily pre- 
 pared for the press, particularly the Journal in 
 the Second Volume, by retrenching a number of 
 particulars of partial interest, and substituting 
 more general observations on the state of the 
 
6 
 
 eountr}'-, supplied by his own recollection and 
 that of his fellow-travellers. 
 
 He has only farther to repeat here, what he 
 stated in the Advertisement to the first Edition, 
 that the whole materials of the Publication were 
 collected in France, partly by himself, during 
 a residence which the state of his health had 
 made adviseable in Provence, and partly by 
 some friends who had preceded him in their 
 visit to France, and were at Paris during the 
 time when it was first occupied by the Allied 
 Armies ; — and that he has submitted it to the 
 World, merely in the hope of adding somewhat 
 to the general stock of information regarding 
 the situation, character, and prospects of the 
 French people, which it is so desirable that the 
 English PubHc should possess. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER I. Journey to Paris, 1 
 
 II. Paris— The Allied Armies, 23 
 
 III. Paris — Its Public Buildings, 55 
 
 IV. Environs of Paris, 83 
 
 V. Paris— The Louvre, 106 
 
 VI. Paris— The French Cha- 
 racter and Manners, 146 
 
 VIL Paris— The Theatres, 179 
 
 VIII. Paris — The French Army 
 and Imperial Govern- 
 ment, 262 
 
 IX. Journey to Flanders, 306 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 20. line 5. for o read est. 
 
 21. 18. after sont insert de. 
 97. 6. for les read 
 
 156. last line, for c'esf read ce m'est, 
 272. line 20. for fi?^* read r/e. 
 275. 17. for des read d<f. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 JOURNEY TO PARIS. 
 
 We passed through Kent in our way to France, 
 on Sunday the first of May 1814. This day's 
 journey was very dehghtful. The whole scenery 
 around us, — the richness of the fields and woods, 
 then beginning to assume the first colours of 
 spring ; the extent and excellence of the culti- 
 vation ; the thriving condition of the towns, 
 and the smiling aspect of the neat and clean vil- 
 lages through which we passed ; the luxuriant 
 bloom of the fruit-trees surrounding them ; the 
 number of beautiful villas adapted to the ac- 
 commodation of the middle ranks of society , 
 the crowds of well-dressed peasantry going to 
 and returning from church ; the frank and 
 
 VOL. I. A 
 
2 
 
 cheerful countenances of the men, and beauty 
 of the women — all presented a most pleasing 
 spectacle. If we had not proposed to cross the 
 channel, we should have compared all that we 
 now saw with our recollections of Scotland ; and 
 the feeling of the difference, although it might 
 have increased our admiration, would perhaps 
 have made us less willing to acknowledge it. 
 But when we were surv^eying England with a 
 view to a comparison with France, the diffe- 
 rence of its individual provinces was overlooked; 
 — we took a pride in the apparent happiness 
 and comfort of a people, of whom we knew 
 nothing more, than that they were our country- 
 men ; and we rejoiced, that the last impression 
 left on our minds by the sight of our own coun- 
 try, was one which we already anticipated that 
 no other could efface. 
 
 Our passage to Calais was rendered very in- 
 teresting, by the number of Frenchmen who 
 accompanied us. Some of these were emigrants, 
 who had spent the best part of their lives in 
 exile ; the greater part were prisoners of various 
 ranks, who had been taken at different periods 
 of the war. There was evidently the great- 
 est diversity of character, of prospects, of pre- 
 vious habits, and of pohtical and moral senti- 
 ments among these men ; the only bond that 
 
connected them was, the love of their common 
 country ; and at a moment for which they had, 
 been so long and anxiously looking, this was 
 sufficient to repress all jealousy and discord, 
 and to unite them cordially and sincerely in the 
 sentiment which was expressed, with true French 
 enthusiasm, by one of the party, as we left 
 the harbour of Dover, — " Voila notre chere 
 " France, — A present nous sommes tons amis !" 
 
 As we proceeded, the expression of their 
 emotions, in words, looks, and gestures, was 
 sometimes extremely pleasing, at other times 
 irresistibly ludicrous, but always characteristic 
 of a people whose natural feelings are quick and 
 lively, and who have no idea of there being 
 any dignity or manliness in repressing or con- 
 cealing them. When the boat approached the 
 French shore, a fine young officer, who had 
 been one of the most amusing of our compa- 
 nions, leapt from the prow, and taking up a 
 handful of sand, kissed it with an expression of 
 ardent feeling and enthusiastic joy, which it was 
 delightful to observe. 
 
 It is only on occasions of this kind, that the 
 whole strength of the feeling of patriotism is 
 made known. In the ordinary routine of civil 
 life, this feeling is seldom awakened. In the 
 moments of national enthusiasm and exultation, 
 
 A 2 
 
4 
 
 it is often mingled with others. But in witness- 
 ing the emotions of the French exiles and cap- 
 tives, on returning to their wasted and dis- 
 honoured country, we discerned the full force of 
 those moral ties, by which, even in the most 
 afflicting circumstances of national humiliation 
 and disaster, the hearts of men are bound to the 
 land of their fathers. 
 
 We landed, on the evening of the 2d, about 
 three miles from Calais, and walked into the 
 town. The appearance of the country about 
 Calais does not differ materially from that in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of Dover, which is 
 much less fertile than the greater part of Kent ; 
 but the cottages are decidedly inferior to the 
 English. The first peculiarity that struck us 
 was the grotesque appearance of the Dmamers, 
 who came to examine us on the coast; and 
 when we had passed through the numerous 
 guards, and been examined at the guard- 
 houses, previously to our admission into the 
 town, the gates of which had been shut, we 
 had already observed, what subsequent obser- 
 vation confirmed, that the air and manner which 
 we call military are in very little estimation 
 among the French soldiers. The general ap- 
 pearance of the French soldiery cannot be better 
 described than it has been by Mr Scott : " Thej 
 
5 
 
 seemed rather the fragments of broken-up 
 " aranas, than the remains of a force that had 
 " been steady, controlled, and lawful." They 
 have almost uniformly, officers and men, much 
 expression of intelligence, and often of fero- 
 city, in their countenances, and much activity 
 in their inovements ; but there are few of 
 them whom an Englishman, judging from his 
 recollection of English soldiers, -would recognise 
 to belong to a regidar army. 
 
 The lower orders of inhabitants in Calais hailed 
 the arrival of the English strangers with much 
 pleasure, loudly proclaiming, however, the in- 
 terested motives of their joy. A number of 
 blackguard-looking men gathered round us, re- 
 commending their ovrn services, and different 
 hotels, with much vehemence, and violent alter- 
 cations among themselves ; and troops of chil- 
 dren followed, crying, " Vivent les Anglois — 
 " Give me one sous." In our subsequent tra- 
 vels, we were often much amused by the im- 
 portunities of the children, who seem to beg, in 
 many places, without being in want, and are 
 veiy ingenious in recommending themselves 
 to travellers ; crying first, Vive le Roi ; if that 
 does not succeed, Vive I'Empereur ; that failing, 
 Vive le Roi d' Angleterre ; and professing loyalty 
 
 A 3 
 
6 
 
 to all the sovereigns of Europe, rather than give 
 up the hopes of a sous. 
 
 Having reached the principal inn, we found 
 that all the places in the diligence for Paris were 
 taken for the ten following days. By this 
 time, in consequence of the communication with 
 France being opened, several new (loaches had 
 been estabhshed between London and Dover, 
 but no such measure had been thought of on the 
 road between Calais and Paris. There was no 
 want of horses, as we afterwards found, belong- 
 ing to the inns on the roads, but this seemed to 
 indicate strongly want of ready money among 
 the innkeepers. However, there were at Calais 
 a number of " voitures" of different kinds, which 
 had been little used for several years ; one of 
 which we hired from a " magasin des chaises," 
 which reminded us of the Sentimental Journey, 
 and set out at noon on the 3d, for Paris, accom- 
 panied by a French officer who had been a pri- 
 soner in Scotland, and to whose kindness and 
 attentions we were much indebted. 
 
 We were much struck with the appearance 
 of poverty and antiquity about Calais, which 
 afforded a perfect contrast to the Kentish towns; 
 and all the country towns, tlu'ough which we 
 afterwards passed in France, presented the same 
 general character. The houses were larger 
 
7 
 
 than those of most English countiy towns, 
 but they were all old ; in few places out of re- 
 pair, but nowhere newly built, or even newly 
 embelhslied. There were no newly painted 
 houses, windows, carriages, carts, or even sign- 
 posts : the furniture, and all the interior ar- 
 rangements of the inns, were much inferior to 
 those we had left; their external appearance 
 stately and old-fashioned ; the horses in the car- 
 riages were caparisoned with white leather, 
 and harnessed with ropes; the men who har- 
 nessed them were of mean appearance, and went 
 about their work as if they had many other 
 kinds of work to do. There were few carts, and 
 hardly any four-wheeled carriages to be seen in 
 the streets ; and it was obvious that the internal 
 communications of this part of the country were 
 very limited. There appeared to be few houses 
 fitted for the residence of persons of moderate 
 incomes, and hardly any villas about the town 
 to which they might retire after giving up busi- 
 ness. All the lower ranks of 'people, besides 
 being much worse looking than the Enghsh, 
 were much more , coarsely clothed, and they 
 seemed utterly indifferent about the appearance 
 of their dress. Very few of the men wore beaver 
 hats, and hardly two had exactly the same kind 
 of covering for their heads. 
 
 A 4 
 
8 
 
 The diess of the women of better condition, 
 particularly their high-crowned honnets, and the 
 ruffs about their necks, put us in mind of the 
 pictures of old EngUsh fashions. The lower 
 people appeared to bear a much stronger resem- 
 blance to some of the Highland clans, and to the 
 Welch, than to any other inhabitants of Britain. 
 
 On the road between Calais and Boulogne, 
 we began to perceive the peculiarities of the 
 husbandry of this part of France. These are 
 just what were described by Arthur Young ; 
 and although it is possible, as the natives uni- 
 formly affirm, that the agriculture has improved 
 since the revolution, this improvement must be 
 in the details of the operations, and in the ex- 
 tent of land under tillage, not in the principles 
 of the art. The most striking to the eye of a 
 stranger are the want of enclosures, the want of 
 pasture lands and of green crops, and the conse- 
 quent number of bare fallows, on many of which 
 a few sheep and long-legged lean hogs are 
 turned out to pick up a miserable subsistence. 
 Tlie common rotation appears to be a three 
 year's one; fallow, wheat, and oats or barley. 
 On this pait of the road, the ground is almost 
 all under tillage, but the soU is poor ; there is 
 very little wood, and the general appearance of 
 the country is therefore very bleak. In the im. 
 
§ 
 
 mediate neighbourhood of Boulogne, it is better 
 clothed, and varied by some pasture fields and 
 gardens. The ploughs go with wheels. They 
 are drawn by only two horses, but are clumsily 
 made, and evidently inferior to the Scotch 
 ploughs. They, as well as the carts, are made 
 generally of green unpeeled wood, like those in 
 the Scotch Highlands, and are never painted. 
 This absence of all attempt to give an air of 
 neatness or smartness to any part of their pro* 
 perty — this indifference as to its appearance, is 
 a striking characteristic of the French people 
 over a great part of the country. 
 
 It is likewise seen, as before observed, in the 
 dress of the lower orders ; but here it is often 
 combined with a fantastic and ludicrous display 
 of finery. An English dairy-maid or chamber- 
 maid, ploughman or groom, shop-keeper or me- 
 chanic, has each a dress consistent in its parts, 
 and adapted to the situation and employment of 
 the wearer. But a country girl in France, whose 
 bedgown and petticoat are of the coarsest mate, 
 rials, and scantiest dimensions, has a pair of long 
 danghng ear-rings, worth from 30 to 40 francs. 
 A carter wears an opera hat, and a ballad-singer 
 struts about in long military boots ; and a black- 
 smith, w^iose features are obscured by the smoke 
 md dirt which have been gathering on them for 
 
V 
 
 10 
 
 weeks, and whose clothes hang about him in 
 tatters, has his hair newly frizzled and powder- 
 ed, and his long queue plaited on each side, 
 all down his back, with the most scrupulous 
 nicety. 
 
 Akin to this shew of finery in some parts of 
 their dress, utterly inconsistent with the other 
 parts of it, and with their general condition, is 
 the disposition of the lower orders in France, 
 €ven in their intercourse with one another, to 
 ape the manners of their superiors. " An En- 
 " glish peasant," as Mr Scott has well remarked, 
 " appears to spurn courtesy from him, in a bit- 
 " ter sense of its inapplicability to his condition.' 
 This feeling is, unknown in France. A French 
 soldier hands his " bien aimee" into a restaura- 
 teur's of the lowest order, and supplies her with 
 fruits and wine, with the grace and foppery of a 
 Parisian " petit maitre," and with the gravity of 
 a " philosophe." — " Madame," says a scavenger 
 in the streets of Paris, laying his hand on his 
 heart, and making a low bow to an old woman 
 cleaning shoes at the door of an inn, " J'espere 
 " que vous vous portez bien." — *' Monsieur," 
 she replies, dropping a curtsey with an air of 
 gratitude and profound respect, " Vous me faites 
 " d'honneur ; je me porte a merveille." 
 
 This pecuharity of manner in the lower or- 
 
11 
 
 ders, will generally, it is believed, be found con- 
 nected with their real degradation and insigni- 
 ficance in the eyes of their superiors. It is pre- 
 cisely because they are not accustomed to look 
 with respect to those of their own condition, and 
 because their condition is not respected by others, 
 that they imitate the higher ranks. An En- 
 glish coachman or stable-boy is taught to be- 
 lieve, that a certain demeanour befits his situa- 
 tion ; and he will certainly expose himself to 
 more sneers and animadversions, by assuming 
 the manners of the rank next above him in so- 
 ciety, than the highest peer of the realm will 
 by assuming his. But Frenchmen of the same 
 rank are fain to seek that respectability from 
 manner, which is denied to the lowness of their 
 condition, and the vulgarity of their occupation ; 
 and they therefore assume the manner which is 
 associated in their minds, and in the minds of 
 then* observers, with situations acknowledged to 
 be respectable. 
 
 It is also to be observed, that the power of 
 ridicule, which has so much influence in the for- 
 mation of manner, is much less in France than 
 in England. The French have probably more 
 rehsh for true wit than any other people ; but 
 their perception of humour is certainly not near- 
 ly so strong as that of our countrymxen. Their 
 
n 
 
 ridicule is seldom excited by the awkward at-^ 
 tempts of a stranger to speak their language, and 
 as seldom by the inconsistencies which appear 
 to us ludicrous in the dress and behaviour of 
 their countrymen. 
 
 These causes, operating gradually for a length 
 of time, have probably produced that remark- 
 able politeness of manners which is so pleasing 
 to a stranger, in a number of the lower orders in 
 France, and which appears so singular at the 
 present time, as revolutionary ideas, military 
 habits, and the example of a military court, have 
 given a degree of roughness, and even ferocity, 
 to the manners of many of the higher orders of 
 Frenchmen, with which it forms a curious con- 
 trast. It is, however, in its relation to English- 
 men at least, a fawning, cringing, interested 
 politeness ; less truly respectable than the ob- 
 liging civility of the common people in Eng- 
 land, and in substance, if not in appearance, 
 still farther removed from the frank, indepen- 
 dent, disinterested courtesy of the Scottish Higli- 
 landers. 
 
 Our entry into Boulogne was connected with 
 several striking circumstances. To an English- 
 man, who, for many years, had heard of the 
 mighty preparations which were made by the 
 
13 
 
 jBVench in the port of Boulogne for the inva- 
 sion of this country, the first view of this town 
 could not but be peculiarly interesting. We 
 accordingly got out of our voiturc as quickly as 
 possible, and walked straight to the harboiu*. 
 Here the first objects that presented themselves 
 were, on one side, the last remains of the gi-and 
 flotilla, consisting of a few hulks, dismantled and 
 rotting in the harbour ; on the other side, the 
 Prussian soldiers drawn up in regiments on the 
 beach. Nothing could have recalled to our minds 
 more strongly the strength of that power which 
 our country had so long opposed, nor the mag- 
 nificent result which had at length attended her 
 exertions. The forces destined for the invasion, 
 and which were denominated by anticipation 
 the army of England, had been encamped around 
 the town. The characteristic arrogance — the 
 undoubting anticipation of victory — the utter 
 thoughtlessness — the unsinking vivacity of the 
 French soldiery, were then at the highest pitch. 
 Some little idea of the gay and light-hearted 
 sentiments with which they contemplated the 
 invasion of England, may be formed from the 
 following song, which was sung to us with un- 
 rivalled spirit and gesticulation, as we came in 
 sight of Boulogne, by our fellow-traveller, who 
 had himself served in the army of England, and 
 
14 , 
 
 who informed us it was then commonh- sung 
 in the ranks. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Francais I le bal va se r'ouvriiv 
 Et vous aimez la danse, 
 L'Allemande vient de finir, 
 Mais I'Anglalse commence. 
 
 D'y figurer tons nous Fi'ancai.s 
 Sel'ont parbleu bien alses, 
 Car s'ils n'aiment pas les Anglai<, 
 lis aiment les Anglaises. 
 
 D'abord par le pas de Calais 
 II I'aut entrer en danse, 
 Le son des Instrumens Francais 
 Marquera la cadence ; 
 
 Et comme les Anglais ne scauroicnt 
 Que danser les Anglaises, 
 Bonaparte leur montrera 
 Les figures Francaises. 
 
 AUons mes amis de grand rond, 
 En avant, face a face, 
 Francais le bas, restez d'a plomb, 
 Anglais changez les places. 
 
 Vous Monsieur Pitt vous balance/., 
 Formez la chaine Anglaise, 
 Pas de cote — croisez — cbassez—- 
 Cest la danse Francaise ! 
 
15 
 
 The humour of this song depends on the hap- 
 py appHcation of the names of the French dances, 
 and the terms employed m them, to the sub- 
 jects on which it is written, the conclusion of 
 the German campaigns, and the meditated in- 
 vasion of England. 
 
 The Prussians who were quartered at Bou- 
 logne, and all the adjoining towns and villages, 
 belonged to the corps of General Von York. 
 Most of the infantry regiments were composed 
 in part of young recruits, but the old soldiers, 
 and aU the cavalry, had a truly military appear- 
 ance ; and their swarthy weather-beaten coun- 
 tenances, their coarse and patched, but strong 
 and serviceable dresses and accoutrements, the 
 faded embroidery of their uniforms, and the in- 
 signia of orders of merit with which almost all 
 the officers, and many of the men, were deco- 
 rated, bore ample testimony to their participa- 
 tion in the labours and the honours of the cele- 
 brated army of Silesia. 
 
 Some of them who spoke French, when we 
 enquu-ed where they had been, told us, in a tone 
 of exultation, rather than of arrogance, that they 
 had entered Paris — " le sabre a la main." 
 
 The appearance of the country is consider- 
 ably better in Picardy than in Artois, but the 
 general features do not materially vary until you 
 
16 
 
 peach the Oise. The peasantry seem to live 
 chiefly in villages, through which the road pass- 
 es, and the cottages composing which resemble 
 those of Scotland more than of England. They 
 are generally built in rows ; many of them are 
 white- washed, but they are very dirty, and have 
 generally no gai'dens attached to them ; and a 
 great number of the inhabitants seem oppressed 
 A\ ith poverty to a degi-ee unknown in any part 
 of Britain. The old and infirm men and women 
 ^vho assembled round our carriage, when it stop- 
 ped in any of these villages, to ask for alms, ap- 
 peared in the most abject condition ; and so far 
 from observing, as one Enghsh traveller has 
 done, that there are few beggars in France, it 
 appeared to us that there are few inhabitants of 
 many of these country villages who are ashamed 
 to beg. 
 
 To this unfavourable account of the aspect of 
 this part of France, there are, however, excep- 
 tions : We were struck with the beauty of the 
 village of Nouvion, between Montreuil and Abbe- 
 ville, which resembles strongly the villages in 
 the finest counties of England : The houses here 
 have all gardens surrounding them, which are 
 the property of the villagers. In the neighbour- 
 hood of Abbeville, and of Beauvais, there are 
 also some neat villages ; and the covmtry around 
 
17 
 
 these towns is rich, and well cultivated, and 
 beautifully diversified with woods and vine- 
 yards ; and, in general, in advancing southwards, 
 the country, though still uninclosed, appears 
 more fertile and better clothed. Many of the 
 villages are surrounded with orchards, and long 
 rows of fruit-trees extend from some of them for 
 miles together along the sides of the roads ; long 
 regular rows of elms and Lombardy poplars arie 
 also very common, particularly on the road sides ; 
 and, in some places, chateaux are to be seen, the 
 situation of which is generally delightful ; but 
 most of them are uninhabited, or inhabited by 
 poor people, who do not keep them in repair; andf 
 their deserted appearance contributes even more 
 than the straight avenues of trees, and gardens 
 laid out in the Dutch taste, which surround them, 
 to confirm the impression of antiquity which is 
 made on the mind of an Englishman, by almost 
 all that he sees in travelling through France. 
 
 The roads in this, as in many other parts of 
 the countr}^ are paved in the middle, straight, 
 and very broad, and appear adapted to a much 
 more extensive intercourse than now exists be- 
 tween the different provinces. 
 
 The country on the banks of the Oise, (which 
 we crossed at Beaumont), and from thence to 
 ^aris, is one of the finest parts of France. The 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
IB 
 
 ' road passes, almost the whole way, through a majes- 
 tic avenue of elm trees : Instead of the continual 
 recurrence of corn fields and fallows, the eye is 
 here occasionally reheved by the intervention of 
 fields of lucerne and saintfoin, orchards and vine- 
 yards ; the country is rich, well clothed with 
 wood, and varied with rising grounds, and stud- 
 ded with chateaux ; there are more carriages on 
 the roads and bustle in the inns, and your ap* 
 proach to the capital is very obvious. Yet there 
 are strong marks of poverty in the villages, 
 which contain no houses adapted to the accommo- 
 dation of the middhng ranks of society ; the soil 
 is richer, but the implements of agriculture, and 
 the system of husbandry, are very Uttle better 
 than in Picardy : the cultivation, every where 
 tolerable, is nowhere excellent; there are no 
 new farm-houses or farm- steadings ; no signs of 
 recent agricultural improvements ; and the cha- 
 teaux, in general, still bear the aspect of deser- 
 tion and decay. 
 
 This last peculiarity of French scenery is 
 chiefly owing to the great subdivision of pro- 
 perty which has taken place in consequence of 
 the confiscation of church lands, and properties 
 of the noblesse and emigrants, and of the subse- • 
 quent sale of the national domains, at very low 
 ©r even nominal prices, to the lower orders of 
 
19 
 
 the peasantry. To such a degree has this subdi- 
 vision extended, that in many parts of France 
 there is no proprietor of land who does not labour 
 with his own hands in the cultivation of his pro- 
 perty. The influence of this state of property 
 on the prosperity of France, and the gradual 
 changes which it will undergo in the course of 
 time, will form an interesting study for the poli- 
 tical economist ; but in the mean time, it will 
 almost prevent the possibility of collecting an 
 adequate number of independent and enlighten- 
 ed men to represent the landed interest of France 
 in any system of national representation. 
 
 In travelling from Calais to Paris, we did not 
 observe so great a want of men in the iields and 
 villages as we had been led to expect. The men 
 whom we saw, however, were almost all above 
 the age of the conscription. In several places 
 we saw women holding the plough ; but in ge- 
 neral, the proportion of women to men employ- 
 ed in the fields, appeared hardly greater than 
 may be seen during most of the operations of 
 husbandry in the best cultivated districts of 
 Scotland. On inquiry among the peasants, we 
 found the conscription, and the whole of Bona- 
 parte's system of government, held in much ab- 
 horrence, particularly among the women; yet 
 they did not appear to feel it so deeply as we 
 I ' B 2 
 
20 
 
 had anticipated; and of him, individually, they 
 were more disposed to speak in terms of ridicule 
 than of indignation. « II a parti pour I'ile d'Elbe 
 (said they)--bon voyage !" It was obvious that 
 public affairs, even in those critical moments, 
 occupied much less of their attention than of 
 persons of the same rank in England: their 
 spirits are much less easily depressed ; and it was 
 easy to see that their domestic affections are less 
 powerful. The men shewed much jealousy of 
 the allied troops : said they were superior to the 
 French only in numbers; and often repeated, that 
 one French soldier was equal to two Russians. 
 
 Although the old men and women whom we 
 saw in the villages were generally in the most 
 abject condition, yet the labourers employed in 
 the fields appeared nearly as well dressed as the 
 corresponding class in England ; their wages 
 Avere stated to be, over most of the country, from 
 one franc to 25 sous a-day, and in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of Paris, to be as high as two, or 
 even three francs. In some places, we saw them 
 dining on bread, pork, and cyder ; but the scarci- 
 ty of live stock was such, that it was impossible 
 to supppose that they usually enjoyed so good 
 a fare. The interior of the cottages appeared, 
 generally, to be ill furnished. 
 
 Every village and to^vn through which we^ 
 
21 
 
 passed between Boulogne and Paris contained 
 a number of the allied troops. At Beauvais, a 
 town remarkable for its singular appearance, 
 being almost entirely built of wood, and likewise 
 for the beauty of its cathedral, the choir of which 
 is reckoned the finest m France, we were first 
 gratified with the sight of some hundreds of 
 Russians, horse and foot, under arms. These 
 troops were of the finest description, and belong- 
 ed to the corps of the celebrated Wigtenstein. 
 
 We enquired of many of the lower people, in 
 the towns and villages through which we passed, 
 concerning the conduct of the allied troops in 
 their quarters, and the answers were almost uni- 
 formly — from the men, " lis se comportent bien;" 
 (frequently with the addition, " mais ils mangent 
 comme des diables :")— and from the women, 
 « lis sont bons enfans." We had very frequent 
 opportunities of remarking the truth of the obser- 
 vation, that " women have less bitterness against 
 the enemies of their country than men." The 
 Parisian ladies adopted fashions fi-om the uni- 
 forms of almost all the aUied troops whom they 
 saw in Paris ; many of them were exceedingly 
 anxious for opportunities of seeing the Emperor 
 of Russia, and the most distinguished leaders of 
 the armies that had conquered France ; and those 
 who were acquainted with officers of rank be- 
 B 3 
 
longing to these armies appeared, on all occasions, 
 to be highly flattered with the attentions they 
 received from them. The same was obser- 
 vable in the conduct of the lower ranks. In 
 the suburbs of Paris, and in the neighbouring 
 villages, where many of the allied troops were 
 quartered, they appeared always on the best terms 
 with the female inhabitants, and M^ere often to 
 be seen assisting them in their work, playing at 
 the battledore and shuttlecock with them in 
 the streets, or strolling in their company along 
 the banks of the Seine, and through the woods 
 of Belleville or St Cloud, evidently to the satis- 
 faction of both parties. Much must be allowed 
 for the national len ity of the French ; yet it may 
 be doubted, whether the officers and soldiers of 
 a victorious army are ever, in the first instance, 
 very obnoxious to the females, even of a van- 
 quished country. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PARIS THE ALLIED AHMIES. 
 
 To those whose attention had been long fixed 
 on the ffreat pohtical revulsion which had 
 brought the wandering tribes of the Wolga and 
 the Don into the heart of France, and whose 
 i^inds had been incessantly occupied for many 
 months previous to the time of which we speak 
 (as the minds of almost all Englishmen had 
 been), with wishes for the success, and admiration 
 of the exploits, of the brave troopswho then occu- 
 pied Paris, it may naturally be supposed, that 
 even aU the wonders of that capital were, m the 
 first instance, objects of secondary consideration. 
 It- was not until our curiosity had been satis- 
 fied by the sight of the Emperor Alexander, the 
 
24 
 
 Duke of Wellington, Marshal Blucher, Count 
 Platoff, and such numbers of the Russian and 
 Prussian officers and soldiers, as we considered 
 a fair specimen of the whole armies, that we 
 could find time to appreciate the beauties even 
 of the Apollo and the Venus. 
 
 The streets of Paris are always amusing and 
 interesting, from the numbers and varieties of 
 costumes and characters which they present; 
 but at the time of which we speak, they might 
 be considered as exhibiting an epitome of the 
 greater part of Europe. Parties of Russian 
 cuirassiers, Prussian lancers, and Hungarian 
 hussars ; Cossacks, old and young, from those 
 whose beards were grey with age, to those who 
 were yet beardless, cantering along after their 
 singular fashion—their long lances poised on 
 their stirrups, and loosely fastened to their right 
 arms, vibrating over their heads ; long files' of 
 Russian and Prussian foragers, and long trains 
 of Austrian baggage waggons, winding slowly 
 through the crowd ; idle soldiers of all services, 
 French as well as alUed, lounging about in their 
 loose great coats and trowsers, with long crooked 
 pipes hanging from their mouths; patroles of 
 mfantry parading about under arms, composed 
 half of Russian grenadiers, and half of Parisian 
 national guards ; Russian coaches and four, an- 
 
swering to the description of Dr Clarke, the 
 postilhons riding on the ofF-horses, and dressed 
 almost like beggars ; Russian carts drawn by 
 four horses a-breast, and driven by peasants in 
 the national costume ; Polish Jews, with long 
 black beards, dressed in black robes like the cas- 
 socks of English clergymen, with broad leathern 
 belts — all mingled with the Parisian multitude 
 upon the Boulevards : and in the midst of this 
 indiscriminate assemblage, all the business, and 
 all the amusements of Paris, went on with in- 
 creased alacrity and fearless confidence. The 
 Palais Royal Avas crowded, morning, noon, and 
 night, with Russian and Prussian officers in 
 full uniform, decorated with orders, whose 
 noisy merriment, cordial manners, and careless 
 j profusion, were strikingly contrasted with the 
 silence and suUenness of the French officers. 
 
 It is fortunately superfluous for us to en- 
 large on the appearance, or on the character of 
 the Emperor Alexander. We were struck with 
 the simplicity of the style in which he lived. 
 He inhabited only one or two apartments 
 in a wing of the splendid Elysee Bourbon — 
 slept on a leather mattress, which he had used 
 in the campaign — rose at four in the morning, 
 to transact business — wore the uniform of a Rus^ 
 sian General, with only the medal of 18X2, (the 
 
^6 
 
 same which is worn by every soldier who served 
 in that campaign, with the inscription, in Russ, 
 Non nobis sed tihi Domine ) ; had a French 
 guard at his door — went out in a chaise and 
 pair, with a single servant and no guards, and was 
 vety regular in his attendance at a small chapel, 
 where the service of the Greek church was per- 
 formed. We had access to very good informa- 
 tion concerning him, and the account which we 
 received of his character even exceeded our antici- 
 pation. His well-knoWn humanity was describ- 
 ed to us as having undergone no change from 
 the scenes of misery inseparable from extended 
 warfare, to which his duties, rather than his in- 
 clinations, had so long habituated him. He re- 
 peatedly left behind him, in marching with the 
 . ai'my, some of the medical men of his own staff, 
 to dress the wounds of French soldiers whom 
 he passed on the way ; and it was a standing 
 order of his to his hospital staflP, to treat wounded 
 Russians and French exactly alike. 
 
 His conduct at the battle of Fere Champe- 
 jioise, a few days before the capture of Paris, of 
 which we had an account from eye-witnesses, 
 may give an idea of his conduct while with the 
 armies. The French column, consisting of about 
 5000 infantry, with some artillery, was attacked 
 by the advanced guard of the allies, consisting 
 
27 
 
 of cavalry, with some horse-artillery, under his 
 immediate orders. It made a desperate resist- 
 ance, and its capture being an object of great 
 importance, he sent away all his guards, even 
 the Cossacks, and exposed himself to the fire of 
 musketry for a long time, directing the move- 
 ments of the troops. When the French squares 
 were at length broken by the repeated charges 
 of cavalry and Cossacks, he threw himself into 
 the middle of them, at a great personal risk, 
 that he might restrain the fury of the soldiers, 
 exasperated by the obstinacy of the resistance ; 
 and although he could not prevent the whole 
 French officers and men from being completely 
 pillaged, many of them owed their lives to his 
 interference. The French commander was 
 brought to him, and offered him his sword, 
 which he refused to accept, saying, he had de- 
 fended himself too well. 
 
 The wife and children of a General who had 
 been with the French army, were brought to 
 him, and he placed a guard over them, which 
 was overpowered in the confusion. The unfor- 
 tunate woman was never more heard of, but he 
 succeeded in recovering the children, had a bed 
 made for them in his own tent, and kept them 
 with him, until he reached Paris, when he or- 
 dered enquiry to be made for some of her rela- 
 tions, to whose care he committed them. 
 
^8 
 
 He was uniformly represented to us as a man 
 not merely of the most amiable dispositions, 
 but of superior vmderstanding, of uncommon 
 activity, and of a firm decided turn of mind. 
 Of the share which he individually had in di- 
 recting the operations of the alhed armies, we 
 do not pretend to speak with absolute cer tainty ; 
 but we had reason to know, that the general 
 opinion in the Russian army was, that the prin- 
 cipal movements were not merely subjected to 
 his control, but guided by his advice ; and he 
 was certainly looked upon, by officers who had 
 long served under him, as one of the ablest com- 
 manders in the allied armies. 
 
 He was much disconcerted, it was said, by the 
 loss of the battle of Austerhtz ; but liis subse- 
 quent experience in war had given him the true 
 mihtary obstinacy, md he bore the loss of the 
 battles of Lutzen and Bautzen with perfect equa- 
 nimity ; often saying, the French can still beat 
 us, but they will teach us how to beat them ; 
 and we will conquer them by our pertinacity. 
 The attachment of the Russian army, and espe- 
 cially of the guards, to him, almost approaches to 
 idolatry ; and the effect of his presence on the 
 exertions and conduct of his troops, was not 
 more beneficial to Europe while the struggle 
 was yet doubtful, than to France herself after her 
 
w 
 
 armies were overthrown, and her " sacred terri- 
 tory" invaded. 
 
 As a specimen of the general feeling in the 
 Russian army at the time they invaded France, 
 we may mention the substance of a conversation 
 which an officer of the Russian staff told us he 
 had held with a private of the Russian guard on 
 the march, soon after the invasion. The soldier 
 complained of the Emperor's proclamation, de- 
 siring them to consider as enemies only those 
 whom they met in the field. " The French," 
 said he, " came into our country, bringing hosts 
 of Germans and Poles along with them ; — they 
 plundered our properties, burnt our houses, and 
 murdered our famihes ; — every Russian was 
 their enemy. We have driven them out of 
 Russia, we have followed them into Poland, in- 
 to Germany, and into France ; but wherever we 
 go, we are allowed to find none but fHends. 
 This," he added, " is very well for us guards, 
 who know that pillage is unworthy of us ; but 
 the common soldiers and Cossacks do not un- 
 derstand it ; tliey remember how their friends 
 and relations have been treated by the French, 
 and that remembrance lies at theh' hea?^ts'' 
 
 We visited with deep interest the projecting 
 part of the heights of BeUeville, immediately 
 
50 
 
 overlooking the Fauxbourg St Martin, whicli 
 the Emperor Alexander reached, with the king 
 of Prussia, the Prince Schwartzenburg, and 
 the whole general staif, on the evening of the 
 30th of March. It was here that he received 
 the deputation fi'om Marshals Marmont and 
 Mortier, who had fought all day against a vast 
 superiority of force, and been fairly overpowered, 
 recommending Paris to the generosity of the 
 allies. Thirty howitzers were placed on this 
 height, and a few shells were thrown into the 
 town, one or two of which, vv^e were assured, 
 reached as far as the Eglise de St Eustace ; it 
 is allowed on all hands that they fell within the 
 Boulevards. The heights of Montmartre were 
 at the same time stormed by the Silesian army, 
 and cannon were placed on it likewise, — Paris 
 was then at his mercy. After a year and a half 
 of arduous contest, it was at length in his power 
 to take a bloody revenge for the miseries whicli 
 his subjects had suffered during the unprovok- 
 ed invasion of Russia. — He ordered the firing to 
 cease ; assured the French deputation of his in- 
 tention to protect the city ; and issued orders 
 to his army to prepare to march in, the next 
 morning, in parade order. He put himself at 
 their head, in company with the King of Prus- 
 sia, and all the generals of high rank. After 
 
51 
 
 passing along the Boulevards to the Champs 
 Elysees, the sovereigns placed themselves un- 
 der a tree, in front of the palace of the Thuille- 
 ries, within a few yards of the spot where Louis 
 XVI. and many other victims of the revolution 
 had perished ; and they saw the last man of 
 their armies defile past the town, and proceed to 
 take a position beyond it, before they entered it 
 themselves. 
 
 At this time, the recollection of the fate of 
 Moscow w;as so strong in the Russian army, and 
 the desire of revenge was so generally diffused, 
 not merely among the soldiers, but even among 
 the superior ofKcers, that they themselves said, 
 nothing could have restrained them but the pre- 
 sence and positive commands of their Czar ; nor 
 could any other influence have maintained that 
 admirable discipline in the Russian army, dur- 
 ing its stay in France, which we have so often 
 heard the theme of panegyric even among their 
 most inveterate enemies. 
 
 It is not in the columns of newspapers, nor 
 in the perishable pages of such a Journal as this, 
 that the invincible determination, the splendid 
 achievements, and the generous forbearance of 
 the Emperor of Russia and his brave army, 
 during the last war, can be duly recorded ; but 
 when they shall have passed into history, we 
 
think we shall but anticipate the sober judg- 
 ment of posterity by saying, that the foreign an- 
 nals of no other nation, ancient or modem, will 
 present, in an equal period of time, a spectacle 
 of equal moral grandeur. 
 
 The King of Prussia was often to be seen at 
 the Parisian theatres, dressed in plain clothes, 
 and accompanied only by his son and nephew. 
 The first time we saw him there, he was mak- 
 ing some enquiries of a manager of the Theatre 
 de rOdeon, whom he met in the lobby ; and the 
 modesty and embarrassment of his manner were 
 finely contrasted with the confident loquacity 
 and officious courtesy of the Frenchman. He 
 is known to be exceedingly averse to public ex- 
 hibitions, even in his own country. He had 
 gone through all the hardships and privations of 
 the campaigns, had exposed himself with a gal- 
 lantly bordering on rashness in every engage- 
 ment, his son and nephew always by his side ; 
 his coolness in action was the subject of univer- 
 sal admiration ; and it was not without reason 
 that he had acquired the name of the first sol- 
 dier in his army. His brothers, who are fine 
 looking men, took the command of brigades in 
 the Silesian army, and did the duty of briga- 
 diers to the satisfaction of the whole army. 
 
We had the good fortune of seeing the Duke 
 of Wellington at the opera, the first time that 
 he appeared in pubhc at Paris. He was receiv- 
 ed with loud applause, and the modesty of his 
 demeanour, while it accorded with the impres- 
 sions of his character derived from his whole 
 conduct, and the style of his public writings, 
 sufficiently shewed, that his time had been spent 
 more in camps than in courts. We were much 
 pleased to find, that fiill justice was done to his 
 merits as an officer by all ranks of the allied ar- 
 mies. On the day that he entered Paris, the 
 watch- word in the whole armies in the neigh- 
 bourhood was WelHngton, and the countersign 
 Talavera. We have often heard Russian and 
 Prussian officers say, " he is the hero of the 
 " war : — we have conquered the French by 
 " main force, but his triumphs are the result of 
 " superior skill." 
 
 We found, as we had expected, that JNIarshal 
 Blucher was held in the highest estimation in 
 tlie alHed army, chiefly on account of the 
 promptitude and decision of his judgment, and 
 the unconquerable determination of his charac- 
 ter. We were assured, that notwithstanding 
 the length and seA^erity of the service in which 
 he had been engaged during the campaign of 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
34 
 
 1814, he expressed the greatest regret at its 
 abrupt termination ; and was anxious to follow 
 up his successes, until the remains of the French 
 army should be wholly dispersed, and their 
 leader unconditionally surrendered. An En- 
 glish gentleman who saw him at the time of the 
 action in which a part of his troops were en- 
 gaged at Soissons, a few days previous to the 
 great battle at Laon, gave a striking account of 
 his cool collected appearance on that occasion. 
 He was lying in profound silence, wrapped up 
 in his cloak, on the snow, on the side of a hill 
 overlooking the town, smoking his pipe, and 
 occasionally looking through a telescope at the 
 scene of action. At length he rose up, saying, 
 it was not worth looking at, and would come to 
 nothing. In fact, the main body of the French 
 army was marching on Rheims, and he was 
 obliged to retire and concentrate his forces, first 
 on Craon, and afterwards on Laon, before he 
 could bring on a general action. 
 
 He bore the fatigues of the campaign with- 
 out any inconvenience, but fell sick on the day 
 after he entered Paris, and resigned his com- 
 mand, requesting only of General Sacken, the 
 governor of the town, that he would allot him 
 lodgings from which he could look out upon 
 Montmartre, the scene of his last triumph. He 
 
35 
 
 never appeared in public at Paris ; but we had 
 the pleasure of seeing him in a very interesting 
 situation* We had gone to visit the Hotel des 
 Invalides, and on entering the church under 
 the great dome, we found this great command- 
 er, accompanied only by his son and another 
 officer, leaning on the rails which encircle the 
 monument of Turenne. We followed him in- 
 to a small apartment off the church, where the 
 bodies of Marshals Bessieres and Duroc, and 
 the hearts of Generals Laroboissiere and Bar- 
 raguay D'Hilliers, lay embalmed under a rich 
 canopy of black velvet, in magnificent coffins, 
 which were strewed with flowers every morning 
 by the Duchess of Istria, the widow of Bessieres, 
 who came thither regularly after mass. This 
 room was hung with black, and hghted only by 
 a small lamp, which burnt under the canopy, 
 and threw its light in the most striking manner on 
 the grey hairs and expressive countenance of the 
 old Marshal, as he stood over the remains of his 
 late antagonists in arms. He heard the name of 
 each with a slight inclination of his head, gazed 
 on the coffins for some moments in silence, and 
 then turned about, and, as if to shew that he 
 was not to be moved by his recollections, he 
 Strode out of the chapel humming a tune. 
 He had vowed to recover possession of the 
 / ■ c 2 
 
3t) 
 
 sword of the great Frederic, which used to hang 
 ill the midst of the 10,000 standards of all na- 
 tions that waved under the lofty dome of this 
 building ; but on the day that the allies enter- 
 ed Paris, the standards were taken down and 
 burnt, and the sword was broken to pieces, by 
 an order, as was said, from Maria Louisa. 
 
 It is right to notice here, that the famous Si- 
 lesian army which he commanded, consisted ori- 
 gincally of many more Russian troops than Prus- 
 sians, — in the proportion, we were told, of four 
 to one, although the proportion of the latter 
 was afterwards increased. Indeed it was at 
 first the intention of the Emperor of Russia to 
 put himself at the head of this army ; but he 
 afterwards gave up that idea, saying, that he 
 knew the Russians and Prussians would fight 
 well, and act cordially together; but that the 
 presence of the Sovereigns would be more use- 
 ful in keeping together the heterogeneous mate- 
 rials composing the army then forming in Bo- 
 hemia, which afterwards had the name of the 
 grand army. 
 
 We have heard different opinions expressed 
 as to the share which General Gneisenau, the 
 chief of the staff of the Silesian army, had in 
 directing the operations of that- army. This 
 General is universally looked on as an officer of 
 
first-rate merit, and matiy manoeuvres of great 
 importance are believed to have been suggested 
 by him ; yet it was to the penetrating judgment 
 and enthusiastic spirit oi the old Marshal, that 
 the officers whom we saw seemed most disposed 
 to ascribe their successes. 
 
 We* were much struck by the courteous and 
 dignified manners of old Count Platoff. Even 
 at that time, before he had experienced British 
 hospitality, he professed high admiration for the 
 British character, individual as well as national^ 
 saying, that he looked on every Englishman as 
 his brother ; and he was equally candid in ex- 
 pressing his detestation of the French, not even 
 excepting the ladies. We, however, saw him 
 receive one or two Frenchmen, who were pre- 
 sented to him by his friends, with his accus- 
 tomed mildness. His countenance appeared to 
 us expressive of considerable humour, and he 
 addressed a few words to almost every Cossack 
 ef the guard whom he met in passing through 
 the court of the Elysee Bourbon, which were 
 always answered by a hearty laugh. During 
 the two last campaigns of the war he had been 
 almost constantly at h ^ad-quarters, and his ad- 
 vice, we were assured, was much respected. 
 
 On the night after the battle of Borodino, 
 c 3 
 
38 
 
 Count Platoff, we were told, bivouacked on the 
 jfield, in front of the position originally occu- 
 pied by the Russians *, and on the next day he 
 covered their retreat with his Cossacks. One 
 of the Princes of Hesse Philipsthal, an uncom- 
 monly handsome young man, who had volun- 
 teered to act as an aid-de-camp of his, had his 
 leg shot away close to his side. Amptitation 
 was immediately performed above the middle 
 of his thigh; he was laid on a peasant's cart, and 
 carried 350 versts almost without stopping. 
 However, he recovered perfectly, and petition- 
 ed the Emperor to be allowed to wear ever af- 
 ter the Cossack uniform. We saw him in it at 
 Paris, going on crutches, but regretting in 
 strong terms that he was to see no more fight- 
 ing. 
 
 On the day before the French entered Mos- 
 cow, Count Platoff, and some other officers, 
 from one of whom we had this anecdote, break- 
 fasted with Count Kostapchin at his villa in the 
 vicinity of the town, which it had been the de- 
 light of his life to cultivate and adorn. After 
 
 * This statement, which vvejbad from an officer who was 
 with him ;it the time, may be easily i-econciled with the ac- 
 fount of the battle given by La Baiune, which is in some 
 tiKraswre inconsistent in its own parts. 
 
59 
 
 breakfast, Count Rostapchin assembled his ser- 
 vants and retainers ; and after saying that he 
 hoped his son and latest descendants would al- 
 ways be willing to make a similar sacrifice for 
 the good of their country, he took a torch, set 
 fire to the building with his own hands, and 
 waited until it was consumed. He then rode 
 into the town to superintend the destruction of 
 some warehouses full of clothes, of a number of 
 carts, and of other things which might be use- 
 ful to the enemy. But he did not, as we were 
 assured by his son, whom we met at Paris, or- 
 der the destruction of the town. The French, 
 enraged at the loss of what was most valuable 
 to them, according to the uniform account of 
 the Russians, set fire in a deliberate and me- 
 thodical manner to the different streets. It is 
 but justice to say, however, that French offi- 
 cers, who had been at Moscow, denied the truth 
 of the latter part of this statement. 
 
 The Russian troops in the neighbourhood of 
 Paris were under the immediate command of 
 General Count Miloradovitch, a man of large 
 property, and unbounded generosity, and an 
 enthusiast in his profession. He had been in 
 the habit of always making the troops under his 
 command some kind of present on his birth- 
 
 c 4) 
 
40 
 
 day. During the retreat of the French from 
 Moscow, this day came round when he was not 
 quite prepared for it. " I have no money here," 
 said he to his soldiers but yonder," pointing 
 " to a French column, " is a present worthy of 
 " you and of me." This address was a prelude 
 to one of the most successful attacks, made du- 
 ring the pursuit, on the French rear-guard. 
 
 The other Russian commanders, whom we 
 heard highly spoken of by the Russian officers 
 whom we met, were, the Marshal commanding, 
 Barclay de Tolly, in whose countenance we 
 tliought we could trace the indications of his 
 Scotch origin ; — he is an old man, g,nd was com- 
 monly represented as " sage, prudent, tres sa- 
 " vant dans la guerre." — Wigtenstein, who is 
 much younger, and is designated as " ardent, 
 " impetueux, entreprenant," &c. — Benigsen, who 
 is an old man, but very active, and represented 
 to be as fond of fighting as Blucher himself; — 
 Count Langeron, and Baron Sacken, the com- 
 manders of coi-ps in the Silesian army. The 
 former is a French emigrant, but has been long 
 in the Russian service, and highly distinguish- 
 ed himself The latter is an old man, but very 
 spirited, and highly esteemed for his honour- 
 able character : in his capacity of Governor of 
 Paris, he gave very general satisfaction.— A¥o- 
 ronzoff, who, as is well known, was educated in 
 
41 
 
 England, and who distinguished himself at Bo- 
 rodino, and in the army of the north of Ger- 
 many, and afterwards in France under Blucher 
 — Winzingerode, one of the best cavahy officers, 
 formerly in the Austrian service — -CzernichefF, 
 the famous partisan, a gallant gay young man, 
 whose characteristic activity is strongly marked 
 in his countenance — Diebzitch, a young staff of- 
 ficer of the first promise, since promoted to the 
 important situation of Chef de 1' etat major — 
 Lambert (of FreAch extraction), and Yemio- 
 lofi*: This last officer commanded the guards 
 when we were at Paris, and was represented as 
 a man of excellent abilities, and of a most deter- 
 mined character. 
 
 To shew the determined spirit of some of the 
 Russian generals, we may mention an anecdote 
 of one of them, which we repeatedly heard. On 
 one occasion, the troops under the command of 
 this general were directed to defile over a bridge, 
 under a very heavy fire fi-om the enemy. Ob- 
 serving some hesitation in their movements, he 
 said, with perfect coolness, " If they don't go for- 
 " ward, I will take care they shall not come 
 " back;" and planted a battery of 12 poimders 
 in their rear, pointing directly at the bridge, in 
 view of which they forced the passage in the 
 most gallant style. 
 
4^ 
 
 The spirit of emulation which prevailed in all 
 ranks of the Russian army, during the war, was 
 worthy of the cause in which they were engaged. 
 The following anecdote, we think, deserves com- 
 memoration. Two officers of rank had aspired 
 to the same situation in the army, and exerted 
 all their influence to obtain it. The successful 
 candidate had the command of the famous re- 
 doubt at Borodino, when it was carried by the 
 French. The other, who had a subordinate com- 
 mand just behind it, immediately came up to 
 him, and asked leave to retake it for him. No, 
 rephed he ; if you go there, I must be along 
 with you . They collected what force they could, 
 entered the redoubt together, and regained it 
 at the point of the bayonet ; but the officer who 
 originally commanded in it was killed by the 
 side of his rival. The latter, immediately after 
 the battle, was promoted to the situation which 
 he had so ardently desired ; but his enjoyment 
 of it was long and visibly embittered by the re- 
 collection of the event to which he owed his ap- 
 pointment. 
 
 The number of Russian prisoners taken by 
 the French during the war was very trifling, 
 and we were assured, that there was no instance 
 in the wJiole course of it, of a single Russian 
 battalion or squadron laying down its arms. 
 
 A. 
 
 1 
 
43 
 
 The number of prisoners taken by the Cossacks 
 alone, from the time when the French left Mos- 
 cow until the passage of the Niemen, was 90,000, 
 and the number of cannon 550. It is true that 
 these were for the most part stragglers, and men 
 unable to fight ; but it must be remembered, 
 that many of them could only have been over- 
 taken in their flight by these hardy and enter- 
 prising troops. To prove the value of the ser- 
 vice rendered by the Cossacks, it is only neces- 
 sary to observe, that many of the officers w^ho 
 distinguished themselves most in all the cam- 
 paigns, Platoff, OrlofF Denizoff, Wasilchikoff, 
 CzernichefF, Tettenborn, &c. commanded Cos- 
 sacks almost exclusively, and attributed much 
 of their success to the quality of their troops. 
 Most of the Cossacks whom we saw appeared 
 to be well disciplined, and had a truly military 
 air ; and we were told, that all the 83 regiments 
 of Cossacks are at present in a state of tolerable 
 discipline. We cannot go so far as Dr Clarke 
 in praise of their cleanliness, but we often ob- 
 served their native easy courtesy of manner; 
 and there can be no doubt, as he observes, of 
 their being a much handsomer race than the 
 generality of Russians. Their figures are more 
 graceful, and their features are higher, and 
 approach often to the Roman style of counte- 
 
44 
 
 nance. One troop of the Cossacks of the guards, 
 composed of those from the Black Sea, attracted 
 our particular admiration ; and the noble manly 
 figures of the men, the elegant forms of the 
 horses, and the picturesque appearance of the 
 arms and uniforms of the whole body of Cos- 
 sacks of the guard, were very striking. The 
 hereditary Prince of Georgia was at Paris as one 
 of the Colonels of this regiment, and his figure 
 and countenance were such as mia^ht have ren- 
 dered him remarkable even in his native country, 
 in which the " human form divine" is understood 
 to attain its highest perfection. 
 
 The Cossacks were kept in good order when 
 under the inspection of their officers ; but dur- 
 ing the campaigns, they were often obliged to 
 act in patroles, two or three together, at a dis- 
 tance from their officers ; and in these situations, 
 it may be supposed that they would commit 
 many excesses. Immediately after a battle, 
 they plundered all they met, and at all times, 
 and in all places, they looked on horses as fair 
 game, insomuch that it was often remarked in 
 the allied annies, that they believed horses to 
 have been created for none but Cossacks. It 
 was said, that almost every Cossack of the corps 
 of Czernicheff was worth from £. 300 to £. 400 
 
45 
 
 in money and watches, which most of them 
 spent much after the manner of British sailors. 
 
 Some idea of the expenditure of human Hfe, 
 during the campaign of 1812, may be formed 
 from the following facts, which we had from 
 unquestionable authority : The number of killed 
 and wounded on both sides at the battle of 
 Borodino, which did not extend from flank 
 to flank more than three English miles, was 
 ascertained to exceed 75,000 men. Eighteen 
 thousand wounded Kussians were dressed on 
 the field, and sent off in carts. When the Rus- 
 sian army crossed the Niemen, in pursuit of the 
 French, they left behind them 87,000 sick and 
 wounded in hospitals, of which number 63,000 
 were wounded. The whole number of human 
 bodies, Russian and French, men, women, and 
 children, which were collected and buried or 
 burnt, after the reti-eat from Moscow to the 
 Niemen, exceeded 300,000. 
 
 The officers of the Russian medical staffs spoke 
 in terms of the utmost indignation of the con- 
 duct of the French medical staff, in deserting 
 their charge on the approach of the Russian 
 armies. A great part of the town of Wilna, 
 and surrounding villages, had been converted 
 into hospitals for the French army, and 
 
46 
 
 when the Russians arrived, they found these 
 hospitals wholly deserted by the medical men. 
 The sick (many of them labouring under infec- 
 tious fevers), and the wounded, were huddled 
 together, without provisions, attendants, or the 
 slightest regard to their situation. The first 
 step of the Russian officers who were entrusted 
 with the care of these hospitals, was to employ 
 a number of Jews to clear out the corpses, some 
 of wliich had lain there for three weeks ; and 
 when these were collected and burnt, tiieir 
 number was found to exceed 16,000; the sick 
 were then separated from the wounded ; and as 
 soon as order was re-established, the Emperor 
 of Russia visited the hospitals himself, to be 
 assured that every possible attention was paid 
 to their surviving inmates. 
 
 During the whole of the winter of 1812 and 
 the year 1813, a typhus fever was very preva- 
 lent in the French army, and in many places, 
 particularly on the fortresses on the Elbe, and in 
 Frankfort and INIentz, it made dreadful ravages ; 
 but it never extended, to any considerable 
 degree, among the Russians. This was partly 
 owingy no doubt, to the influence of exciting 
 passions on the constitutions of the men ; but 
 much must certainly be ascribed to the admir- 
 able arrangements of the Russian hospital staff. 
 
4T 
 
 which, under the superintendance of our coun- 
 tryman. Sir James Wyllie, have attained, in a 
 few years, a surprising degree of excellence. 
 The state of the Russian hospitals at Paris, un- 
 der the direction of another countryman, Dr 
 Crichton, was universally admired. 
 
 The Russian imperial guard is, we beheve, 
 the finest body of men in Europe ; the whole 
 number, when the regiments are all complete, 
 is about 30,000 ; but the effective men at Paris 
 did not exceed ^0,000. These are made up 
 from time to time, by picked men from the 
 whole army. The charge of one of the re- 
 giments of cuirassiers, 1000 strong, upon the 
 Champ de Mars, was one of the finest sights 
 imaginable. The clattering of the horses feet on 
 hard ground, and the ratthng of the armour, in- 
 creasing as they advanced, exceeded the sound 
 of the loudest thunder. 
 
 Their horses are not so heavy as those of the 
 English dragoons, but they have evidently more 
 blood in them, and their power of bearing fa- 
 tigues and privations is quite wonderful. We 
 were told by the officer commanding one of 
 these regiments, that almost all the horses we 
 saw in Paris, in the finest possible condition, 
 were on the Niemen when the French crossed 
 it in 1812, and had borne the fatigues of the 
 
48 
 
 retreat to Moscow, and of the advance during 
 the dreadful winter which had proved so fatal 
 to the French army ; as well as of the winter 
 campaign of 1814 in France, which was carried 
 on, almost entirely, dm*ing frost and snow. 
 The Russian soldiers bore the extreme cold of 
 the former winter in a manner hardly less won- 
 derful; we were assured that they were not 
 more warmly clothed than the French ; but 
 they were accustomed to the climate, were com- 
 paratively well fed, and were animated by vic- 
 tory, while their antagonists were depressed by 
 famine and despair. 
 
 The equipment of the artillery of the guard 
 is probably the completest in the world ; — each 
 gun of the horse artillery is followed by three 
 tumbrils of ammunition, and the artillerymen 
 being all mounted and armed, a battery of horse 
 artillery is fitted to act in a double capacity. 
 One of these batteries, of 12 pieces, on the march, 
 with all its accompaniments, takes up fully half- 
 a-mile of road. 
 
 The regiments of infantry are of various 
 strength ; all are composed of the finest men, in 
 point of strength and military appearance, but 
 they appeared to us rather inadequately offi- 
 cered. Of the physical powers of this body of 
 men, no better proof can be given, than their 
 
40 
 
 having marched, within 24 hours, on tlie 2td 
 and Q,2d of March, a distance of 18 leagues, or 
 54 miles, which they did at two marches, rest-, 
 ing three hours, without any straggMng. The 
 occasion on which they most highly distin* 
 guished themselves was at Gulm, where four 
 regiments of them (about. 8000 men) stopped^ 
 for two days, in the defiles of the Riesen Ge-. 
 birge, the whole corps of Vandamme. The regi* 
 ment Pavloffsky, who were made guards for their 
 conduct at Borodino, attracted particular atten- 
 tion ; they wear caps faced with brass, whence 
 the French soldiers, who know them well, call 
 them the Bonnets d'Or ; and many of them pre- 
 serve with much care the marks of the bullets 
 by which these have been pierced. 
 
 The Russian soldiers, at least of the guard, 
 have almost universally dark complexions, their 
 features are generally low, and their faces broad. 
 The officers and soldiers of the Prussian guard, 
 which is about 8000 strong, and in an equally 
 high state of discipline and equipment, are, on 
 the whole, handsomer men, having generally 
 fair hair, blue eyes, high features, and ruddy 
 comjilexioiis. 
 
 A great number of the Prussian officers have 
 a fine expression of romantic enterprise in their 
 countenances ; and it is well known, that the 
 
 VOL. I. I) 
 
50 
 
 i^hole Prussian nation, long oppressed by the 
 presence of French armies, entered into the war 
 with France with a spirit of energy and union 
 that never was surpassed. The formation of 
 the legion of revenge, — the desertion of all se- 
 minaries of education, by teachers as well as 
 pupils, — the substitution of ornaments in iron, 
 for gold and jewellery, by the ladies of Berlin 
 and other towns, are striking instances of this 
 popular feeling. The war-song, composed by a 
 young student from Konigsberg, which was 
 sung in the heat of battle by the regiment of 
 volunteer hussars to which he belonged, and the 
 author of which was basely slain by a French 
 prisoner whom he had neglected to disarai, — to 
 judge of it by a version which appeared in the 
 newspapers, and by the enthusiasm with which 
 the Prussians speak of it, is worthy of being 
 translated by one of our noblest poets. 
 
 AU the nations of Germany have strong feel- 
 ings of patriotism associated with the sight, and 
 even with the name of the Rhine. When the 
 Austrians, in one of the last actions of the cam- 
 paign of 1813, carried the heights of Hockheim, 
 in the neigbourhood of Mentz, and first came 
 in sight of that river, they involuntarily halted, 
 and stood for some minutes in silence ; when 
 the Prince Marshal coming up to know the 
 
51 
 
 cause of the delay, their feelings burst forth in 
 peals of enthusiastic acclamation, as they again 
 advanced to the charge. The Prussian corps of 
 the army of Silesia, destined to force the passage 
 of the river, assembled on the right bank on the 
 evening of the 31st of December 1813, deterr 
 mined to begin the year with the conquest to 
 which they had long aspired ; and just at mid- 
 night the first boats pulled off from the shore, 
 the oars keeping time to thousands of voices, 
 who sung words adapted to a favourite national 
 nir by the celebrated Schlegel, the beginning of 
 which is, hterally translated, " The Hhine shall 
 no logger be our boundary,- — it is the great ar- 
 tery of Germany, and it shall flow through the 
 heart of our empire." 
 
 The Austrians whom we saw at Paris, were 
 in general strong heavy looking men. Their 
 cavalry were universally admired ; but the Rus- 
 sians and Prussians complained much of the 
 general dilatoriness of their movements, and in 
 particular, of the quantity of baggage waggons 
 with whicli their march was encumbered. Upon 
 one occiision, some hundi'eds of these fell into 
 the hands of the French, to the great amuse- 
 ment of tlie Russians. The Bavarians and 
 Wirtembergers had the character, both in IluSr- > 
 sia and France, of fighting very hard, and plun- 
 
 D 2 
 
52 
 
 dering freely. Tbis last acGoraplishraent, as well 
 as tkeir military arrangements, they had learnt 
 from the French ; and their conduct in tliis re- 
 spect in France itself, might be said to be ac^ 
 tuated by a kind of poetical justice. 
 
 We were highly gTatified by the review of 
 the whole Russian and Prussian guard which 
 we saw in the Bois de Boulogne and road to 
 St Germain, on the 30th of May. They were 
 drawn up in a single line, extending at least six 
 mijes. The allied Sovereigns, followed by the 
 Princes of Russia, Prussia, and France, the 
 French Marshals, and all the leading officers of 
 tlie allied armies, rode at fuU speed along the 
 line ; and the loud huzzas of the soldiers, which 
 died away among the long avenues of elm trees, 
 as the cloud of dust which enveloped them re- 
 ceded from the view, were inexpressibly sublime. 
 
 The appearance of these troops on parade was 
 such, that but for the traces which long expo- 
 sure to all changes of weather had left on their 
 countenances, it never could have been supposed 
 that they had been engaged in long marches. 
 They had always marched and fought in their 
 great coats and small blue caps, carrying their 
 uniforms in their knapsacks. On the night be- 
 fore tjiey entered Paris, however, they put them 
 
©fi, and matched info the town in as fine parade 
 order as that in which they had left Petersburg. 
 The Parisians, Who hatd beeti told that the alhed 
 armies were nearly annihilated, and only a Wreck 
 left, expressed their astonishment with their 
 listtal levity : " Ati moins,". said they, " C'est 
 tin beau debris." 
 
 While the uniforms, arms, and accoutrements 
 of these ttoops wete in the highest order, they 
 seemed to take a pride in displaying the worn 
 and faded standards, torn by Winds and pierced 
 With bullets, under which they had served dur- 
 ing the whole campaigns. Their services might 
 also be judged of from the medals of the year 
 1812, which almost all the Russians bore, and 
 to which all without distinction of rank are en- 
 titled, who wete exposed to the enemy's fire 
 during that campaign ; and from the insignia of 
 various orders, which in both the services extend 
 to privates as well as officers. The effect of 
 these honorary rewards on thejminds of the men 
 is certainly very great ; and it is perhaps to be 
 regretted that there is no institution of the same 
 kind in the British service. The spirit of our 
 soldiers, as all the world knows, needs no such 
 stimulus; but if a measure of this kind could in 
 any degree gratify their mihtary feelings, surely 
 their country owes them the gratification ; and 
 D 3 
 
54 
 
 what can be more pleasing to a soldier than to 
 see his officers and his Sovereign proud to dis- 
 play honours which he shares along with them ? 
 The Russians appear to set a value on these 
 medals and decorations, which clearly shews the 
 wisdom of the pohcy by which they were grant- 
 ed. Almost every wounded soldier wears them 
 even when lying in hospital, and in the hour 
 which teaches the insignificance of all the titles 
 of kings, and all the treasures of the universe, 
 he still rejoices, that he can lay these testimonies 
 of his valour and fidelity beside the small crucifix 
 which he brought with him from his home, and 
 which, with a superstition that accords better 
 with the true mihtary spirit than the thoughtless 
 infidelity of the French, he has carried in his 
 bosom through all the chances of war. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 PARIS — ITS PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 
 
 W^iTH whatever sentiments a stranger might 
 enter Paris at the time we did, his feehngs must 
 have been the same with regard to the monuments 
 of ancient magnificence, or of modern taste, which 
 it contained. All that the vanity or patriotism 
 of a long series of Sovereigns could effect for the 
 embellishment of the capital in which they re- 
 sided ; all that the conquests of an ambitious 
 and unprincipled Army could accumulate from 
 the spoils of the nations whom they had sub- 
 dued, were there presented to the eye of the 
 stranger with a profusion which obhterated 
 every former prejudice, and stifled the feeUngs 
 
 J) 4 
 
56 
 
 of national emulation in exultation at the great- 
 ness of human genius. 
 
 The ordinary buildings of Paris, as every tra- 
 veller has observed, and as all the world knows, 
 are in general mean and uncomfortable. The 
 height and gloomy aspect of the houses ; the 
 narrowness of the streets, and the want of pave- 
 ment for foot passengers, convey an idea of anti- 
 quity, which ill accords with what the imagina- 
 tion had anticipated of the modern capital of the 
 French empire. This circumstance renders the 
 admiration of the spectator greater when he first 
 comes in sight of its public edifices ; when he is 
 conducted to the Place Louis Quinze, or the 
 Pont Neuf, from whence he has a general view 
 of the principal buildings (>f this celebrated capi- 
 tal. With the single exception of the view of 
 London from the tetface of the Adelphi, there 
 is no point in our own country where the effect 
 of architectural design is so great as in the situa- 
 tions which have now been mention^. The view 
 from the former of these combines many of th^? 
 most striking objects which Paris has to present. 
 To the east, the long front of the Thuilleries 
 rises over the dark mass of foUage which covers 
 its gardens ; to the south, the pictm-esque aspect 
 of the town is broken by the varied objects 
 which the river presents, and the fine perspective 
 
57. 
 
 of the Bridge of Peace, terminating in the noble 
 front of the palace of the I^egislative Body; to the 
 West, the long avenues of the Elysian Fields are 
 closed by the pillars of a triumphal arch which Na- 
 poleon had commenced ; while to the north, the 
 beautiful fa9ade of the Place itself, leaves the spec- 
 tator only room to discover at a greater distance 
 the foundation of the Temple of Glory, which 
 he had commenced, and in the execution of 
 which he was interrupted by those ambitious 
 enterprises to which his subsequent downfall 
 was owing. To a painter's eye, the efFeict of the, 
 whole scene is increased by the rich and varied 
 fore-ground which everywhere presents itself, 
 composed of the shrubs with which the skirts 
 of the square are adorned, and the lofty poplars 
 which rise amidst the splendour of architectural 
 beauty ; while recent events give a greater in- 
 terest to the spot from which this beauty is sur- 
 veyed^ by the remembrance, that it was liere 
 that Loiiis XVI. fell a martyr to the revolution- 
 ary principles, and that it was here that the 
 Emperor Alexander and the other princes of 
 Europe took their station^ when their armies 
 passed in triumph through the walls of Paris. 
 
 The view from the Pont Neuf, though not so 
 striking upon the whole, embraces objects of" 
 greater individual beauty. The gay and ani- 
 
58 
 
 mated qviays of the city covered with foot-pas^ 
 sengers, and with all the varied exhibitions of 
 industrious occupation, which, from the warmth 
 of the climate, are carried on in the open air ; 
 — the long and splendid front of the Louvre 
 and Thuilleries; — the bold projection of the 
 Palais des Arts, of the Hotel de la Monnaie, 
 and other public buildings on the opposite side 
 of the river ; — -the beautiful perspective of the 
 bridges, adorned by the magnificent colonnade 
 which fronts the Palace of the Legislative Body ; 
 . — and the lofty picturesque buildings of the 
 centre of Paris surrounding the more elevated 
 towers of Notre Dame, form a scene, which, 
 though less perfect, is more striking, and more 
 characteristic, than the scene from the centre of 
 the Place Louis Quinze, which has been just 
 described. It conveys at once a general idea of 
 the French capital ; of that mixture of poverty 
 and splendour by which it is so remarkably dis- 
 tinguished ; of that grandeur of national power, 
 and that degradation of individual importance, 
 which marked the ancient dynasty of the French 
 nation. It marks too, in a historical view, the 
 changes of the public feeling which the people 
 of this country have undergone, from the dis- 
 tant period when the towers of Notre Dame 
 rose amidst the austerity of Gothic taste, and 
 
39 
 
 were loaded with the riches of Cathohc super- 
 stition, to that boasted aera, when the loyalty of 
 the French people exhausted the wealth and the 
 genius of the country, to decorate with classic 
 taste the residence of their Sovereigns ; and lastly, 
 to those later days, when the names of religion 
 and of loyalty have alike been forgotten ; when 
 the national exultation reposed only on the tro- 
 phies of military greatness, and the iron yoke of 
 imperial power was forgotten in the monuments 
 which record the deeds of imperial glory. 
 
 To the general observation on the inferiority 
 of the common buildings in Paris, there are some 
 remarkable exceptions. The Boulevards, the 
 remains of the ancient ramparts of the city, are 
 in general beautiful, from their circular form, 
 from their uniform breadth, from the magnifi- 
 cence of the detached palaces with which they 
 abound, and from the rows of fine trees with 
 which they are shaded. In the skirts of the 
 town, and more especially in the Fauxbourg St 
 Germain, the beauty of the streets is greatly in- 
 creased by the detached hotels or villas, sur- 
 rounded by gardens, which are everywhere to 
 be met with, in which the lilac, the laburnum, 
 the Bois de Judee, and the acacia, grow in the 
 most luxuriant manner, and on the green foUage 
 of which the eye reposes with singular dehght* 
 
60 
 
 amidst the bright and dazzling whiteness of the 
 stone with which they are surrounded. 
 
 The Hotel des InvaMdes, the Chelsea Hospi- 
 tal of France, is one of the objects on which the 
 Parisians principally pride themselves, and to 
 which a stranger is conducted immediately after 
 his arrival in that capital. The institution it- 
 self appears to be well conducted, and to give 
 general satisfaction to the wounded meh who 
 have there found an asylum from the miseriejs 
 of war. We were informed that these tnen live 
 in habits of perfect harmony among each other ; 
 a state of things widely different from that of 
 our veterans in Greenwich Hospital, and which 
 is probably chiefly owing to the cheerfulness 
 and equanimity of temper which form the best 
 feature in the French character. There is some- 
 thing in the style of the architecture of this 
 building, which accords well with the object to 
 wliich it is devoted. The front is distinguish- 
 ed by a simple maiily portico, and a dome of 
 the finest proportion riseiS above its centre, which 
 is visible from all parts of the city. This dome 
 was gilded by order of Eloliaparte : ^nd however 
 much St fastidious taste may regret the addition, 
 it certaiwly gave ah air of splendour to the 
 H hole, which was in perfect unison with the feel- 
 ings of e:tultaf ion which the sight of this monuv 
 
ment military glory was then fitted to awaken 
 among the French people. The exterior of 
 this edifice was formerly surrounded by cannon 
 <^ptiired by the armies of France at different 
 periods : and ten thousand standards, the tro- 
 phies of victory during the wars of two cen- 
 turies, waved under its splendid dome, and en- 
 veloped the sword of Frederic the Great, which 
 hung from the centre, until the 31st of March 
 1814, when, as already observed, they wei-e all 
 burnt by order of Maria Louisa, to prevent 
 their falling into the victorious hands of the 
 allied powers. 
 
 If the character of the architecture of the Ho- 
 tel des Invahdes accords well with the object 
 to which that building is destined, the charac- 
 ter of the Louvre is not less in unison with the 
 spirit of the fine arts, to which it is consecrated. 
 It is impossible for language to convey any 
 adequate idea of the impression which this ex- 
 quisite building awakens in the mind of a stran- 
 ger. The beautiful proportions, and the fine 
 symmetry of the great facade, give an air of 
 simphcity to the distant view of this edifice, 
 which is not diminished, on nearer approach, by 
 the unrivalled beauty of its ornaments and de- 
 tail ; but when you cross the threshold of the 
 portico, and pass under its noble archway into 
 
621 
 
 the inner-court, all considerations are absorbed in 
 the throb of admiration which is excited by the 
 sudden display of all that is lovely and harmo- 
 nious in Grecian architecture. You find your- 
 self in the midst of the noblest and yet chastest 
 display of architectural beauty, where every or- 
 nament possesses the character by which the 
 whole is distinguished, and where the whole 
 possesses the grace and elegance which every 
 ornament presents : — You find yourself on the 
 spot where all the monuments of ancient art 
 are deposited — where the greatest exertions of 
 mortal genius are preserved — and where a pa- 
 lace has at last been raised worthy of being the 
 depository of the collected genius of the human 
 race. — It bears a higher character than that of 
 being the residence of imperial power ; it seems 
 destined to loftier purposes than to be the abode 
 of earthly greatness ; and the only forms by 
 which its halls would not be degraded, are those 
 models of ideal perfection which the genius of 
 ancient Greece created to exalt the character of 
 a heathen world. 
 
 Placed in a more elevated spot, and destined 
 to a still higher object, the Pantheon bears in 
 its front the traces of the noble purpose for 
 which it was intended. — It was intended to be 
 the cemeterv of all the great men who had de- 
 
63 
 
 served well of their country ; and it bears the 
 inscription, above its entrance, Aux grands 
 Hommes La Patrie reconnoissanfe.. The cha- 
 racter of its architecture is well adapted to the 
 impression it is intended to convey, and suits 
 the simphcity of the inscription which its porti- 
 co presents. Its situation has been selected with 
 singular taste, to aid the effect which was thus 
 intended. It is placed at the top of an emi- 
 nencCj which shelves in a declivity on every 
 side ; and the immediate approach is by an im- 
 mense flight of steps, which form the base of 
 the building, and increase the effect which its 
 magnitude produces. Over the entrance is 
 placed a portico of lofty pillars, finely propor- 
 tioned, supporting a magnificent entablature of 
 the simplest order ; and the whole terminates 
 in a dome of vast dimensions, forming the 
 highest object in the whole city. The impres- 
 sion which every one must feel in crossing its 
 threshold, is that of religious awe; the indi- 
 vidual is lost in the greatness of the objects 
 with which he is surrounded, and he dreads 
 to enter what seems the abode of a greater 
 Power, and to have been framed for the pur- 
 poses of more elevated worship. The Louvre 
 might have been fitted for the gay scenes of 
 ancient sacrifice ; it suits the brilliant concep- 
 
64 
 
 tions of heathen mythology ; and seems the fit 
 abode of those ideal forms, in which the imagi^ 
 nation of ancient times embodied their concep- 
 tions of divine perfection ; but the Pantheon is 
 adapted for a holier worship, and accords with 
 the character of a purer belief; and the vastness 
 and solitude of its untrodden chambers awaken 
 those feelings of human weakness, and that sen- 
 timent of human immortality, which befit the 
 temple of a spiritual faith. 
 
 We were involuntarily led, by the sight of 
 this gi*eat monument of sacred architecture in 
 the Grecian style, to compare it with the Go- 
 thic churches which we had seen, and in parti- 
 cular with the Cathedral of Beauvais, the inte- 
 rior of which is finished with greater delicacy, 
 and in finer proportions, than any other edifice 
 of a similar kind in France. The impression 
 which the inimitable choir of Beauvais produced, 
 was widely different from that which we felt on 
 entering the lofty dome of the Pantheon at 
 Paris. The light pinnacles, the fretted roof, the 
 aspiring form of the Gothic edifice, seemed to 
 have been framed by the hands of aerial beings, 
 and produced, even from a distance, that impres- 
 sion of grace and airiness which it was the pe- 
 culiar object of this species of Gothic architec- 
 ture to excite. On passing the high archway 
 
65, 
 
 which covers the western door, and entering the 
 immense aisles of the Cathedral, the sanctity of 
 the place produces a deeper impression, and 
 the grandeur of the forms awakens profounder 
 feelings. The light of the day is excluded, the 
 rays of the sun come mellowed through the 
 splendid colours with which the windows are 
 stained, and cast a religious light over the 
 marble pavement which covers the floor ; while 
 the eye reposes on the harmonious forms of the 
 lancet windows, or is bewildered in the profu- 
 sion of ornament with which the roof is adorned. 
 The impression which the whole produces, is 
 that of religious emotion, singularly suited to 
 the genius of Christianity ; it is seen in that ob- 
 scure hght wliich fits the solemnity of religious 
 duty, and awakens those feelings of intense de- 
 light, which prepare the mind for the high 
 strain of religious praise. But it is not the deep 
 feeling of humility and weakness which is pro- 
 duced by the dark cli ambers and massy pillars 
 of the Pantheon at Paris ; it is not in the mau- 
 soleum of the dead that you seem to wander, 
 nor on the thoughts of the great that have gone 
 before you that the mind revolves ; it is in the 
 scene of thanksgiving that your admiration is 
 fixed ; it is with the emblems of Hope that your 
 devotion is awakened, and with the enthusiasm 
 
 VOL. I. V. 
 
66 
 
 of gratitude that the mind is filled. Beneath 
 the gloomy roof of the Grecian Temple, the 
 spirit is concentrated within itself : it seeks the 
 repose which solitude affords, and meditates on 
 the fate of the immortal soul ; but it loves to 
 follow the multitude into the Gothic Cathedral, 
 to join in the song of grateful praise which peals 
 through its lengthened aisles, and to share in 
 the enthusiasm which belongs to the exercise' of 
 common devotion. 
 
 The Cathedral of Notre Dame is the only 
 Gk)thic building of note in Paris, and it is by 
 no means equal to the expectations we had been 
 led to fonn of it. The style of its architecture 
 is not that of the finest Gothic ; it has neither 
 the exquisite lightness of ornament which dis- 
 tinguishes the summit of Gloucester Cathedral, 
 nor the fine lancet windows which give so un- 
 rivalled a beauty to the interior of Beauvais, 
 nor the richness of roof which covers the tombs 
 of Westminster Abbey. Its character is that 
 of massy gi-eatness ; its ornaments are rich rather 
 than elegant, and its interior striking more from 
 its immense size than the beauty of the propor- 
 tion in which it is formed. In spite of all these 
 circumstances, however, the Cathedral of Notre 
 Dame produces a deep impression on the mind 
 of the beholder ; its towers rise to a stupendous; 
 
67 
 
 height above all the buildings which surround 
 them ; while the stone of every other edifice is 
 of a light colour, they alone are black with the 
 smoke of centuries ; and exhibit a venerable as- 
 pect of ancient greatness in the midst of the 
 brilliancy of modern decoration with which the 
 city abounds. Even the crowd of ornaments 
 with which they are loaded, and the heavy pro- 
 portion in which they are built, are forgotten in 
 the effect which their magnitude produces; 
 they suit the gloomy character of the building 
 they adorn, and accord with the expression of 
 antiquated power by which its aged forms are 
 now distinguished. 
 
 To those who have been accustomed to the 
 form of worship which is established in Pro- 
 testant countries, there is nothing so striking in 
 the Catholic churches as the complete oblivion 
 of rank, or any of the distinctions of established 
 society which there universally prevails. There 
 are no divisions of seats, nor any places fixed for 
 any particular classes of society. All, of what- 
 ever rank or station, kneel alike upon the 
 marble pavement i and the whole extent of the 
 church is open for the devotion of all classes of 
 the people. You frequently see the poorest ci- 
 tizens with their children kneeling on the stone 
 close to those of the highest rank, or the most 
 
 Z 2 
 
68 
 
 extensive fortunes. This custom may appear 
 painful to those who have been habituated to 
 the forms of devotion in the Enghsh churches ; 
 but it produces an impression on tiie mind of 
 the spectator which nothing in our service is 
 capable of effecting. To see the individual form 
 lost in the immensity of the objects with which 
 he is surrounded ; to see all ranks and ages 
 blended in the exercise of common devotion ; 
 to see all distinction forgotten in the sense of 
 common infirmity, suits the spirit of that reli- 
 gion which was addressed to the poor as well as 
 to the rich, and fits the presence of that Being 
 before whom all ranks are t^ual. 
 
 Nor is it without a good effect upon the feel- 
 ings of mankind, that this custom has formed a 
 part of the Catholic service. Amidst that de- 
 gradation of the great body of the people, which 
 marks the greater part of the Catholic coun- 
 tries — amidst the insolence of aristocratic power, 
 which the doctrines of the Catholic faith are so 
 well suited to support, it is fitting that there 
 should be some occasions on which the distinc- 
 tions of the world should be forgotten ; some 
 moments in which the rich as well as the poor 
 should be humbled before a greater power — in 
 which they should be reminded of the common 
 faith in which they ^ave been baptized, of the 
 
69 
 
 common duties to which they are called, and 
 the common hopes which they have been per- 
 mitted to form. 
 
 We had the good fortune to see high mass 
 performed in Notre Dame, with all the pomp of 
 the Cathohc service, for the souls of Louis XVI. 
 Marie Antoinette, and the Dauphin, on May 16, 
 1814, soon after the Bang's arrival in Paiis. The 
 Cathedral was hung with black in every part ; 
 the brilliancy of day wholly excluded, and it 
 was lighted only by double rows of wax tapers, 
 which burned round the coffins, placed in the 
 centre of the chou*. It was crowded to excess 
 in every part ; all the INIarshals, Peers, and digni- 
 taries of France, were stationed with the Royal 
 Family near the centre of the Cathedral, and all 
 the principal officers of the allied armies attend- 
 ed at the celebration of the service. The King 
 was present, though without being perceived 
 by the vast assembly by whom he was surround- 
 ed ; and the Duchess d'Angouleme exhibited, 
 in this melancholy duty, that mixture of firm- 
 ness and sensibility by which her character has 
 always been distinguished. 
 
 It was said, that there were several persons 
 present at this solemn service who had voted for 
 the death of the King ; and many of those as- 
 sembled must doubtless have been eonsciouSj 
 
 E 3 
 
70 
 
 that they had been instrumental in the death of 
 those for whose souls this solemn service was 
 now performing. The greater part, however, 
 of those whom we had an opportunity of ob- 
 serving, exhibited the symptoms of genuine sor- 
 row, and seemed to participate in the solemnity 
 with unfeigned devotion. The Catholic wor- 
 ship was here displayed in its utmost splendour ; 
 all the highest prelates of France were assembled 
 to give dignity to the spectacle ; and all that art 
 could devise was exhausted to render the scene 
 impressive in the eyes of the people. To us, 
 however, who had been habituated to the sim- 
 plicity of the English form, the variety of un- 
 meaning ceremony, the endless gestures and 
 unceasing bows of the clergy who officiated, de- 
 stroyed the impression which the solemnity of 
 the service would otherwise have produced. 
 But though the service itself appeared ridiculous, 
 the effect of the whole scene was sublime in the 
 greatest degree. The black tapestry hung in 
 heavy folds round the sides of the Cathedral, and 
 magnified the impression which its vastness pro- 
 duced. The tapers which surrounded the coffins 
 threw a red and gloomy light over the innumer- 
 able multitude which thronged the floor ; their 
 receding rays faintly illuminated the farther re-- 
 cesses, or strained to pierce the obscure gloom in 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
71 
 
 which the summits of the pillars were lost ; while 
 the sacred music pealed through the distant 
 aisles, and deepened the effect of the thousands 
 of voices which joined in the strains of repent- 
 ant prayer. 
 
 Among the exhibitions of art to which a 
 stranger is conducted immediately after his arri- 
 val in the French metropolis, there is none 
 which is more characteristic of the disposition of 
 the people than the Mmk des Monumens 
 Francois, situated in the Rue des Petits Au- 
 gustins. This is a collection of all the finest 
 sepulchral monuments from different parts of 
 France, particularly from the Cathedral of St 
 Denis, whej« the cemetery of the royal family 
 had, from time immemorial, been placed. It is 
 said by the French, that the collection of these 
 monuments into one museum was the only 
 means of preserving them from the fury of the 
 people during the revolution ; and certainly no- 
 thing but al^olute necessity could have justified 
 the barbarous idea of bringing them from the 
 graves they were intended to adorn, to one spot, 
 where all associations connected with them are 
 destroyed. It is not the mere survey of the mo- 
 numents of the dead that is interesting, — not the 
 examination of the specimens of art by which 
 they may be adorned ; — it is the remembrance gf 
 
 E 4 
 
72 
 
 the deeds which they are intended to record, — 
 of the virtues they are destined to perpetuate, — 
 of the pious gratitude of which they are now the 
 only testimony — above all, of the dust they actu- 
 ally cover. They remind us of the great men 
 who formerly filled vthe theatre of the world, — 
 they carry us back to an age which, by a very 
 natural illusion, we conceive to have been both 
 wiser and happier than our own, and present 
 the record of human greatness in that pleas- 
 ing distance when the great features of character 
 alone are remembered, when time has drawn its 
 veil over the weaknesses of mortality, and its vir- 
 tues are sanctified by the hand of death. It is a 
 feeling fitted to elevate the soul ; to mingle the 
 thoughts of death with the recollection of the vir- 
 tues by which life had been dignified, and reno- 
 vate in every heart those high hopes of religion 
 which spring from the grave of former virtue. 
 
 All this delightful, this purifying illusion, is 
 destroyed by the way in which the monuments 
 are collected in the ^luseum at Paris. They are 
 there brought together from aU parts of France ; 
 severed from the ashes of the dead they w- ere in- 
 tended to cover; and arranged in systematic order 
 to illustrate the history of the art whose pro- 
 gress they unfold. The tombs of all the Kings 
 of France, of the Generals by whom its glory 
 
75 
 
 has been extended, of the statesmen hy whom 
 its power, and the writers by whom its fame 
 has been estabhshed, are crowded together in 
 one collection, and heaped upon each other, 
 without any other connexion than that of the 
 time in which they were originally raised. The 
 Museum accordingly exhibits, in the most strik- 
 ing manner, the power of arrrangement and 
 classification which the French possess ; it is 
 valuable, as containing fine models of the greatest 
 men whom France has produced, and exhibits 
 a curious specimen of the progress of art, from 
 its fii'st commencement to the period of its 
 greatest perfection ; but it has wholly lost that 
 deep and pecidiar interest which belongs to the 
 monuments of the dead in their original situa- 
 tion. 
 
 Adjoining to the Museum, is a garden planted 
 with trees, in w hich many of the finest monu- 
 ments are j)laced ; but in which the depravity 
 of the French taste appears in the most striking 
 manner. It is surrounded with houses, and 
 darkened by the shade of lofty buildings ; yet, 
 in this gloomy situation, they have placed the 
 tomb of Fenelon, and the united monument of 
 Abelard and Eloise : profaning thus, by the 
 barbarous affectation of artificial taste, and the 
 still m(H"e shocking imitation of ancient supers 
 
74 
 
 stition, the remains of those whose names are 
 enshrined in every heart which can feel the 
 beauty of moral excellence, or share in the sym- 
 pathy with youthful sorrow. 
 
 How different are the feehngs with which an 
 Englishman surveys the untouched monuments 
 of EngUsh greatness ! — and treads the floor of 
 that venerable building which shrouds the re- 
 mains of all who have dignified their native land 
 — ^in which her patriots, her poets, and her phi- 
 losophers, " sleep with her kings, and dignify the 
 scene," which the rage of popular fury has never 
 dared to profane, and the hand of victorious 
 power has never been able to violate ; where the 
 ashes of the immortal dead still he in undis- 
 turbed repose, under that splendid roof which 
 covered the tombs of her earhest kings, and 
 witnessed, from its first dawn, the infant glory 
 of the English people. — Nor could the remem- 
 brance of the national monuments we have de- 
 scribed, ever excite in the mind of a native of 
 France, the same feehng of heroic devotion 
 which inspired the sublime expression of Nelson, 
 as he boarded the Spanish Admiral's ship at St 
 Vincent's — " Westminster Abbey or Victory !" 
 
 Though the streets in Paris have an aged and 
 uncomfortable appearance, the form of the houses 
 is such, as, at a distance, to present a picturesque 
 
.aspect. Their height, their sharp and irregular 
 tops, the vast variety of forms which they 
 assume when seen from different quarters, all 
 combine to render a distant view of them more 
 striking than the long rows of uniform houses 
 of which London is composed. The domes and 
 steeples of Paris, however, are greatly inferior, 
 both ii^i number and magnificence, to those of 
 the English capital. 
 
 The gardens of the Thuilleries and the Lux- 
 embourg, of which the Parisians think so highly, 
 and which are constantly filled with all ranks of 
 citizens, are laid out with a singularity of taste, of 
 which, in this country, we can scarcely form any 
 conception. The straight walks— the dipt trees 
 — the marble fountains — are fast wearing out in 
 all parts of England ; they are to be met with 
 only round the mansions of ancient families, and 
 even there are kept rather from the influence of 
 ancient prejudice, or from the affection to here- 
 ditary forms, than from their coincidence with 
 the present taste of the English people. They 
 are seldom, accordingly, disagreeable, with us, to 
 the eye of the most cultivated taste ; their sin- 
 gularity forms a pleasing variety to the continued 
 succession of lawns and shrubberies which is 
 every where to be met with ; and they are re- 
 garded rather as the venerable marks of ancient 
 
76 
 
 splendour, than as the barbarous affectation of 
 modern distinction. In France, the native de- 
 formity of this taste appears in its real light, 
 without the colouring of any such adventitious 
 circumstances as conceal it in this country. It 
 does not appear there under the softening veil 
 of ancient manners ; its avenues do not conduct 
 to the decaying abode of hereditary greatness 
 — its gardens do not mark the scenes of former 
 festivity— its fountains are not covered with the 
 moss which has grown for centuries. It ap- 
 pears as the model of present taste ; it is con- 
 sidered as the indication of existing splendour ; 
 and sought after, as the form in which the 
 beauty of Nature is now to be admired. All 
 that association accordingly had blended in our 
 minds with the style of ancient gardening in 
 our own country, was instantly divested by its 
 appearance in France ; and we felt then the 
 whole importance of that happy change in the 
 national taste, whereby variety has been made 
 to succeed to uniformity, and the imitation of na- 
 ture to come in the place of the exhibition of art. 
 
 In every country, and in every department of 
 taste, the earliest object of art is, the display of 
 the power of the artist ; and it is in the last pe- 
 riod of its improvements alone, that this miser- 
 able propensity is ; overcome. It is hence that 
 
11 
 
 the imitation of Kature is not what >s at first 
 attempted ; that the forms which she j^resents 
 are uniformly neglected, and the merit of the 
 artist is thought to consist in such artificial de- 
 signs as bear the most unequivocal mairks of his 
 individual dexterity. The forms of nature are 
 every where to be met with — they are open to 
 the most vulgar capacity; the power of art, 
 therefore, it is at first thought, mus^t be shown 
 in the complete subjugation of natural form, or 
 the complete abandonment of natural beauty. 
 It is hence that florists uniformly take delight 
 in double flowers and monsters, which are the 
 farthest removed from the forms of nature ; and 
 it is hence that gardeners always evince so great 
 an anxiety to conduct strangers to the most ri- 
 diculous contortion of natural form, which their 
 domains can exhibit. There is nothing un- 
 natural or vulgar in this propensity ; it pervades 
 all branches of taste at a certain stage of its pro- 
 gress, and all ranks of society, to whom a limited 
 capacity of mind is granted. It is hence that 
 every society exhibits examples of individuals, 
 who aim at singularity of manners, merely that 
 they may be difl'erent from the generality of 
 mankind ; it is hence that many persons, even 
 of a cultivated mind, shut their eye to the 
 charms of beauty in every department of taste. 
 
78 
 
 merely that they may display their own wretched 
 vanity in criticising its imperfections ; it is hence 
 that painters select the moment of passion or 
 exertion, for no other reason than for the dis- 
 play of their anatomical knowledge, or their 
 skill in the delineation of extraordinary emo- 
 tion ; and that poets have so often neglected 
 what is really pathetic in the scenes, either of 
 nature or of man, to present the artificial con- 
 ceptions of their learning or fancy. In all these 
 instances, the degradation of taste arises from 
 the vain anxiety of men to display the power 
 of the artist, and their utter forgetfvdness of the 
 end of the Art. 
 
 The remarkable characteristic of the taste of 
 France is, that this love of artificial beauty con- 
 tinues with undiminished force, at a period 
 when, in other nations, it has given place to a 
 more genuine love for the beauty of nature. In 
 them, the natural progress of refinement has 
 led from the admiration of the art of imitation 
 to the love of the subjects imitated. In France, 
 this early prejudice continues in its pristine vi- 
 gour at the present moment : They never lose 
 sight of the effort of the artist ; their admiration 
 is fixed not on the quality or object in nature, 
 but on the artificial representation of it ; not on 
 the thing signified, but the sign. It is hence 
 
79 
 
 that they have such exalted ideas of the perfec- 
 tion of their artist David, whose paintings are 
 nothing more than a representation of the hu- 
 man figure in its most extravagant and phrenzied 
 attitudes ; that they are insensible to the simple 
 display of real emotion, but dwell with delight 
 upon the vehement representation of it which their 
 stage exhibits ; and that, leaving the charming 
 heights of Belleville, or the sequestered banks 
 of the Seine, almost wholly deserted, they crowd 
 to the stiff alleys of the Elysian Fields, or the 
 artificial beauties of the gardens of Versailles. 
 
 In the midst of Paris this artificial style of 
 gardening is not altogether unpleasing ; it is in 
 unison, in some measure, with the regular cha- 
 racter of the buildings with which it is sur- 
 rounded ; and the profusion of statues and mar- 
 ble vases continues the impression which the 
 cliaraeter of their palaces is fitted to produce. 
 But at Versailles, at St Cloud, and Fountain- 
 bleau, amidst the luxuriance of vegetation, and 
 surrounded by the majesty of forest scenery, it 
 destroys altogether the effect which arises from 
 the irregularity of natural beauty. Every one 
 feels straight borders, and square porticoes and 
 bi oad alleys, to be in unison with the immediate 
 neighbourhood of an antiquated mansion ; but 
 they become painful when extended to those 
 
80 
 
 remoter parts of the grounds, wlien the charac- 
 ter of the scene is determined by the rudeness 
 of uncultivated nature. 
 
 There are some occasions, nevertheless, on 
 which the gardens of tlie Thuilleries present a 
 beautiful spectacle, in spite of the artificial taste 
 in which they are formed. From the warmth 
 of the climate, the Parisians, of all classes, live 
 much in the open air, and frequent the public 
 gardens in great numbers during the continuance 
 of the fine weather. In the evening especially, 
 they are filled with citizens, who repose them- 
 selves under the shade of the lofty trees, after 
 the heat and the fatigues of the day ; and they 
 then present a spectacle of more than ordinary 
 interest and beauty. The disposition of the 
 French suits the character of the scene, and har- 
 monises with the impression which the stillness 
 of the evening produces on the mind. There 
 is none of that rioting or confusion by which 
 an assembly of the middling classes in England 
 is too often disgraced ; no quarrelling or intoxi- 
 cation even among the poorest ranks, and little 
 appearance of that degrading want which de- 
 stroys the pleasing idea of public happiness. 
 The people appear all to enjoy a certain share 
 of individual prosperity ; their intercourse is 
 conducted with unbroken harmony, and they 
 
81 
 
 seem to resign themselves to those delightful 
 feelings which steal over the mind during the 
 stillness and serenity of a summer evening. 
 
 Still more beautiful perhaps, is the appearance 
 of this scene during the stillness of the night, 
 when the moon throws her dubious rays over 
 the objects of nature. The gardens of the 
 Thuilleries remain crowded with people, who 
 seem to enjoy the repose which universally pre- 
 vails;, and from whom no sound is to be heard 
 which can break the stillness or serenity of 
 the scene. The regularity of the forms is 
 wholly lost in the masses of Hght and shadoiv 
 that are there displayed ; the fohage throws a 
 chequered shade over the ground beneath, while 
 the different vistas of the Elysian Fields are 
 seen in that soft and mellow light by which the 
 radiance of the moon is so peculiarly distin- 
 guished. After passing through these favourite 
 scenes of the French people, we frequently 
 came to small encampments of the allied troops 
 in the remote parts of the grounds. The ap- 
 pearance of these bivouacks, composed of Cos- 
 sack squadrons, Hungarian hussars, or Prus- 
 sian artillery, in the obscurity of moonlight, and 
 surrounded by the gloom of forest scenery, was 
 beyond measure striking. The picturesque 
 forms of the soldiers, sleeping^' on their arms un~ 
 VOL. I. F ' 
 
82 
 
 der the shade of the trees, or half hid by the 
 rude huts which they had erected for their shel- 
 ter ; the varied attitudes of the horses standing 
 amidst the waggons by which the camp was 
 followed, or sleeping beside the veterans whom 
 they had borne through all the fortunes of war ; 
 the dark masses of the artillery, dimly discerned 
 in the shades of night, or faintly reflecting the 
 pale Hght of the moon, presented a scene of the 
 most beautiful description, in which the rude 
 features of war were softened by the tranquillity 
 of peaceful hfe ; and the interest of present re- 
 pose was enhanced by the remembrance of the 
 wintry storms and bloody fields through which 
 these brave men had passed, during the me- 
 morable campaigns in which they had been en- 
 gaged. The effect of the whole was increased 
 by the perfect stillness which everywhere pre- 
 vailed, broken only at intervals by the slow step 
 of the sentinel, as he paced his rounds, or the 
 sweeter sounds of those beautiful airs, which, in 
 a far distant country, recalled to the Russian 
 soldier the joys and the happiness of his native 
 land. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ENVIRONS OF PARIS. 
 
 St Cloud was the favourite residence of Bona- 
 parte, and, from this circumstance, possesses an 
 interest which does not belong to the other im- 
 perial palaces. It stands high, upon a lofty 
 hank overhanging the Seine, which takes a 
 bold sweep in the plain below ; and the steep 
 declivity which descends to its banks is clothed 
 with magnificent woods of aged elms. The 
 character of the scenery is bold and rugged ; — 
 the trees are of the wildest forms, and the most 
 stupendous height, and the banks, for the most 
 part, steep and irregular. It is here, accord- 
 ingly, that the French gardening appears in all 
 its genuine deformity ; and that its straight 
 
 F 2 
 
S4 
 
 walks and endless fountains display a degree of 
 formality and art, destructive of the peculiar 
 beauty by which the scene is distinguished. 
 These gardens, however, were the favourite and 
 private walks of the Emperor; — it was here 
 that he meditated those schemes of ambition 
 which were destined to shake the established 
 thrones of Europe ; — it was under the shade of 
 this luxuriant foliage that he formed the plan of 
 all the mighty projects which he had in contem- 
 plation ; — it was in the splendid apartments of 
 this palace that the Councils of France assembled, 
 to revolve on the means of permanently destroy- 
 ing the English power : — It was here too, by a 
 most remarkable coincidence, that his destruc- 
 tion was finally accompMshed; — that the last 
 convention was concluded, by which his second 
 dethronement was completed; — and that the 
 victorious arms of England dictated the terms 
 of surrender to his conquered capital. 
 
 When we visited St Cloud, it was the head- 
 quarters of Prince Schwartzenberg ; and the 
 Austrian gi-enadiers mounted guard at the gates 
 of the Imperial Palace. The banks of the 
 Seine, below the Palace, were covered by an 
 immense bivouack of Austrian troops, and the 
 fires of their encampment twinkled in the ob- 
 scurity of twilight amidst the low brushwood 
 
85 
 
 with which the sides of the river were clothed. 
 The appearance of this bivoiiack, dimly dis- 
 cerned through the rugged stems of lofty trees, 
 or half-hid by the luxuriant branches which ob^ 
 scured the view ; — the picturesque and varied 
 aspect of the plain covered with waggons, and 
 
 all the accompaniments of military service ; 
 
 the columns of smoke rising from the fires with 
 which it was interspersed, and the innumerable 
 horses crowded amidst the confused multitude 
 of men and carriages, or resting in more seques- 
 tered spots on the sides of the river, with their 
 forms finely reflected in its unruffled waters- 
 presented a spectacle which exhibited war in 
 its most striking aspect, and gave a character to 
 the scene which would have suited the romantic 
 strain of Salvator's mind. 
 
 St Germain, though less picturesquely si- 
 tuated than St Cloud, presents features, never- 
 theless, of more than ordinary magnificence. 
 The Palace, now converted into a school of 
 military education by Napoleon, is a mean irre- 
 gular building, though it possesses a certam 
 interest, by having been long the residence of 
 the exiled house of Stuart. The situation, 
 however, is truly fitted for an imperial dwell- 
 mg ; it stands on the edge of a high bank over- 
 hanging the Seine, at the end a magnificent 
 F 3 
 
86 
 
 terrace, a mile and a half long, built on the pro- 
 jecting heights which edge the river. The 
 walk along this terrace is the finest spectacle 
 which the vicinity of Paris has to present. It 
 is backed along its whole extent by the exten- 
 sive forest of St Germain, the foUage of which 
 overhangs the road, and in the recesses of which 
 you can occasionally discern those beautiful 
 peeps which form the peculiar characteristic of 
 forest scenery. The steep bank which descends 
 to the river is clothed with orchards and vine- 
 yards in all the luxuriance of a southern cH- 
 mate; and in front, there is spread beneath 
 your feet the wide plain in which the Seine 
 wanders, whose waters are descried at intervals 
 through the woods and gardens with which its 
 banks are adorned; while, in the farthest dis- 
 tance, the towers of St Denis, and the heights 
 of Paris, form an irregular outline on the verge 
 of the horizon. It is a scene exhibiting the 
 most beautiful aspect of cultivated nature, and 
 would have been the fit residence for a Monarch 
 who loved to survey his subjects' happiness: 
 but it was deserted by the miserable weakness 
 of Louis XIV., because the view terminated in 
 the cemetery of the IGngs of France, and his 
 enjoyment of it would have been destroyed by 
 the thoughts of mortal decay. 
 
87 
 
 'Versailles, which that monarch chose as the 
 ordinary abode of his splendid Court, is less fa- 
 vourably situate for a royal dwelling, though 
 the view from the great front of the palace is 
 beautifully clothed with luxuriant woods. The 
 palace itself is a magnificent building of great 
 extent, loaded with the riches of architectural 
 beauty, but destitute of that fine proportion 
 and lightness of ornament, which spread so in- 
 describable a charm over the Palace of the 
 Louvre. The interior is in a state of lament- 
 able decay, having been pillaged at the com- 
 mencement of the revolutionary fury, and 
 formed into a barrack for the republican sol- 
 diers, the marks of whose violence are still vi- 
 sible in the faded splendour of its magnificent 
 apartments. They still shew, however, the fa- 
 vourite rooms of Marie Antoinette, the walls 
 of which are covered with the finest mirrors, 
 and some remains of the furniture are still 
 preserved, which even the hcentious fury of the 
 French army seems to have been afraid to vio- 
 late. The gardens on which all the riches of 
 France, and all the efforts of art, were so long 
 lavished, present a painful monument of the 
 depravity of taste: but the Petit Trianon, 
 which is a little palace built of marble, and sur- 
 rounded by shrubberies in the English style^ 
 
 F 4 
 
exhibits the genuine beauty of which the imi- 
 tation of nature is susceptible. This palace con- 
 tains a suite of splendid apartments, fitted up 
 with singular taste, and adorned with a number 
 of charming pictures ; it was the favourite re- 
 sidence of Maria Louisa, and we were there 
 shewn the drawing materials which she used, 
 and some vmfinished sketches which she left, in 
 which, we were informed, she much delighted, 
 and ^^'hich bore the marks of a cultivated taste. 
 
 We frequently enquired concerning the cha- 
 racter and occupations of this Empress, at all the 
 palaces where she usually dwelt, and uniformly 
 received the same answer : — She was everywhere 
 represented as cold, proud, and haughty in her 
 manner, and imconciliating in her ordinary ad- 
 dress. Her time was much spent in private, in 
 the exercise of religious duty, or in needle- work 
 and di'awing ; and her favourite seat at St Cloud 
 was between two windows, from one of which 
 she had a view over the beautiful woods which 
 clothe the banks of the river, and from the other 
 a distant prospect of the towers and domes of 
 Paris. 
 
 Very different was the character which be- 
 longed to the former Empress, the first wife of 
 Bonaparte, Josephine : She passed the close of 
 her life at the dehghtful retreat of Malmaison^ 
 
89 
 
 a villa charmingly situated on the banks of the 
 Seiije, seven miles from Paris, on the road to 
 St Germain. This villa had been her favourite 
 residence while she continued Empress, and form- 
 ed her only home after the period of her divorce ; 
 
 here she lived in obscurity and retirement, 
 
 without any of the pomp of a court, or any of 
 the splendour Avhich belonged to her former 
 rank, — occupied entirely in the employment of 
 gardening, or in alleviating the distresses of 
 those around her. The shrubberies and gardens 
 were laid out with singular beauty, in the En- 
 glish taste, and contained a vast variety of rare 
 flowers, which she had for a long period been 
 collecting. These shrubberies were to her the 
 source of never-failing enjoyment; she spent 
 many hours in them every day, working herself, 
 or superintending the occupations of others ; 
 and in these delightful occupations seemed to 
 return again to all the innocence and happiness, 
 of youth. She was beloved to the greatest de- 
 gree by all the poor who inhabited the vicinity 
 of her retreat, both for the gentleness of her 
 manner, and her unAvearied attention to their 
 sufferings and their wants ; and during the whole 
 period of her retirement, she retained the esteem 
 and affection of all classes of French citizens. 
 The Emperor Alexander visited her repeatedl^r 
 
90 
 
 during the stay of the allied armies in Paris ; 
 and her death occasioned an universal feeling of 
 regret, rarely to be met with amidst the corrup- 
 tion and selfishness of the French metropolis. 
 
 There was something singularly striking in the 
 history and character of this remarkable woman : 
 — Born in a humble station, without any of the 
 advantages which rank or education could af- 
 ford, she was early involved in all the unspeak- 
 able miseries of the French revolution, and was 
 extricated from her precarious situation only by 
 being united to that extraordinary man, whose 
 crimes and whose ambition have spread misery 
 through every country of Europe : Rising through 
 all the gradations of rank through which he pass- 
 ed, she everywhere commanded the esteem and 
 regard of all those who had access to admire her 
 private virtues ; and when at length she was 
 raised to the rank of Empress, she graced the 
 imperial throne with all the charities and vir- 
 tues of a humbler station. She bore, with un- 
 exampled magnanimity, the sacrifice of power 
 and of influence which she was compelled to 
 make : She carried into the obscurity of humble 
 life all the dignity of mind which befitted the 
 character of an Empress of France ; and exer- 
 cised^ in the delightful occupations of country 
 life, or in the alleviation of the severity of indi- 
 
91 
 
 vidual distress, that firmness of mind and gentle- 
 ness of disposition, with which she had lightened 
 the weight of imperial dominion, and softened 
 the rigour of despotic power. 
 
 The Forest of Fontainbleau exhibits scenery 
 of a more picturesque and striking character 
 than is to be met with in any other part of the 
 north of France. It is situated 40 miles from 
 Paris, on the great road to Kome, and the ap- 
 pearance of the country through which this road 
 runs, is for the most part flat and uninteresting. 
 It runs through a continued plain, in a straight 
 line between tall rows of elm trees, whose lower 
 branches are uniformly cut off for fire- wood to 
 the peasantry ; and exhibits, for the most part, 
 no other feature than the continued riches of 
 agricultural produce. At the distance of seven 
 miles, from the town of Fontainbleau, you first 
 discern the forest, covering a vast ridge of rocks, 
 stretching as far as the eye can reach, from right 
 to left, and presenting a dark irregular outUne 
 on the surface of the horizon. The cultivation 
 continues, with all its uniformity, to the very 
 foot of the ridge ; but the moment you pass the 
 boundaries of the forest, you find yourself sur- 
 rounded at once with all the wildness and luxu- 
 riance of natural scenery. The surface of the 
 ground is brokeq and irregular, rising at time^^ 
 
into vast piles of shapeless rocks, and enclosing 
 at others small valiies, in which the wood grows 
 in endless beauty, unblighted by tiie chilling 
 blasts of northern chmates. In these valiies, the 
 oak, the ash, and the beech, exhibit the peciihar 
 magnificence of forest scenery, while, on the 
 neighbouring hills, the birch waves its airy fo- 
 liage round the dark masses of rock which ter-r 
 minate the view. Nothing can be conceived 
 more striking than the scenery which this varie- 
 ty of rock and wood produce in every part of 
 this romantic forest. At times you pass through 
 an unbroken mass of aged timber, surrounded 
 by the native grandeur of forest scenery, and 
 undisturbed by any traces of human habitation, 
 except in those rude paths which occasionally 
 open a passing view into the remoter parts of 
 the forest. At others, the path winds through 
 great masses of rock, piled in endless confusion 
 upon each other, in the crevices of which the 
 fern and the heath grow in all the luxuriance of 
 southern vegetation; while their summits are 
 covered by aged oaks of the wildest forms, whose 
 crossing boughs throw an eternal shade over the 
 ravines below, and afford room only to discern 
 at the farthest distance the summits of those 
 beautiful hills, on which the light foliage of the 
 birch trembles in the ray of an unclouded sun^ 
 or waves on the blue of a summer heaven. 
 
93 
 
 To those who have had the good fortune to see 
 the beautiful scenery of the Trosachs in Scot- 
 land, of Matlock in Derbyshire, or of the wood- 
 ed Fells in Cumberland, it may afford some idea 
 of the Forest of Fontainbleau, to say that it 
 combines scenery of a similar description with 
 the aged magnificence of Windsor Forest. Over 
 its whole extent there are scattered many de- 
 tached oaks of vast dimensions, which seem to 
 be of an older race in the growth of the Forest, 
 — whose lowest boughs stretch above the top of 
 the wood which surrounds them, — and whose 
 decayed summits afford a striking contrast to 
 the young and luxuriant foHage with which 
 their stems are enveloped. When we visited 
 Fontainbleau, it was occupied by the old impe- 
 rial guard, which still remained in that station 
 after the abdication of Bonaparte ; and we fre- 
 quently met parties, or detached stragglers of 
 them, wandering in the most solitary parts of 
 the Forest. Their warlike and weather-beaten 
 appearance ; their battered arms and worn accou- 
 trements ; the dark plumes of their helmets, and 
 the sallow ferocious aspect of their countenances^ 
 suited the savage character of the scenery with 
 which they were surrounded, and threw over 
 the gloo?n and solitude of the Forest that wild 
 expression with which the genius of Sal vator dig- 
 nified the features of uncultivated nature. 
 
The town and palace of Fontainbleau are si- 
 tuate in a small plain near the centre of the 
 forest, and surrounded on all sides by the rocky 
 ridges with which it is everywhere intersected. 
 The palace is a large irregular building, com- 
 posed of many squares, and fitted up in the in- 
 side with the utmost splendour of imperial mag- 
 nificence. We were there shewn the apart- 
 ments in which Napoleon dwelt during his stay 
 in the palace, after the capture of Paris by the 
 allied troops ; and the desk at which he always 
 wrote, and where his abdication was signed. It 
 w^as covered with white leather, scratched over 
 in every direction, and marked with innumer- 
 able wipings of the pen, among which we per- 
 ceived his own name, Napoleon, frequently 
 written as in a very hurried and irregular hand ; 
 and one sentence which began. Que Dieu, Na- 
 poleon, Napoleon. The servants in the palace 
 agreed in stating, that the Emperor's gaiety and 
 fortitude of mind never deserted him during 
 the ruin of his fortune ; that he was engaged in 
 his writing-chamber during the greater part of 
 the day, and walked for two hours on the ter- 
 race, in close conversation with Marshal Ney. 
 Several officers of the imperial guard repeated 
 the speech which he made to his troops on leav- 
 ing them after his abdication of the throne, 
 
95 
 
 which was precisely what appeared in the En- 
 glish newspapers. So great was the enthusiasm 
 produced by this speech among the soldiers 
 present, that it was received with shouts and 
 cries of Vive I'Empereur, A Paris, A Paris ! 
 and when he departed under the custody of the 
 aUied Comnfiissioners» the whole army wept; 
 there was not a dry eye in the multitude who 
 were assembled to witness his departure. Even 
 the imperial guard, who had been trained in 
 scenes of suffering from their first entry into the 
 service — who had been inured for a long course 
 of years to the daily sight of human misery, and 
 had constantly made a sport of all the afflictions 
 which are fitted to move the human heart, 
 shared in the general grief ; they seemed to 
 forget the degradation in which their commander 
 was involved, the hardships to which they had 
 been exposed, and the destruction which he had 
 brought upon their brethren in arms ; they re- 
 membered him when he stood victorious on the 
 field of Austerlitz, or passed in triumpli through 
 the gates of Moscow ; and shed over the fall of 
 their Emperor those tears of genuine sorrow 
 which they denied to the deepest scenes of 
 private suffering, or the most aggravated in- 
 stances of individual distress. It is impossible 
 not to regret that feelings so exalting to human 
 
96 
 
 nature should have been awakened by one who 
 shared so Httle in then- enthusiasm himself; 
 that the sufferings of thousands should have 
 been forgotten in the fiite of one to whom the 
 hiiseries of others never afforded a subject of 
 regret; and that the only occasion on which 
 generous sentiments were manifested by the 
 French army, should have been the overthrow 
 of that power by which their ambition and 
 their wickedness had been supported. 
 
 We had the good fortune to see the infantry 
 of the old guard drawn up in line in the streets 
 of Fontainbleau, and their appearance was sucli 
 as fully answered the idea we had formed of 
 that body of veteran soldiers, who had borne the 
 French eagles through every capital of Europe. 
 Their aspect was bold and martial ; there was a 
 keenness in their eyes which bespoke the charac- 
 teristic intelligence of the French soldiers, and 
 a ferocity in the expression of their countenances 
 which seemed to have been unsubdued even by 
 the unparalleled disasters in which their country 
 had been involved. The people of the town 
 itself complained in the bitterest terms of their 
 licentious conduct, and repeatedly said, that 
 they dreaded them more as friends than the 
 Cossacks themselves as enemies. They seemed 
 to harbour the most unbounded resentment 
 
97 
 
 against the people of this country ; their coun- 
 tenances bore the expression of the strongest 
 enmity as we walked along their line, and we 
 fi-equently heard them mutter among them- 
 selves, in the most emphatic manner, Sacrc 
 Dieu, voila les Anglois ! — Whatever the atro- 
 city of their conduct, however, might have been, 
 to the people of their own, as well as every other 
 country, it was impossible not to feel the 
 strongest emotion at the sight of the veteran 
 soldiers whose exploits had so long rivetted the 
 attention of all who felt an interest in the civi- 
 lized world. These were the men who first 
 raised the glory of the republican araiies on the 
 plains of Italy ; who survived the burning cli- 
 mate of Egypt, and chained victory to the impe- 
 rial standards at Jena, at Austerlitz, and at Fried- 
 land — who foUowed the career of victory to the 
 walls of the Kremlin, and marched undaunted 
 through the ranks of death amid the snows of 
 Russia; — who witnessed the ruin of France 
 under the walls of Leipsic, and struggled 
 to save her falling fortune on the heights of 
 Laon ; and who preserved, in the midst of na- 
 tional humiliation, and when surrounded by 
 the mighty foreign Powers, that undaunted air 
 and unshaken firmness, which, even in the mo- 
 VOL. I. o 
 
98 
 
 inent of defeat, commanded the respect of their 
 antagonists in arms. 
 
 Beyond the town of Fontainbleau, there rises 
 a ridge of steep hills, which prevents any view 
 in that direction into the distant parts of the 
 forest. The road to their summit Hes through 
 the Imperial Gardens, and is surrounded by the 
 artificial forms and regular walks which mark 
 the character of the French gardening. When 
 you reach the summit, however, the character of 
 the scene instantly changes, and you pass at 
 once into the utmost wildness of desolated 
 nature. The foreground is broken by barren 
 rock, or covered with the beautiful forms of the 
 weeping bkch ; immediately below there Ues a 
 lonely valley, strewed with masses of grey stone, 
 without the slightest trace of human habitation, 
 while, in the farthest distance, the forest is dis- 
 cerned, clothing the sides of those broken ridges 
 which rise in endless confusion on the surface of 
 the horizon. At the moment when we reached 
 this spot, the sun was setting in the west ; the 
 cold grey of the stone which covered the ravine> 
 was dimly discerned through the obscure Hght 
 which the approach of night produced, while 
 the rugged outHne of the rocks beyond was pro- 
 jected in the deepest shadow on the bright hght 
 of the departing day. 
 
m 
 
 There is no scenery round Paris so striking as 
 the forest of Fontainbleau, but the heights of 
 Belleville exhibit nature in a more pleasing 
 aspect, and are distinguished by features of a 
 gentler character. Montmartre, and the ridge of 
 Belleville, form those celebrated heights which 
 command Paris on the northern side, and which 
 were so obstinately contested between the allies 
 and the French on the 30th March 1814, 
 previous to the capture of Paris by the allied 
 Sovereigns. Montmartre is covered for the 
 most pSi-t with houses, and presents nothing to 
 attract the eye of the observer, except the ex- 
 tensive view which is to be met with at its 
 summit. The heights of Belleville, however, 
 are varied with wood, with orchards, vineyards, 
 and gardens, interspersed with cottages and villas, 
 and cultivated with the utmost care. There 
 are few inclosures, but the whole extent of the 
 ground is thickly studded with walnuts, fruit- 
 trees, and forest timber, which, from a distance, 
 give it the appeai-ance of one continued wood. 
 On a nearer approach, however, you find it inter- 
 sected in every direction by small paths, which 
 wind among the vineyards, or through the woods 
 with which the hills are covered, and present at 
 every turn those charming little scenes which 
 form the peculiar characteristic of woodland 
 G 2 
 
100 
 
 iicenery. The cottages half hid by the proftision 
 of fruit-trees, or embosomed in the luxuriant 
 woods with which they are everywhere sur- 
 rounded, increase the interest which the scenery 
 itself is fitted to produce: they combine the de- 
 lightful idea of the peasant's enjoyment with 
 the beauty of the spot on which his dwelling is 
 placed ; and awaken, in the midst of the bound- 
 less luxuriance of vegetable nature, those deeper 
 feelings of moral delight, which spring from 
 the contemplation of human happiness. 
 
 To a northern eye, there is nothing soUehght- 
 ful as this luxuriance of vegetation, which rises 
 amidst the warmth of southern climates. The 
 sterile rocks and rugged mountains of northern 
 regions exhibit nature in her native rudeness, 
 her features bear a harsher aspect, and her forms 
 are expressive of more melancholy feeling ; but 
 under the genial warmth of a southern sun, she 
 is an-ayed in a robe of softer colours, and beams 
 with the expression of a gentler character. She 
 there appears surrounded by the luxuriance of 
 vegetable life : she pours forth her bounty with 
 a provision which the partizans of utihty would 
 call prodigahty, and covers the earth with a 
 splendour of beauty, which serves no other pur- 
 pose than to minister to the delight of human 
 existence. Amidst the riches with which man 
 
m 
 
 is surrounded, his destiny appears happier than 
 in more desolate situations ; we forget the suf- 
 ferings of the individual in the profusion of 
 beauty with which he is surrounded ; and im- 
 pute to the inhabitants of these delightful re- 
 gions, those feelings of happiness which spring 
 in our own minds from the contemplation of the 
 scenery in which they are placed. 
 
 The effect of the charming scenery on the 
 heights of Belleville is much increased by the 
 distant objects which terminate some parts of 
 the view. To the east, the high and gloomy 
 towers of Vincennes rise over the beautiful 
 woods with which the sides of the hill are 
 adorned, and give an air of solemnity to the 
 scene, arising from the remembrance of the 
 tragic events of which it was the theatre. To 
 the south, the domes and spires of Paris can oc- 
 casionally be discovered through the openings 
 of the wood with which the foreground is en- 
 riched, and present the capital at that pleasing 
 distance, when the minuter part of the build- 
 ings are concealed, when its prominent features 
 alone are displayed, and the whole is softened 
 by the obscure light which distance throws over 
 the objects of nature. To an English mind, 
 the effect of the whole is infinitely increased, by 
 the animating associations with which this 
 
 G 3 
 
102 
 
 scenery is connected ; — ^by the remembrance 
 of the mighty struggle between freedom and 
 slavery, which was here terminated ; — of the 
 heroic deeds which were here performed, and 
 the unequalled magnanimity which was here 
 displayed. It was here that the expiring ef- 
 forts of military depotism were overthrown — 
 that the armies of Russia stood triumphant over 
 the power of France, and nobly avenged the 
 ashes of their own capital, by sparing that of 
 their prostrate enemy. 
 
 When we visited the heights of BelleviUe, 
 the traces of the recent struggle were visibly 
 imprinted on the villages and woods with which 
 the hill is covered. The marks of blood were 
 still to be discerned on the chaussee which leads 
 through the village of Pantin ; the elm trees 
 which line the road were cut asunder, or bored 
 through with cannon shot, and their stems 
 riddled in many parts with the incessant fire of 
 the grape shot. The houses in La Villette, Belle- 
 ville and Pantin, were covered with the marks 
 of musket shot ; the windows of many were 
 shattered, or wholly destroyed, and the interior 
 of the rooms broken by the balls which seemed 
 to have pierced every part of the buildings. So 
 thickly were the houses in some places covered 
 with these marks, that it appeared almost in- 
 
103 
 
 credible how any one could have escaped from 
 so destructive a fire. Even the beautiful gar- 
 dens with which the slope of the heights are 
 adorned, and the inmost recesses of the wood 
 of Romainville, bore throughout the marks of 
 the desperate struggles which they had lately 
 witnessed, and exhibited the symptoms of frac- 
 ture or destruction in the midst of the luxu- 
 riance of natural beauty ; yet, though they had 
 so recently been the scene of mortal combat ; 
 though the ashes of the dead yet lay in heaps 
 on different parts of the field of battle, the pro- 
 lific powers of nature were undecayed : the 
 vines clustered round the broken fragments of 
 the instruments of war, — the corn spread a 
 sweeter green over the fields, which were yet 
 wet with human blood, and the trees waved 
 with renovated beauty over the uncoffined re- 
 mains of the departed brave; emblematic of 
 the decay of man, and of the immortality of 
 nature. 
 
 The French have often been accused of self- 
 ishness, and the indifference which they often 
 manifest to the fate of their relations, affords 
 too much reason to believe that the social af- 
 fections have Httle permanent influence on their 
 minds. We must, however, admit, that they 
 exhibit in misfortunes of a different kind— in 
 
 G 4 
 
104 
 
 calamities which really press upon their own 
 enjoyments of life, the same gaiety of heart, and 
 the same undisturbed equanimity of disposi- 
 tion. That gaiety in misfortune, which is so 
 painful to every observer, when it is to be found 
 in the midst of family-distress, becomes delight- 
 ful when it exists under the deprivation of the 
 selfish gratification to which the individual had 
 been accustomed. Both here, and in other parts 
 of France, where the houses of the peasants had 
 been wholly destroyed by the allied armies, we 
 had occasion frequently to observe and admire 
 the equanimity of mind with which these poor 
 people bore the loss of all their property. For 
 an extent of 30 miles in one direction, towards 
 the North of Champagne, every house near th6 
 great road had been burnt or pillaged for the 
 firewood whixih it contained, both by the French 
 and the allied armies, and the people were every-, 
 where compelled to sleep in the open air. 
 When we spoke to them on the subject of their 
 losse:?, they answered with smiles, " Tout est 
 " detruit : tout est brule, tout, tout ;" and seem- 
 ed to derive amusement from the completeness 
 of the devastation. The men were everywhere 
 rebuilding their fallen walls, with a eheerfiilness 
 which never would have existed in England 
 imder similar circumstances ; and the little ehil- 
 
105 
 
 dren laboured in the gardens during the day, 
 and slept under the vines at night, without ex- 
 hibiting any signs of distress for their disconso- 
 late situation. In many places, we saw groupes 
 of these little children in the midst of the ruined 
 houses, or under the shattered trees, playing with 
 the musket shot, or trying to roll the cannon balls 
 by which the destruction of their dwellings had 
 been effected ; — exhibiting a picture of youthful 
 joy and native innocence, while sporting with 
 the instruments of human destruction, which 
 the genius of Sir Joshua Reynolds would have 
 moulded into the expression of pathetic feeling, 
 or employed as the means of moral improve- 
 ment 
 
CHAPTER y. 
 
 PARIS — THE LOUVRE. 
 
 To those who have had the good fortune to see 
 the pictures and statues which were preserved in 
 the Louvre, all description of these works must 
 appear superfluous ; and to those who have not 
 had this good fortune, such an attempt could 
 convey no adequate idea of the objects which 
 are described. There is nothing more unin- 
 teresting than the catalogue of pictures which 
 are to be found in the works of many modern 
 travellers ; nor any thing in general more ridi- 
 culous than the ravings of admiration with 
 which this catalogue is described, and with 
 which the reader in general is little disposed to 
 
107 
 
 sympathise. Without attempting, therefore, 
 to enumerate the great works which were there 
 to be met with, we shall confine ourselves to a 
 simpler object, to the delineation of the general 
 chm^acter by which the different schools of 
 painting are distinguished, and the great fea- 
 tures in which they all differ from the sculpture 
 of ancient times. For the justice of these ob- 
 servations, we must of course appeal to those 
 who have examined this great collection ; and 
 in the prosecution of them, we pretend to 
 nothing more than the simple account of the 
 feelings which, we are persuaded, must have 
 occurred to all those who have viewed it without 
 any knowledge of the rules which art has esta- 
 bUshed, or the more despicable principles which 
 connoisseurs have maintained, 
 
 For an attempt of this kind, the Louvre pre- 
 sented singular advantages, from the unparalleled 
 collection of paintings of every school and de- 
 scription which was there to be met with, and 
 the facility with which you could trace the pro- 
 gress of the art from its fii'st beginning to the 
 period of its greatest perfection. And it is in this 
 view that the collection of these works into one 
 museum, however much to be deplored as the 
 work of unprincipled ambition, and however 
 much it may have diminished th^ impression 
 
108 
 
 which particular objects, from the influence of 
 association, produced in their native place, was yet 
 calculated, we conceive, to produce the greatest of 
 all improvements in the progress of the art, by 
 divesting particular schools and particular works 
 of the unbounded influence which the effect of 
 early association, or the prejudices of national 
 feeling, have given them in their original situa- 
 tion, and placing them where their real nature is 
 to be judged of by a more extended circle, and 
 subjected to the examination of more impartial 
 sentiments. 
 
 The character of every school of painting has 
 been determined by some peculiar circumstances 
 under which that school first originated, which 
 have contributed to form its greatest excellen- 
 cies, and been the real source of its principal de- 
 fects ; and it has unfortunately happened, that 
 the unbounded admiration for the great produc- 
 tion of these schools has everywhere formed the 
 national taste, and tended to perpetuate their 
 errors, when the progress of society would other- 
 wise have led to their earlier abandonment. It 
 deserves well to be considered, therefore, whe- 
 ther the restoration of these monuments of art 
 to their original situations, while it must un- 
 questionably enhance the veneration with which 
 they will severally be regarded, may not per- 
 
109 
 
 petuate the defects which particular cii-cum- 
 stances have stamped on their school of compo- 
 sition ; and whether the continuance of them in 
 one vast collection, however fatal to the impli- 
 cit veneration for the works of antiquity, was 
 not calculated, by the comparison of their ex- 
 cellencies and the exhibition of their defects, 
 to fonn a new school, possessed of a more ge- 
 nei-al character, and adapted for the admira*. 
 tion of a more unbiassed public. It is in the 
 despotic reign of arbitrary governments, if we 
 may be allowed, in a discussion on matters of 
 taste, to borrow an illustration from politics, that 
 the influence of ancient error, and the power of 
 ancient prejudice, is most unbounded ; but it is in 
 the unbiassed discussion which distinguishes a 
 free state, that the influence of prejudice is forgot- 
 ten, and truth emerges from the collision of op- 
 posite opinions. However this may be, it will not, 
 it is hoped, be deemed an useless attempt, if we 
 now endeavour to state, in a few words, the im- 
 pression which was produced by this great col- 
 lection of the works of art, which has been felt, 
 we doubt not, by all who have viewed it with 
 untutored eyes, but has not hitherto been de- 
 scribed by those so much better able to do jus- 
 tice to it than ourselves. 
 The first hall of the Louvre in the Picture 
 
110 
 
 Callery is filled with paintings of the French 
 school. The principal artists whose works are 
 here exhibited are, Le Brun, Caspar and Nico- 
 las Poussin, Claude Lorrain, Vernet, and the 
 modern painters Gerard and David. The ge- 
 neral character of the school of French histori- 
 cal painting, is the expression of passion and 
 violent emotion. The colouring is for the most 
 part brilliant ; the canvas crowded with figures, 
 and the incident selected, that in which the 
 painter might have the best opportunity of dis- 
 playing his knowledge of the human frame, or 
 the varied expression of the human counte- 
 nance. In the pictures of the modern school of 
 French painting, this peculiarity is pushed to 
 an extravagant length, and, fortunately for the 
 art, displays the false principles on which the 
 system of their composition is founded. The 
 moment seized is uniformly that of the strong- 
 est and most violent passion ; the principal ac- 
 tors in the piece are represented in a state of 
 phrenzied exertion, and the whole anatomical 
 knowledge of the artist is displayed in the end- 
 less contortions into which the human frame is 
 thrown. In David's celebrated picture of the 
 three Horatii, this peculiarity appears in the 
 most striking light. The works of this artist 
 iipay excite admiration, but it is the limited and 
 
Ill 
 
 artificial admiration of the schools ; of those why 
 have forgot the end of the art in the acquisition 
 of the technical knowledge with which it is ac- 
 companied, or the display of the technical powers 
 which its execution involves. 
 
 The paintings of Vernet, in this collection, 
 are perhaps the finest specimens of that beauti- 
 ful master, and they entitle him to a higher 
 place in the estimation of mankind than he 
 seems yet to have obtained fi-om the generality 
 of observers. There is a delicacy of colouring, 
 an unity of design, and a harmony of expression 
 in his works, which accord well with the simpU- 
 city of the subjects which his taste has selected, 
 and the general effect which it was his object 
 to produce. In the representation of the sun 
 dispelling the mists of a cloudy morning ; of his 
 setting rays gilding the waves of a western sea ; 
 or of that undefined beauty which moonhght 
 throws over the objects of nature, the works of 
 this artist are perhaps unrivalled. 
 
 The paintings of Claude are by no means 
 equal to what we had expected, from the cele- 
 brity which his name has acquired, or the match- 
 less beauty which the engravings from him pos- 
 sess. They are but eleven in number, and can- 
 not be in any degree compared with those which 
 are to be found in Mr Angerstein's collection. 
 
1125 
 
 To those, however, who have been accustoined to 
 study the designs of this great master, through 
 the medium of the engraved copies, and above 
 all, in the unrivalled works of WooUet, the sight 
 of the original pictures must, perhaps at all 
 times, create a feeling of disappointment. There 
 is an unity of effect in the engravings which can 
 never be met with amidst the distraction of co- 
 louring in the original pictures ; and the ima- 
 gination clothes the beautiful shades of the copy 
 mth finer tints than even the pencil of Claude 
 has been able to supply. « I have shewn you," 
 said Corinne to Oswald, " St Peter's for the first 
 " time, when the brilliancy of its decorations 
 *' might appear in full splendour, in the rays of 
 " the sun : I reserve for you a finer, and a more 
 " profound enjoyment, to behold it by the hght 
 " of the moon." Perhaps there is a distinction of 
 the same kind between the gaudy brilliancy of 
 Varied colours, and the chaster simphcity of uni- 
 form shadows ; and it is probably for this rea- 
 son, that on the fii'st view of a picture which 
 you have long admired in the simplicity of en- 
 graved effect, you involuntarily recede fi-om the 
 view, and seek in the obscure light and uncer- 
 tain tint which distance produces, to recover 
 that uniform tone and general character, which 
 the splendoiu* of colouring is so apt to destroy. 
 
115 
 
 It is a feeling similar to that which Lord Byroii 
 has so finely described, as arising from the beauty 
 of moon-light scenery :— ^ 
 
 " Mellow'd to that tender light 
 
 Which Heaven to gaudy day denies." 
 
 The I>utch and Flemish school, to which you 
 next advance, possesses merit, and is distinguish- 
 ed by a character of a very different description. 
 It was the weU-known object of this school, to 
 present an exact and faithful imitation of nature; 
 to exaggerate none of its faults, and enhance 
 none of its excellencies, but exliibit it as it really 
 appears to the eye of an ordinary spectator. Its 
 artists selected, in general, some scene of hu- 
 mour or amusement, in the discovery of which, 
 the most ignorant spectators might discover other 
 sofui^ces of pleasure than those which the merit 
 of the art itself afforded. They did not pre- 
 tend, in general, to aim at the exhibition of pas- 
 sion or powerful emotion: their paintings, there- 
 fop, are frfee from that painful display of thea- 
 trical effect, which characterises the French 
 school ; their object was not to represent those 
 deep scenes of sorrow or suffering, which accord 
 with the profound feelings which it was the ob- 
 ject, of the Italian school to awaken ; they want, 
 therefore, the dignity and gi-andeur which the 
 
114 
 
 works of tlie greater Italian painters possess : 
 their merit consists in the faithful delineation of 
 those ordinary scenes and common occurrences, 
 which are familiar to the eye of the most care- 
 less observer. The power of the painter, there- 
 fore, could be displayed only in the minuteness 
 of the finishing, or the brilliancy of the effect ; 
 and he endeavoured, by the powerful contrast 
 of light and shade, to give an higher character to 
 his works, than the nature of their subject could 
 otherwise admit. 
 
 The pictures of Teniers, Ostade, and Gerard 
 * Dow, possess these merits, and are distinguished 
 by this character in the highest degree; but 
 their qualities are so well known in this country, 
 as to render any observation on -them super- 
 fluous. There is a very great collection here 
 preserved of the works of Rembrandt, and their 
 design and effect bear, in general, a higher cha- 
 racter than belongs to most of the works of this 
 celebrated master. 
 
 In one respect, the collection in the Louvre 
 is altogether unrivalled— in the number and 
 beauty of the Wouvermans which are there to 
 be met with ; nor is it possible, without having 
 seen it, to appreciate, with any degree of jus- 
 tice, the variety of design, the accuracy of draw- 
 ing, or dehcacy of finishing,, which distinguish 
 
113 
 
 his works from those of any other painter of a 
 similar description. There are 38 of his pieces 
 there assembled, all in the finest state of pre- 
 servation, and aU displaying the same unrivalled 
 beauty of colouring and execution. In their de- 
 sign, however, they widely differ ; and they ex- 
 hibit, in the most striking manner^ the real ob- 
 ject to which painting should be applied, and 
 the causes of the errors in which its composition 
 has been involved* His works, for the most 
 part, are crowded with figures ; his subjects are 
 in general battle-pieces, or spectacles of military 
 pomp, or the animated scenes which the chace 
 presents; and he seems to have exhausted all 
 the efforts of his genius, in the variety of inci- 
 dent and richness of execution, which these sub- 
 jects are fitted to afford. From the confused 
 and indeterminate expression, however, which 
 the multitude of their objects exhibit, we turn 
 with dehght to those simpler scenes in which 
 his mind seems to have reposed, after the fatigues 
 which it had undergone : to the representation 
 of a single incident, or the delineation of a cer- 
 tain occurrence — to the rest of the traveller after 
 the fatigues of the day— to the repose of the 
 horse in the intermission of labour— to the re- 
 turn of the soldier after the dangers of the cam - 
 paign ; — scenes, in which every thing combineK 
 
116 
 
 lot the uniform character, and where the genius 
 of the artist has been able to give to the rudest 
 occupations of men, and even to the objects of 
 animal life, the expression of general poetical 
 feeling. 
 
 The pictures of Vandyke and Ruheiis belong 
 to a much higher school than that whjch rose 
 out of the wealth and the Hmited taste of the 
 Dutch people. There are 60, pieces of the letter 
 of these masters in the Louvre, and, combined 
 with the celebrated Gallery in the Luxembourg 
 Palace, they form the finest assemblage of them 
 which is to be met with in the world. The cha- 
 racter of his works differs essentially from that 
 both of the French and the Dutch schools ; he 
 was employed, not in painting cabinet pictures 
 for wealthy merchants, but in designing great 
 altar pieces for splendid churches, or commemo- 
 rating the glory of sovereigns in imperial galle- 
 ries. The greatness of his genius rendered him 
 fit to attempt the representation of the most 
 complicated and difficult objects ; but in the 
 confidence of this genius, he seems to have lost 
 sight of the genuine object of composition in 
 his art. He attempts what it is impossible for 
 painting to accomplish — he aims at telling a 
 whole story by the expression of a single pic- 
 ture ; and seems to pour forth the profusion of 
 
'his fancy, by crowding his canvas with a multi- 
 plicity of figures, which serve no other purpose 
 than that of shewing the endless power of crea- 
 tion which the author possessed. In each figure 
 there is great vigour of conception, and admi- 
 rable power of execution ; but the whole pos- 
 sesses no general character, and produces no per- 
 manent emotion. There is a mixture of alle- 
 gory and truth in many of his greatest works, 
 which is always painful ; a grossness in his con- 
 ception of the female form, which destroys the 
 symmetry of female beauty ; and a wildness of 
 imagination in his general design, which violates 
 the feelings of ordinary taste. You survey his 
 pictures with astonishment — at the power of 
 thought and brilliancy of colouring which they 
 display ; but they produce no lasting impression 
 on the mind ; they have struck no chord of 
 feeling or emotion, and you leave them with no 
 other feeling, than that of regret, that the con- 
 fusion of objects destroys the effect which each 
 in itself might be fitted to produce. And if one 
 has made a deeper impression ; if you dwell on 
 it with that delight which it should ever be the 
 object of painting to produce, you find that 
 your pleasure proceeds from a single figure, or 
 the expression of a detached part of the picture ; 
 and that, in the contemplation of it, you have, 
 
 H 3 
 
118 
 
 mthout being conscious of it, detached your 
 mind from the observation of all that might in- 
 terfere with its characteristic expression, and 
 thus preserved that unity of emotion which is 
 essential to the existence of the emotion of taste, 
 but which the confusion of incident is so apt to 
 destroy. 
 
 A few landscapes by Ruysdael are to be here 
 met with, which are distinguished by that bold- 
 ness of conception, fidelity of execution, and 
 coldness of colouring, which have often been 
 remarked as the characteristics of this powerful 
 master. 
 
 It is in the Italian school, however, that the 
 collection in the Louvre is most unrivalled, and 
 it is from its character that the general tendency 
 of the modern school of historical painting is 
 principally to be determined. 
 
 The general object of the ItaHan school ap- 
 pears to be the expression of passion. The pe- 
 cuUar subjects which its painters were called on 
 to represent, the sufferings and death of our Sa- 
 viour, the varied misfortunes to which his dis- 
 ciples were exposed, or the multiplied persecu- 
 tions which the early fathers of the church had 
 to sustain, inevitably prescribed the object to 
 which their genius was to be 'directed, and the 
 peculiar character which their works were to as- 
 
119 
 
 sume. They have all, accordingly, aimed at 
 the expression of passion, and endeavoured to 
 excite the pity, or awaken the sympathy of the 
 spectator ; though the particular species of pas- 
 sion which they have severally selected, has va- 
 ried with the turn of mind which the artist pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 The works of Dominichino and of the Carac- 
 ciSi of which there are a very great number, in- 
 cline, in general, to the representation of what 
 is dark or gloomy in character, or what is terri- 
 fic and appalling in sviffering. The subjects 
 which the first of these masters has in general 
 selected, are the cells of monks, the energy of 
 martyrs, or the sufferings of the crucifixion; 
 and the dark-blue coldness of his colouring, 
 combined with the depth of his shadows, accord 
 well with the gloomy character which his com- 
 positions possess. The Caraccis, amidst the va- 
 riety of objects which their genius has embraced, 
 have dwelt, in general, upon the expression of 
 sorrow — of that deep and profound sorrow which 
 the subjects of Sacred History were so fitted to 
 afford, and which was so well adapted to that 
 religious emotion which it was their object to 
 excite. 
 
 Guido Reni, Carlo JNIaratti, and Murillo, are 
 distinguished by a gentler character ; by the ex- 
 
 H 4 
 
120 
 
 pressio» of tenderness and sweetness of disposi- 
 tion • and the subjects which they have chosen 
 are, for the most part, those which were fitted 
 for the display of this predominant expression 
 -^the Holy Family, the flight into Egypt, the 
 youth of St John, the penitence of the Magda- 
 lene. While, in common with all their brethren, 
 they have aimed at the expressicm of emotion, 
 it was an emotion of a softer kind than that 
 which arose from the eneo^gy of {passion, or the 
 violence of suffering ; it was th^ emotion pro- 
 duced by more permanent feehngs, and less tur- 
 bulent affections ; and from the character of this 
 emotion, their execution has assumed a peculiar 
 cast, and their composition been governed by a 
 pecuhar principle. Their colouring is seldom 
 brilliant ; there is a subdued tone pei*vading the 
 greater part of their pictures ; and they have 
 limited themselves, in general, to the delineation 
 of a single figure, or a small group, in whicli a 
 single character of mind is prevalent. 
 
 Of the numerous and splendid collection of 
 TitiarCs which are here preserved, it is not ne- 
 cessary to give any description, because they 
 consist for the most part of portraits, and our 
 object is not to dwell on the richness of colour- 
 ing, or powers of execution, but on the prin- 
 
.121 
 
 ciples of composition by which the different 
 schools of painting are distinguished. 
 
 There are only six paintings by Salvator Rosa 
 in this collection, but they bear that wild and 
 original character which is proverbially known 
 to belong to the works of this great artist. One 
 of his pieces is particularly striking, a skirmish 
 of horse, accompanied by all the scenery in 
 which he so peculiarly delighted. In the fore- 
 ground is the ruins of an old temple, with its 
 lofty pillars finely displayed in shadow above 
 the summits of the horizon ; — in the middle dis- 
 tance the battle is dimly discerned through the 
 driving rain, which obscures the view ; while 
 the back ground is closed by a vast ridge of 
 gloomy rocks, rising into a dark and tempes- 
 tuous sky. The character of the whole is that 
 of sullen magnificence ; arid it affords a striking 
 instance of the power of gi-eat genius, to mould 
 the most varied objects in nature into the ex- 
 pression of one uniform poetical feeling. 
 
 Very different is the expression which be- 
 longs to the softer pictures of Correggio— of 
 that great master, whose name is associated in 
 every one's mind with all that is gentle or deli- 
 cate in the imitation of nature. Perhaps it was 
 from the force of this impression that his works 
 did not completely come up to the expectationf? 
 
U2 
 
 which we had been led to form. They are but 
 eight in number, and do not comprehend the 
 finest of his compositions. Their general cha- 
 racter is that of tenderness and dehcacy : 
 there is a softness in his shading of the human 
 form which is quite unrivalled, and a harmony 
 in the general tone of his colouring, which is in 
 perfect unison with the characteristic expression 
 which it was his object to produce. You feel 
 a want of unity, however, in the composition of 
 his figures ; you dwell rather on the fine expres- 
 sion of individual form, than the combined ten- 
 dency of the whole group, and leave the picture 
 with the impression of the beauty of a single 
 countenance, rather than the general character of 
 the whole design. He has represented nature 
 in its most engaging aspect, and given to indi- 
 vidual figures all thd charms of ideal beauty ; 
 but he wants that high strain of spiritual feel- 
 ing, which belongs only to the works of Ra. 
 phael. 
 
 The only work of Carlo Dolci in the Louvre 
 is a small cabinet picture; but it alone. is suffi- 
 cient to mark the exquisite genius which its 
 author possessed. It is of small dimensions, 
 and represents the Holy Family,, with the Sa- 
 viour asleep. The finest character of design is 
 here combined with the utmost delicacy of exe- 
 
cution; the softness of the shadows exceeds 
 Correggio himself ; and the dark-blue colouring 
 which prevails over the whole, is in perfect uni- 
 son with the expression of that rest and quiet 
 which the subject requires. The sleep of the 
 Infant is perfection itself — it is the deep sleep 
 of youth and of innocence, which no care has 
 disturbed, and no sorrow embittered, and in 
 the unbroken repose of which the features have 
 relaxed into the expression of perfect happiness. 
 All the features of the picture are in unison 
 with this expression, except in the tender 
 anxiety of the Virgin's eye ; and all is at rest 
 in the surrounding objects, save where her hand 
 gently removes the veil to contemplate the un- 
 rivalled beauty of the Saviour's countenance. 
 
 Without the softness of shading or the har- 
 mony of colour which Correggio possessed, the 
 works of Raphael possess a higher character, 
 and aim at the expression of a sublimer feeling, 
 than those of any other artist whom modern 
 Europe has produced. Like all his brethren, 
 he has often been misled from the real object of 
 of his art, and tried, in the energy of passion, or 
 the confused expression of varied figures, to 
 multiply the effect which his composition might 
 produce. Like all the rest, he has failed in ef- 
 fecting what the constitution of the human 
 
m 
 
 mind renders impossible, and in this very fait- 
 tjre, warned every succeeding age of the vanity 
 of the attempt which his transcendent genius 
 was unable to effect. It is this fundamen- 
 tal error that destroys the effect, even of his 
 finest pieces ; it is this, combined with the un- 
 approachable nature of the presence which it re- 
 veals, that has rendered the Transfiguration it- 
 self a chaos of genius rather than a model of 
 ideal beauty ; nor will it, we hope, be deemed 
 a presumptuous excess, if we venture to ex- 
 press our sentiments in regard to this great 
 author, since it is from his own works alone that 
 we have derived the means of appreciating his 
 imperfections. 
 
 It is in his smaller pieces that the genuine 
 character of Raphael's paintings is to be seen — 
 in the figure of St Michael subduing the demon ; 
 in the beautiful tenderness of the Virgin and 
 Child ^ in the unbroken harmony of the Holy 
 Family ; in the wildness and piety of the infant 
 St John ; — scenes, in which all the objects of the 
 picture combine for the preser^^ation of one uni- 
 form character, and where the native fineness of 
 his mind appears undistiQ*bed by the display of 
 temporary passion, or the painful distraction of 
 varied suffering. 
 
 There are no pictures of the English school in 
 
the Louvre, for the arms of France never pre- 
 vailed in our island. From the splendid cha- 
 racter, however, which it early assumed under 
 the distinguished guidance of Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds, and from the high and philosophical piin- 
 cipies which he at first laid down for the gci- 
 vernment of the art, there is every reason to 
 beheve that it ultimately will rival the cele- 
 brity of foreign genius: And it is in this 
 view that the continuance of the gallety of 
 the Louvre was principally to be wished by 
 the English nation — that the English artists 
 might possess, so near their own country, so 
 great a school for composition arid design ; that 
 the imperfections of foreign schools might en- 
 lighten the vievvs of English genius ; and that 
 the conquests; of the French arms, by transfer- 
 ring the remains of ancient taste to these north^- 
 ern sliores, might give greater facilities to the 
 progress of our art, than can exist when tliey 
 are restored to their legitimate possessors. 
 
 The great object, then, of all the modem 
 schools of hist(jrical painting, seems to have been, 
 the delineation of an affecting scene or interest- 
 ing occurrence ; they have endeavoured to tell 
 a story by the variety of incidents in a single 
 picture ; and seized, for the most part, the mo- 
 ment when pa^?si on was at its greatest height," 
 
or suffering appeared in its most excruciatitig^ 
 form. The general character, accordingly, of 
 the school, is the expression of passion or vio- 
 lent suffering ; and in the prosecution of this 
 object, they have endeavoured to exhibit it un- 
 der all its aspects, and display all the effects 
 which it could possibly produce on the human 
 form, by the different figures which they have 
 introduced. While this is the general charac- 
 ter of the whole, there are of course numerous 
 exceptions ; and many of its greatest painters 
 seem, in the representation of single figures, 
 or in the composition of smaller groups, to 
 have had in view the expression of less tur- 
 bulent affections ; to have aimed at the display 
 of settled emotion, or permanent feeling, and to 
 have excluded every thing from their composi- 
 tion which was not in unison with this predo- 
 minant expression. 
 
 The Sculpture Gallery^ which contains 220 
 remains of ancient statuary, marks, in the most 
 decided manner, the different objects to whicli 
 this noble art was applied in ancient times. 
 Unlike the paintings of modern Europe, their 
 figures are almost uniformly at rest ; they ex- 
 clude passion or violent suffering from their de- 
 sign ; and the moment which they select is not 
 that in which a particular or transient emotion 
 
may be displayed, but in which the settled cha- 
 racter of mind may be expressed. With the two 
 exceptions of the Laocoon and the Fighting 
 Gladiator, there are none of the statues in the 
 Louvre which are not the representation of the 
 human figure in a state of repose ; and the ex- 
 pression which the finest possess, is invariably 
 that permanent expression which has resulted 
 from the habitual frame and character of mind. 
 Their figures seem to belong to a higher class 
 of beings than that in which we are placed ; 
 they indicate a state in which passion, anxiety, 
 and emotion are no more ; and where the un- 
 ruffled repose of mind has moulded the features 
 into the perfect expression of the mental cha- 
 racter. Even the countenance of the Venus de 
 Medicjs, the most beautiful which it has ever 
 entered into the mind of man to conceive, an^ 
 of which no copy gives the slightest idea, bears 
 no trace of emotion, and none of the marks of 
 human feeling ; it is the settled expression of 
 celestial beauty, and even the smile on her lip 
 is not the fleeting smile of temporary joy, but 
 the lasting expression of that heavenly feeling 
 which sees in all around it the grace and love- 
 Hness which belongs to itself alone. It ap- 
 proaches nearer to that character which some- 
 times marks the countenance of female beauty. 
 
128 
 
 when death has stilled the passions of the 
 world ; but it is not the cold expression of past 
 character which survives the period of mortal 
 dissolution ; it is the Uving expression of pre- 
 sent existence, radiant with the beams of im- 
 mortal life, and breathing the air of eternal hap- 
 piness. 
 
 The paintings of Raphael convey the most 
 perfect idea of earthly beauty ; and they denote 
 the expression of all that is finest and most ele- 
 vated in the character of the female mind. Eut 
 there is a *' human meaning in their ?ye," and 
 they bear the marks of that anxiety and tender- 
 ness which belong to the relations of present 
 existence. The Venus display s the same beauty, 
 freed from the cares .wlii,ch . existence has pro- 
 duced ; and her hfelqss eye-kdls gaze upon the 
 multitude which surround her, as on, a scene 
 fraught only with the expressip^, ,of|jU<niversal 
 
 joy. . . 
 
 In another view, the Apollo and- the Venus 
 appear to have been intended by the genius of 
 antiquity, as expressive of tjie character of mind 
 which distinguishes the different sexes ; and in 
 the expression of this character, they have ex- 
 hausted all which it is possible for human ima- 
 gination to produce upon the subject. The 
 commanding air, and advanced step, of the 
 
Apollo, exhibit Man in his noblest aspect, as 
 triumphing over the evils of physical nature, 
 and restraining the energy of instinctive passion 
 by the high dominion of moral power: the avert- 
 ed eyes and retiring grace of the Venus, are ex- 
 pressive of the modesty, gentleness, and sub- 
 mission, which form the most beautiful features 
 of the femah character. 
 
 Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed, 
 For valour He, and contemplation, formed, 
 For beauty She, and sweet attractive gi-ace, 
 He for God onlv. She for God in Him. 
 
 These words were said of our first parents by 
 our greatest poet, after the influence of a pure 
 religion had developed the real nature of the 
 female character, and determined the place which 
 woman was to hold in the scale of nature ; but 
 the idea had been expressed in a still finer 
 manner two thousand years before, by the sculp- 
 tors of antiquity ; and amidst all the degradation 
 of ancient manners, the prophetic genius of Gre- 
 cian taste contemplated that ideal perfection in 
 the character of the sexes, which was destined to 
 form the boundary of human progress in the re- 
 motest ages of human improvement. 
 
 The Apollo strikes a stranger with all its di- 
 vine grandeur on the first aspect ; subsequent 
 
 % 01-. I. I 
 
130 
 
 examination can add nothing to the force of the 
 impression which is then received. The Venus 
 produces at first less effect, but gains upon the 
 mind at every renewal, tiU it rivets the affec- 
 tions even more than the greatness of its un- 
 equalled rival — emblematic of the charm of 
 female excellence, which, if it excites less 
 admiration at first than the loftier features of 
 manly character, is destined to acquire a deeper 
 influence, and lay the foundation of more inde- 
 lible affection. 
 
 The Dying Gladiator is perhaps, after the 
 two which we have mentioned, the finest statue 
 which the Louvre contains. The moment 
 chosen is finely adapted for that expression of 
 ideal beauty, which may be produced even in 
 a subject naturally connected with feelings of 
 pain. It is not the moment of energy or 
 struggling, when the frame is convulsed with 
 the exertion it is making, or the countenance is 
 deformed by the tumult of passion ; it is the 
 moment of expiring nature, when the figure 
 is relaxed by the weakness of decay, and the 
 mind is softened by the approach of death ; the 
 moment when the ferocity of combat is for- 
 gotten in the extinction of the interest which 
 it had excited, when every unsocial passion is 
 stilled by the weakness of exhausted nature, 
 
151 
 
 and the mind, in tfeie last moments of life, is 
 fraught with finer feelings than had belonged to 
 the character of previous existence. It is a mo- 
 ment similar to that in which Tasso has so 
 beautifully described the change in Clorinda's 
 mind, after she had been mortally wounded by 
 the hand of Tancred, but in which he was en- 
 abled to give her the inspiration of a greater 
 faith, and the charity of a more gentle reli- 
 gion :— • 
 
 Amico h'ai vinto : io te perdon. Pei'dolia, 
 
 Tu ancora, al corpo no che nulla pave 
 
 All' alma si : deh per lei prega j e dona 
 
 !Battesmo a me, cli'ogni mia colpa lave j 
 
 In quesle voci languide risuona 
 
 Un non so che di flebile e soave 
 
 Ch' al cor gli scende, ed ogni sdegno araraorzaj 
 
 Egli occhi a lagrimar gl' invoglia e sforza. 
 
 The greater statues of antiquity were address- 
 ed to the worshippers in their temples; they 
 were intended to awaken the devotion of all 
 classes of citizens^to be felt and judged by 
 all mankind. They were intended to express 
 characters superior to common nature, and they 
 still express them. They are free, therefore, 
 from all the peculiarities of national taste ; 
 they are purified from all the pecuUarities of 
 
 I 2 
 
132 
 
 local circumstances; they have been rescued 
 from that inevitable degradation to which art 
 is uniformly exposed, by taste being con- 
 fined to a limited society ; they have as- 
 sumed, in consequence, that general character, 
 which might suit the universal feelings of our 
 nature, and that permanent expression which 
 might speak to the hearts of men through every 
 succeeding age. The admiration, accordingly, 
 for those works of art, has been undiminished by 
 the lapse of time ; they excite the same feelings 
 at the present time, as when they came fresh 
 from the hand of the Grecian artist, and are re- 
 garded by all nations with the same veneration 
 on the banks of the Seine, as when they sancti- 
 fied the temples of Athens, or adorned the gar- 
 dens of Rome. 
 
 Even the rudest nations seem to have felt the 
 force of this impression. The Hungarians and 
 the Cossacks, as we ourselves have frequently 
 seen, during the stay of the allied armies in 
 Paris, ignorant of the name or the celebrity of 
 those works of art, seemed yet to take a delight 
 in the survey of the statues of antiquity ; and in 
 passing through the long line of marble great- 
 ness which the Louvre presents, stopt involim- 
 tarily at the sight of the Venus, or clustered 
 round the foot of the pedestal of the Apollo ; — 
 
155 
 
 'indicating thus, in the expression of unaffected 
 feehng, the force of that genuine taste for the 
 beauty of nature, which all the rudeness of 
 savage manners, and all the ferocity of war, had 
 not been able to destroy. The poor Russian 
 soldier, whose knowledge of art was Hmited to 
 the crucifix which he had borne in his bosom 
 from his native land, still felt the power of an- 
 cient beauty, and in the spirit of the Athenians, 
 who erected an altar to the Unknown God, 
 did homage in silence to that unknown spirit 
 which had touched a new chord in his untu- 
 tored heart. 
 
 From the impression produced on our minds 
 by the collection in the Louvre, we were led to 
 form some general conclusions concerning the 
 history and object of the arts of Painting and 
 Sculpture, which we shall presume to state, 
 as what suggested themselves to us on the con- 
 templation of the greatest assemblage of the 
 works of art which has ever been formed; but 
 which we give, at the same time, with the ut- 
 most diffidence, and merely as the result of our 
 own feehngs and reflections. 
 
 The character of art in every country appears 
 to have been determined by the disposition of 
 the people to whom it was addressed, and the 
 
 I 3 
 
134 
 
 object of its composition to have varied with 
 the purpose it was called on to fulfil. — The 
 Grecian statues were designed to excite the de- 
 votion of a cultivated people ; to embody their 
 conceptions of divine perfection ; to reahse the 
 expression of that character of mind which they 
 imputed to the deities whose temples they were 
 to adorn : It was grace, or strength, or majesty, or 
 the benignity of divine power, which they were 
 to represent by the figures of Venus, of Hercules, 
 of Jupiter, or of Apollo. Their artists according- 
 ly were led to aim at the expression of general 
 character ; to exclude passion, or emotion, or 
 suffering, from their design, and represent the 
 figures in that state of repose where the perma- 
 nent expression of mind ought to be displayed. 
 It is perhaps in this circumstance that we are to 
 discern the cause both of the peculiarity and the 
 excellence of the Grecian statuary. 
 
 The Italian painters were early required to 
 effect a different object Their pictures were 
 destined to represent the sufferings of nature ; to 
 display the persecution or death of our Saviour, 
 the anguish of the Holy Family, the heroism of 
 martyrs, the resignation of devotion. In the in- 
 fancy of the arts, accordingly, they were led to 
 study the expression of passion, of suffering, and 
 of temporary emotion ; to aim at rousing the 
 
135 
 
 pity, or exciting the sympathy, of the spectatoi^s ; 
 and to endeavour to characterise their works 
 by the representation of temporary passion, not 
 the expression of permanent character. Those 
 beautiful pictures in which a different object 
 seems to have been followed — in which the ex- 
 pression is that of permanent emotion, not tran- 
 sient passion, while they captivate our admira- 
 tion, seem to be exceptions from the general 
 design, and to have been suggested by the pe- 
 culiar nature of the subject represented, or a 
 particular firmness of mind in the artist. In 
 these causes we may perhaps discern the origin 
 of the peculiar character of the Italian school. 
 
 In the French school, the character and man- 
 ners of the people seem to have carried this 
 peculiarity to a still greater length. Their cha- 
 racter led them to seek in every thing for stage 
 effect ; to admire the most extravagant and vio- 
 lent representations, and to value the efforts of 
 art, not in proportion to their imitation of the ex- 
 pressions of nature, but in proportion to their re- 
 semblance to those artificial expressions on which 
 their admiration was founded. The vehemence 
 of their manner on the most ordinary occasions, 
 rendered the most extravagant gestures requi- 
 site for the display of real passion ; and their 
 drama accordingly exhibits a mixture of dignity 
 I 4 
 
136 
 
 of sentiment, with violence of gesture, beyond 
 measure surprising to a foreign spectator. The 
 same disposition of the people has influenced 
 the character of their historical painting ; 
 and it is to be remembered, that the French 
 school of painting succeeded the establishment 
 of the French drama. It is hence that they 
 have generally selected the moment of thea- 
 trical effect — the moment of phrenzied passion, 
 or unparalleled exertion, and that their com- 
 position is distinguished by so many striking 
 contrasts, and so laboured a display of momen- 
 tary effect. 
 
 The Flemish or Dutch school of painting 
 was neither addressed to the devotion nor the 
 theatrical feelings of mankind ; it was neither 
 intended to awaken the sympathy of religious 
 emotion, nor excite the admiration of artifi- 
 'cial composition — it was addressed to wealthy 
 men of vulgar capacities, whose taste advanced 
 in no proportion to their riches, and who were 
 capable of appreciating only the merit of mi- 
 nute detail, or the faithfulness of exact imi- 
 tation. It is hence that their painting pos- 
 sesses excellencies and defects of so pecuUar 
 a description ; that they have carried the mi- 
 nuteness of finishing to so unparalleled a de- 
 gree of perfection ; that the briUiancy of their 
 
137 
 
 lights has thrown a splendour over the vulgari- 
 ty of their subjects ; and that they are in gene- 
 ral so utterly destitute of all the refinement and 
 sentiment which sprung from the devotional 
 feelings of the Italian people. 
 
 The subjects which the Dutch painters chose 
 were subjects of low humour, calculated to a- 
 muse a rich and uncultivated people ; the sub- 
 jects of the French school were heroic adven- 
 tures, suited to the theatrical taste of a more 
 elevated society; the subjects of the Itahan 
 school were the incidents of Sacred History, 
 adapted to the devotional feelings of a religious 
 people. In all, the subjects to which painting 
 was applied, and the character of the art itself, 
 was determined by the peculiar circumstances 
 or disposition of the people to whom it was ad- 
 dressed : so that, in these instances, there has 
 reaUy happened what Mr Addison stated should 
 ever be the case, that " the taste should not con- 
 form to the art, but the art to the taste." 
 
 We soon perceived that the statues rivetted 
 our admiration more than any of the other works 
 of art which the Louvre presents ; and that a- 
 mongst the pictures, those made the deepest im- 
 pression which approached nearest to the cha- 
 racter by which the Grecian statuary is distin- 
 
138 
 
 giiished. In the prosecution of this train of 
 thought, we were led to the following conclu- 
 sions, relative to the separate objects to which 
 painting and statuary should be applied. 
 
 1. That the object of Statuary should ever be 
 the same to which it was always confined by the 
 ancients, viz. the representation of character. 
 The very materials on which the sculptor has to 
 operate, render his art unfit for the expression 
 either of emotion or passion; and the figure, 
 when finished, can bear none of the marks by 
 which they are to be distinguished. It is a 
 figure of cold, and pale, and Hfeless marble, 
 without the varied colour which emotion pro- 
 duces, or the living eye which passion animates. 
 The eye is the feature w^hich is expressive of 
 present emotion ; it is it which varies with aU 
 the changes which the mind undergoes ; it is it 
 which marks the difference between joy and 
 sorrow, between love and hatred, between plea- 
 sure and pain, between life and death. But the 
 eye, with all the endless expressions which it 
 bears, is lost to the sculptor ; its gaze must ever 
 be cold and lifeless to him ; its fire is quenched 
 in the stillness of the tomb. A statue, there- 
 fore, can never be expressive of living emotion ; 
 it can never express those transient feelings 
 which mark the play of the living mind. It is 
 
159 
 
 an abstraction of character which has no relation 
 to common existence ; a shadow in which all the 
 permanent features of the mind are expressed, 
 but none of the temporary passions of the mind 
 are shewn : like the figures of snow, which the 
 magic of Okba formed to charm the soUtude of 
 Leila's dwelHng, it bears the character of the hu- 
 man form, but melts at the warmth of human 
 feeling. The power of the sculptor is Umited to 
 the delineation of those signs alone by which 
 the permanent quahties of mind are displayed : 
 his art, therefore, should be confined to the re- 
 presentation of that permanent character of which 
 they are expressive. 
 
 2. While such is the object to which statuary 
 would appear to be destined, Painting embraces 
 a wider range, and is capable of more varied ex- 
 pression : It is expressive of the living form ; 
 it paints the eye and opens the view of the pre- 
 sent mind ; it imitates all the fleeting changes 
 which constitute the signs of present emotion. 
 It is not, therefore, an abstraction of character 
 which the painter is to represent ; not an ideal 
 form, expressive only of the qualities of perma- 
 nent character ; but an actual being, alive to the 
 impressions of present existence, and bound by 
 the ties of present affection. It is in the deli- 
 neation of these affections, therefore, that the 
 
140 
 
 powers of the painter principally consists ; in 
 the representation, not of simple character, but 
 of character influenced or subdued by emotion. 
 It is the representation of the joy of youth, or 
 the repose of age ; of the sorrow of innocence, 
 or the penitence of guilt ; of the tenderness of 
 parental affection, or the gratitude of filial love. 
 In these, and a thousand other instances, the 
 expression of the emotion constitutes the beauty 
 of the picture ; it is that which gives the tone 
 to the character which it is to bear ; it is that 
 which strikes the chord which vibrates in every 
 human heart. The object of the painter, there- 
 fore, is the expression of emotion, of that emo- 
 tion which is blended with the character of the 
 mind which feels, and gives to that character the 
 interest which belongs to the events of present 
 existence. 
 
 S. The object of the painter being the repre- 
 sentation of emotion in all the varied situations 
 which life produces, it follows, that every thing 
 in his picture should be in unison with the pre- 
 dominant expression which he wishes it to bear; 
 that the composition should be as simple as is 
 consistent with the developement of this expres- 
 sion ; and the colouring such as accords with 
 the character by which this emotion is distin- 
 guished. It is here that the genius of the ar- 
 
141 
 
 tist is principally to be displayed, in the selec- 
 tion of such figures as suit the general impres- 
 sion which the whole is to produce ; and the 
 choice of such a tone of colouring, as harmo- 
 nises with the feelings of mind which it is his 
 object to awaken. The distraction of varied 
 colours — the confusion of different figures — the 
 contrast of opposite expressions, completely de- 
 stroy the effect of the composition ; they fix the 
 mind to the observation of what is particular in 
 the separate parts, and prevent that uniform 
 and general emotion which arises from the per- 
 ception of one uniform expression in all the parts 
 of which it is composed. It is in this very per- 
 ception, however, that the source of the beauty 
 is to be found ; it is in the undefined feeling to 
 which it gives rise, that the delight of the emo- 
 tion of taste consists. Like the harmony of 
 sounds in musical composition, it produces an 
 effect of which we are unable to give an ac- 
 count ; but which we feel to be instantly de- 
 stroyed by the jarring sound of a different note, 
 or the discordant effect of a foreign expression. 
 It is in the neglect of this great principle that 
 tlie defect of many of the first pictures of mo- 
 dern times is to be found — in the confused mul- 
 titude of unnecessary figures — in the contradic- 
 tory expression of separate parts — in the dis- 
 
14^^ 
 
 tracting brilliancy of gorgeous colours ; in the 
 laboured display, in short, of the power of the 
 artist, and the utter dereliction of the object of 
 the art. The great secret, on the other hand, 
 of the beauty of the most exquisite specimens 
 of modern art, lies in the simplicity of expres- 
 sion which they bear, in their production of one 
 uniform emotion, from all the parts of one har- 
 monious composition. For the production of 
 this unity of emotion, the surest means will be 
 found to consist in the selection of as few figures 
 as is consistent with the developement of the 
 characteristic expression of the composition ; 
 and it is, perhaps, to this circumstance, that we 
 are to impute the unequalled charm which be- 
 longs to the pictures of single figures, or small 
 groups, in which a single expression is alone at- 
 tempted. 
 
 4. The last principle of the art appeared to be, 
 that both painting and sculpture are whoUy un- 
 fit for the representation of passion, as express- 
 ed by motion ; and that, to attempt to delineate 
 it, necessarily injures the effect of the composi* 
 tion. Neither, it is clear, can express actual 
 motion : they should not attempt, therefore, to 
 represent those passions of the mind which mo- 
 tion alone is adequate to express. The attempt 
 to deUneate violent passion, accordingly, uni- 
 
145 
 
 formly produces a painful or a ridiculous effect : 
 it does not even convey any conception of the 
 passion itself, because its character is not known 
 by the expression of any single moment, but by 
 the rapid changes which result from the per- 
 turbed state into which the mind is thrown. It 
 is hence that passion seems so ridiculous when 
 seen at a distance, or without the cause of its 
 existence being known, and it is hence, that if 
 a human figure were petrified in any of the 
 stages of passion, it would have so painful or 
 insane an appearance. — As painting, therefore, 
 cannot exhibit the rapid changes in which the 
 real expression of passion consists, it should not 
 attempt its delineation at all. Its real object is, 
 the expression of emotion^ of that more settled 
 state of the human mind when the changes of 
 passion are gone — ^-when the countenance is 
 moulded into the expression of permanent feel- 
 ing, and the existence of this feeling is marked 
 by the permanent expression which the features 
 have assumed. 
 
 The greatest artists of ancient and modern 
 times, accordingly, have selected, even in the 
 representation of violent exertion, that moment 
 of temporary repose, when a permanent expres- 
 sion is given to the figure. Even the Laocoon 
 is not in the state of actual exertion : it is re^ 
 
144 
 
 presented in that moment when the last effort 
 has teen made ; when straming against an in- 
 vincible power has given to the figure the aspect 
 at last of momentary repose ; and when despair 
 has placed its settled mark on the expression of 
 the comitenance. The Fighting Gladiator is not 
 represented in a state of actual activity, but in 
 that moment when he is preparing his mind for 
 the future and fuial contest, and when, in this 
 deep concentration of his powers, the pause 
 which the genius of the artist has given, ex- 
 presses more distinctly to the eye of the spectator 
 the determined character of the combatant, than 
 all that the struggle or agony of the combat it- 
 self could afterwards display. 
 
 The Grecian statues which were assembled 
 in the Louvre may be considered as the most 
 perfect works of human genius ; and after 
 surveying the different schools of painting 
 which it contains, we could not but feel 
 those higher conceptions of human form, and 
 of human nature, which the taste of ancient 
 statuary had formed. It is not in the moment 
 of action that it has represented man, but in 
 the moment after action, when the tumult of 
 passion has ceased, and all that is great or digni- 
 fied in moral nature remains ; and the greatest 
 works of modern art are those which approach 
 
145 
 
 nearest to the same principle. It is; not Hercules 
 in the moment of earthly combat, when every 
 muscle was swollen with the strength he was 
 exerting, that they represent; but Hercules in the 
 moment of transformation into a nobler being, 
 when the exertion of mortahty has passed, and 
 his powers seem to repose in the tranquillity of 
 Heaven : not Apollo, when straining his youthful 
 strength in drawing the bow ; but Apollo, when 
 the weapon was discharged, watching, with un- 
 exulting eye, its resistless course, and serene in 
 the enjoyment of immortal power : not St Mi- 
 chael when strugghng with the Demon, and 
 marring the beauty of angelic form by the vio- 
 lence of earthly passion, hut St Michael in the 
 moment of unruffled triumph, restraining the 
 might of Ahnighty power, and radiant with the 
 beams of eternal mercy. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PARIS — THE FRENCH CHARACTER AND 
 MANNERS. 
 
 We do not by any means consider ourselves 
 as qualified to enter fully into the interesting 
 subject of the national character of the French ; 
 but we shall venture to state, in this place, what 
 appeared to us its most striking peculiarities, 
 particularly as it is observed at Paris. Our stay 
 in the capital was too short, and our opportuni- 
 ties of observation too hmited, to entitle us to 
 speak with confidence; but it is to be remem- 
 bered on the other hand, that there is a sur- 
 prising uniformity of character among the 
 French, which facilitates observation. The ha- 
 bit of constant intercourse in society, which 
 
14T 
 
 constitutes their greatest pleasure, and has m^tde 
 them, in their own opinion, the most pohshed 
 nation on earth, appears not merely to have as- 
 similated their manners to one another, in the 
 manner so finely illustrated by the celebrated 
 simile of Sterne* but to have engendered a kind 
 of conventional standard character, by which all 
 those we observe are more or less modelled. 
 
 The most striking and formidable part of 
 their general character is, the contempt for reli- 
 gion which is so frequently and openly express- 
 ed. In all countries there are men of a selfish 
 and abstracted turn of mind, who are more dis- 
 posed than others to religious argument and 
 doubt ; and in all, there are a greater number, 
 whose worldly passions lead them to the neglect. 
 
 * " See, Monsieur le Count,— said I, rising up, and laying 
 some of King William's shillings on the table, — by jingling 
 and rubbing one against another, for seventy years, in one body's 
 pocket or another, they are become so much alike, you can 
 scarce distinguish one shilling from another. The English, 
 like ancient medals, keep more apart, and passing but few 
 peo])le's hands, preserve tht; first sharpnesses which the fine 
 hand of nature has given them. Tllgy ar« iiDt so pleasant to 
 feel,— but, in return, the legend is so visible, that at the first 
 ieok you see whose image and superscription ttiey bear." 
 
 Sentimeiital Journey^ ^ol. II, p. 87. 
 K 2 
 
14B 
 
 or hurry them on to the violation of religious 
 precepts ; but a great nation, among wham a 
 cool selfish regard to personal comfort and en- 
 joyment has been deliberately substituted for re- 
 ligious feeUng, and where it is generally esteemed 
 reasonable and wise to oppose and wrestle down, 
 by metaphysical arguments, the natural and be- 
 coming sentiments of piety, as they arise in the 
 human breast, is hitherto, and it is to be hoped 
 will long continue, an anomaly in the history of 
 mankind. 
 
 We heard it estimated at Paris, that 40,000 
 out of 600,000 inhabitants of that town attend 
 church ; one half of which number, they say, 
 are actuated in so doing by real sentiments of 
 devotion ; but to judge from the very small 
 numbers whom we have ever seen attending the 
 regular service in any of the churches, we 
 should think this proportion greatly overrated. 
 Of those whom we have seen there, at least 
 two-thirds have been women above fifty, or girls 
 under fifleen years of age. In all CathoHc 
 countries, Sunday is a day of amusement and 
 festivity, as well as of religion — ^but it is gene- 
 rally, also, one of relaxation from business : in 
 Paris, we could see very little signs of the lat- 
 ter in the forenoons, but the amusements and 
 dissipation of the capital were visibly increased 
 
149 
 
 in the evenings ; and the Parisians have some 
 I'eaison for their remark, that their day of rest is 
 dianged to Monday, when the effect of their 
 last nigh t^s dissipation wholly incapacitates them 
 for exertion. 
 
 It is clear, that it is quite absurd to attempt 
 altering the manner of spending the Sundays at 
 Paris, while the sentiments of the people, in 
 regard to religion, continue such as at present ; 
 but it must be admitted, on the other hand, 
 that their habits, as to the way of spending 
 Sundays, re-act powerfully on their sentiments ; 
 and that the minds of the lower orders, in par- 
 ticular, are much debased by the want of what 
 have been emphatically called " these precious 
 " breathing times for the labouring part of the 
 " community." 
 
 Frenchmen of the higher ranks seem, at pre- 
 sent, generally disposed to wave the subject of 
 religion ; but those of the middling ranks, by 
 whom the business of the country is mainly 
 carried on, do not scruple to express their con- 
 tempt of it ;~they applaud with enthusiasm 
 all irreligious sentiments in the theatres, and 
 seldom mention priests, of any persuasion, with- 
 out the epithet of sacres. 
 
 We were informed in Holland, that the 
 Frenchmen who were sent to that country in 
 
 K 3 
 
150 ' 
 
 official capacities, military or civil, manifest;ed 
 on all occasions the utmost contempt for reli- 
 gion. A French General, quartered in the 
 house of a respectable gentleman in Amst er- 
 dam, inquired the reason, the first Sunday tlhat 
 he was there, of the family going out in their 
 best clothes ; and being told they were going to 
 church, he expressed his surprise, saying, — 
 " Now that you are a part of the great nation, 
 " it is time for you to have done with that n<on- 
 " sense." 
 
 To an Englishman, who has been accustomed 
 to see the ordinances of rehgion regularly ob- 
 served by the great majority of his countrymen, 
 the neglect of them by the French people ap- 
 pears very singular, and even unnatural. When 
 we afterwards visited Flanders, and observed the 
 manifest respect of the people for religion— 
 when we saw the numberless handsome churches 
 in the villages, and the frequent rehgious pro- 
 cessions in the streets of the towns— when we 
 entered the Great Cathedral at Antwerp, and 
 found vast numbers of people, of both sexes, 
 and all ranks and ages, on their knees, engaged, 
 with the appearance of sincere devotion, in the 
 solemn and striking service of vespers, we could 
 not help saying among ourselves, that this people, 
 
151 
 
 for better reasons than mere political convenience, 
 deserved to be separated from the French. 
 
 Yet, we do not mean ho say that the French 
 are wholly, or even generally devoid of religious 
 feehng ; on the contrary, we beUeve it may of- 
 ten be seen to break out in a very striking man- 
 ner, even in the conversation of those who are 
 accustomed to think it wise to express contempt 
 for it. A Frenchman, full of enthusiasm about 
 the glory of his country, who was talking to us 
 of the deeds and sufferings of the French army 
 in Russia, concluded his description of the lat^ 
 ter with these emphatic words : " Ah ! Monsieur, 
 Ce n'est pas les Russes ; C'est le hon Dieu qui 
 a fait cela." 
 
 In point of intellectual ability, the French are 
 certainly inferior to no other nation. They have 
 not, perhaps, so frequently as others, that cool, 
 sound judgment in matters of speculation, which 
 can fit them for unravelling with success the 
 perplexities of metaphysics ; but their unparal- 
 leled success in mathematical pursuits is the 
 best possible proof of the accuracy and quick- 
 ness of their reasoning powers, when confined 
 within due bounds. We do not refer to the 
 astonishing efforts of such men as dAlembert 
 or La Place, but to the general diffusion of ma- 
 
 K 4 
 
15^ 
 
 thematlcal knowiedge among iafl who receive a 
 scientific education. It is not, pefhaps, going 
 too far t6 say, that few professors in Britain 
 have an equally accurate and extensive know- 
 ledge of the integral and differential calculus, 
 with some lads of 17 or 18» who have completed 
 their education at the Ecole Poly technique. 
 Unless a man makes discov^ies of his own in 
 mathematics, he is little thought of as a mathe- 
 matician by the me^n of science at Paris, cveh 
 although he may be intimately versed in all the 
 branches of that science as it stands. 
 
 TJnd^r the Imperial Government, it was not 
 Considered safe to cultivate any sciences which 
 relate to politics or morals; but the advance- 
 ment of the physical and mathematical sciences 
 in France during that time, sufficiently indi- 
 cates that there has been no want of talents ot* 
 indu'stry. 
 
 It may be ri^flaarked as a striking characteris- 
 tic of the French scientific works, that they are 
 almo^ d Ways well arranged, and tiie meaning 
 of the Author fully and ^iii*equiVocaliy express- 
 ed. A Fi^chMan does tiot always take a tom>- 
 preheiisive view ^f his subjeet, but he seldom 
 Ms to take a dear view of it. The same turn 
 of min<! may be observed in the conversation 
 of Frertetoe^i ; evm when their infownation is 
 
153 
 
 defective, they will very generally arrest atten- 
 tion by the apparent order and perspicuity of 
 their thoughts ; and they never seem to know 
 what it is to be at a loss for words. 
 
 Considering the great ingenuity and ability of 
 the French, it seems not a little surprising that 
 tisey should be so much behind our country- 
 men in useful and profitable arts, and that En- 
 glishmen should be so much struck with the 
 apjjarent poverty of the greater part of France. 
 This is in a great measure owing, no doubt, to 
 the poRcy of the late French Government, 
 which has directed all the energies of the nation 
 towards military affairs ; and to the abuses of 
 the former government : but we think it must 
 be ascribed in part to the character of the people. 
 There is not the same co-operation of different 
 individuals to one end, of private advantage 
 and public usefulness ; the same division of la- 
 bour, intellectual as well as operative ; the same 
 hearty confidence between man and man, in 
 France as in England. Men of talents in France 
 are, in general, too much tainted with the na- 
 tional vanity, and too much occupied with 
 their own fame, to join heartily in promoting 
 the public interest. Individual intelligence, ac- 
 tivity, and ingenuity, go but little way in 
 making a nation wealthy and prosperous, if they 
 
154 
 
 are Inade to minister only to the indi\ddual plea- 
 sures and glory of their possessors. 
 
 The patriotism of the French is certainly a 
 very strong feeUng, but it appears to be much 
 tainted with the same vanity and love of shew 
 that we have just remarked. There can be no 
 doubt, that during the time of Bonaparte's 
 successes, he commanded, in a degree that no 
 other Sovereign ever did, the admiration and re- 
 spect of the great body of the people ; and it is 
 equally certain, that he did this without interest- 
 ing himself at all in their happiness. His hold 
 of them was by their national vanity alone. 
 They assent to all that can be said of the mise- 
 ries which he brought upon France ; but add, 
 « Mais il a battu tout le monde ; il a fait des 
 " choses superbes a Paris ; il a flatte notre or- 
 " geuil national. Ah ! C'est un grand homme. 
 " Notre pays n'a jamais ete si grand ni si puis- 
 " sant que sous lui." The condition of the in- 
 habitants of distant provinces was nowise im- 
 proved by his pubhc buildings and decorations 
 at then: capital ; but every Frenchman considers 
 a compliment to Paris, to the Louvre, to the 
 Palais Royal, or the Opera, as a personal com- 
 pliment to himself 
 
 At this moment, it is certainly a very gene- 
 
155 
 
 ral wish in France, to have a sovereign, who, 
 as they express it, has grown out of the revolu- 
 tion ; but when we enquire into their reason 
 for this, it will often be found, we believe, to 
 resolve itself into their national vanity. It is 
 not that they think the Bourbons will break 
 their word, or that the present Constitution will 
 be altered without their consent ; but after five 
 and twenty years of confusion and bloodshed, 
 they cannot bear the thoughts of leaving off 
 where they began ; and they think, that taking 
 back their old dynasty without alteration, is 
 practically acknowledging that they have been 
 in the wrong all the time of their absence. We 
 have often remarked (but we presume the re- 
 mark is appHcable to all despotic countries) that 
 the French political conversation, such as is 
 heard at caff^s and tables d'h6te, relates more to 
 men, and less to measures, and appears to be 
 more guided by personal attachments or anti- 
 pathies, than that to which we are accustomed 
 in England. 
 
 The character that appears to be most wanted 
 in France, is that of disinterested public-spirited 
 individuals, of high honour and integrity, and 
 of large possessions and influence, who do not 
 interfere in public affairs from views of ambi- 
 tion, but from a sense of duty — who have no 
 
156 
 
 wish to dazzle the eyes of the multitude, arid 
 do not seek for a more extensive influeiice 
 than that to which their observation and expe- 
 rience entitle them. While this character con- 
 tinues so much more frequent in our own corun- 
 try than among the French, it is perhaps in 
 militaiy affairs only that we need entertain any 
 fear of their superiority. Englishmen of power 
 and influence, generally speaking, have really 
 at heart the good of their country, whereas 
 Frenchmen, in similar situations, are chiefly in- 
 terested in the glory of theirs. 
 
 It must also be observed, that public aflfeirs 
 occupy much less of the attention, and interfere 
 much less with the happiness, of the majority 
 of the French than of the English. There is 
 less anxiety about public measures, and less 
 gratitude for public services. We were often 
 surprised at the indifference of the citizens of 
 Paris with regard to their Marshals, whom they 
 seldom knew by name, and did not seem to 
 care for knowing. The peroration of an old 
 lady, who had delivered a long speech to a 
 friend of ours, then a prisoner at Verdun, la- 
 menting the reverses of the French arms, and 
 the miseries of France, was characteristic of the 
 nation : " Mais, c'est egal. Je suis toujours ici." 
 
157 
 
 It is quite unnecessary for us to give proofs 
 of the laxity of moral principle which prevails 
 so generally among the French. The world 
 has not now to learn, that notwithstanding their 
 high professions, they have but little regard 
 either for truth or moraUty. According to Mr 
 Scott, " they have, in a great measure, detach- 
 " ed words fi-om ideas and feelings ; they can, 
 " therefore, afford to be unusually profuse of 
 " the better sort of the first ; and they expe- 
 " rience as much internal satisfaction and pride 
 *' when they profess a virtue, as if they had 
 " practised one." Perhaps it would be more 
 correct to say, that they have detached ideas and 
 feelings from their corresponding actions. Their 
 feelings have always been too violent for the 
 moment, and too short in their duration, to in- 
 fluence their conduct steadily and permanently ; 
 but at present, they seem much disposed to 
 think, that it is quite enough to have the feel- 
 ings, and that there is no occasion for their con- 
 duct being influenced by them at all. 
 
 They appear to have a strong natuml sense of 
 the beauty and excellence of virtue ; but they 
 are accustomed to regard it merely as a sense. 
 It does not regulate their conduct to others, 
 but adds to their own selfish enjoyments. They 
 speak of virtue ahiiost Uniformly, not as an ob- 
 
158 
 
 ject of rational approbation and imitation, and 
 still less as a rule of moral obligation, but as a 
 matter of feeling and taste. A French officer, 
 who describes to you, in the liveliest manner, 
 and with all the appearance of unfeigned sym- 
 pathy, the miseries and devastations occasioned 
 by his countrymen among the unoffending in- 
 habitants of foreign states, proceeds, in the same 
 breath, to declaim with enthusiastic admiration 
 on the untarnished honour of the French arms, 
 and the great mind of the Emperor. A Pari- 
 sian tradesman, who goes to the theatre that he 
 may see the representation of integrity of con- 
 duct, conjugal affection, and domestic happiness, 
 and applauds with enthusiasm when he sees it, 
 shews no symptoms of shame when detected in 
 a barefaced attempt to cheat his customers ; 
 spends his spare money in the Palais Royal, 
 and sells .his wife or daughter to the highest 
 bidder. 
 
 " Among the French," says the intelligent and 
 judicious author of the Caractere des Armees 
 Europeennes, " the seat of the passions is in the 
 ** head — they feel rather from the fancy than 
 " the heart — their feelings are nothing more 
 " than thoughts." 
 
 Another striking feature of the French cha- 
 racter, connected with the preceding, is the 
 
159 
 
 openness, and even eagerness, with which they 
 communicate all their thoughts and feehngs to 
 each other, and even to strangers. All French- 
 men seem anxious to make the most in conver- 
 sation, not only of whatever intellectual abihty 
 they possess, but of whatever moral feehngs 
 they experience on any occasion ; — they do not 
 seem to understand why a man should ever be 
 either ashamed or unwiRing to disclose any 
 thing that passes in his mind ; — they often sus- 
 pect their neighbours of expressing sentiments 
 which they do not feel, but have no idea of giv- 
 ing them credit for feehngs which they do not 
 express. 
 
 The French have many good qualities ; they 
 are very generally obUging to strangers, they 
 are sober and good-tempered, and little disposed, 
 in the ordinary concerns of life, to quarrel a- 
 mong themselves, and they have an amiable 
 cheerfulness of disposition, which supports them 
 in difficulties and adversity, better than the re- 
 solutions of philosophy. But it is clear that they 
 have very little esteem for the most etimable 
 of all characters, that of fii-m and enduring 
 virtue ; and in fact, it is not going too far to 
 say, that a certain propriety of external de- 
 meanour has completely taken the place of cor- 
 rectness of moral conduct among them. They 
 
160 
 
 speak almost uniformly with much abhorrence 
 of drunkenness, and of aU violations Of the es- 
 tablished forms of society ; and such improprie- 
 ties are very seldom to be seen among ikexn. 
 Many Frenchmen, as was already observed, 
 are rough and even ferocious in their manners ; 
 and the language and behaviour of most of 
 them, particularly in the presence of women, 
 appears to us very frequently indelicate and 
 rude ; yet there are limits to this freedom of 
 manner which they never allow themselves to 
 pass. Go where you will in Paris, you will 
 very seldom see any disgusting instances of in- 
 toxication, or any material difference of manner, 
 between those who are avowedly unprincipled 
 and abandoned, and the most respectable part of 
 the community. In the caffes, which corre- 
 spond not only to the coffeehouses, but to the 
 taverns of London, you wiU see modest women, 
 at all hours of the day, often alone, sitting in the 
 midst of the men. In the Palais Royal, at no 
 hour of the night do you witness scenes of 
 gross indecency or riot. 
 
 To an Enghshman, it often serves as an excuse 
 for vicious indulgencies, that he is led off hU 
 feet by temptation. To a Frenchman, this ex- 
 cuse is the only crime ; he stands in no need of 
 an apology for vice ; but it is necessary " qu'il 
 
161 
 
 ** se menage he is taught " qu'un pech^ ciach^ 
 " est la moitie pardonn^ he must on no ac- 
 count allow, that any temptation can make him 
 lose his recollection or presence of mind. 
 
 We ought perhaps to admit likewise, thjtt 
 some of the vices common among the French 
 are not merely less foul and disgusting in ap^ 
 pearance, but less odious in their own nature, 
 than those of our countrymen. We do not say 
 this in palliation of their conduct. It is rathet 
 to be considered as a benevolent provision of na- 
 ture, that in proportion as vice is more generalfy 
 diffiised, its influence on individual chai-actel- 
 less fatal. This remark applies particularly to 
 the case of women. A woman in England, who 
 loses one virtue, knows that she outrages the 
 opinion of mankind ; she disobeys the precepts 
 «f her religion, and estrange!? herself from the 
 examples which she has been taught to revere ; 
 she becomes an outcast of society ; and if she 
 has not already lost, must soon lose all the best 
 quahties of the female character. But a French 
 woman, in giving way to unlawful love, knoWS 
 that she dot?s no more than her mother did be- 
 fore her ; if she is of the lower Hanks, she is not 
 necessarily debarred from lionest occupation ; if 
 of the higher, she loses little or nothing in tb^ 
 estimation of society ; if she has been taught to 
 
 VOL. I. T, 
 
162 
 
 revere any religion, it is the Catholic, and she 
 may look to absolution. Her conduct, there- 
 fore, neither impHes her having lost, nor neces- 
 sarily occasions her losing, any virtue but one ; 
 and during the course of the revolution, we have 
 understood there have been many examples, 
 proving, in the most trying circumstances, that 
 not even the worst corruptions of Paris had 
 destroved some of the finest virtues which can 
 adorn the sex. " EUes ont toujours des bons 
 " cceurs," is a common expression in France, in 
 speaking even of the lowest and most degraded 
 of the sex. In Paris, it is certainly much more 
 difficult than in London to find examples in 
 any rank of the unsulHed purity of the female 
 character ; but neither is it commonly seen so 
 utterly perverted and degraded ; one has not 
 occasion to witness so frequently the painful 
 spectacle of youth and beauty brought by one 
 rash step to shame and misery ; and to lament, 
 that the fairest gifts of heaven should become 
 the bitterest of curses to so many of their pos- 
 sessors. 
 
 Having mentioned the French women, we 
 think v^re may remark, without hazarding oiu' 
 character as impartial observers, that most of the 
 faults which are so well known to prevail among 
 
163 
 
 them, may be easily traced to the manner in 
 which they are treated by the dtlher sex. It is 
 a very common boast in France,, that there is 
 no other country in which women are treated 
 with so much respect; and you can hardly 
 gratify any Frenchman so much, as by calling 
 France '* le paradis des femmes." Yet, from all 
 that we could observe ourselves, or learn from 
 others, there appears to be no one of the boasts of 
 Frenchmen which is in reality less reasonable. 
 They exclude women from society almost entire- 
 ly in their early years ; they seldom allow them 
 any vote in the choice of their husbands : After 
 they l\ave brought them into society, they seem 
 to think that they confer a high favour on them, 
 by giving them a great deal of their company, 
 and paying them a great deal of attention, and 
 encouraging them to separate themselves from 
 the society of their husbands. In return for 
 these obligations, they often oblige them to 
 listen to conversation, which, heard as it is, from 
 those for whom they have most respect, cannot 
 fail to corrupt their minds as well as their man- 
 ners ; and they take care to let them see that 
 they value them for the qualities which render 
 them agreeable companions for the moment ; 
 not for the usefulness of their lives, for the 
 purity of their conduct, or the constancy of their 
 
164 
 
 affeptjjp^ijs. Surely the respect with which all 
 women who conduct themselves with propriety- 
 are treated in England, merely on account of 
 their sex ; the dehcacy resjervp with which 
 in their presence conversation is virjiformly con- 
 ducted hy all who call themselves gentlemen, 
 are more honourable tokens of regard for the 
 virtues of the female cha-facter, than the un- 
 meaning ceremonies and officious attentions of 
 the French. 
 
 The female inhabitants of our own country 
 are distinguished of those of France, and pro- 
 bably of every other country, by a certain na- 
 tive, self-respecting, dignity of appearance and 
 manner, which claims respect and attention as a 
 right, rather than solicits them as a boon ; and 
 ^yes you to understand, that the man who 
 does not give them is disgraced, rather than the 
 woman who does not receive them. We be- 
 lieve it to be owing to the influence of the 
 causes we have noticed, that this manner, so 
 often ridiculed by the French, under the name 
 of hauteur" and " fierte Anglaise," is hardly 
 ever to be seen among women of any rank in 
 France. And to a similar influence of the 
 tastes and sentiments of our own sex, it is easy 
 to refer the more serious faults of the female 
 character in that country. 
 
165 
 
 On the other hand,, the better parts of the 
 character of the Fremch women are all their 
 own. It h not certaiinly from the men that 
 they have learnt those* truly feminine qualities, 
 that interesting humiility and gentleness of 
 manner, that pleasing gaiety of temper, and 
 native kindness of disposition, to which it is 
 very difficult, even for the proverbial coldness 
 of northern critics, to apply terms of ridicule or 
 reproach. 
 
 It is ik)t easy for a stranger, in forming his 
 opinion of the moral character of a people, to 
 make allowance for the modification which 
 moral sentiments undergo, in consequence of 
 long habits, and aidventitious circumstances. 
 There is no quality which strikes a stranger 
 more fcMrcibly, in the character of the French 
 of the middling and lower ranks, than their 
 seeming dishonesty, particularly their uniformly 
 endeavouring to extract more money for their 
 goods or their services than they know to be 
 their value. But we think too much stress has 
 been laid on this part of their character by some 
 travellers. It is regarded in France as a sort of 
 professional aecomphshment, without which it 
 is in vain to attempt exercising a trade ; and it 
 is hardly thought to indicate immorality of any 
 L 3 
 
166 
 
 kind, more than the obviously false expressions 
 which are used in the ordinary intercourse of so- 
 ciety in England, or the license of denying one- 
 self to visitors. That it should be so regarded 
 is no doubt a proof of national inferiority, and 
 perhaps immorality ; but while the general sen- 
 timents of the nation continue as at present, an 
 instance of this kind cannot be considered as a 
 proof of individual baseness. An Enghshman 
 is apt to pronounce every man a scoundrel, who, 
 in making a bargain, attempts to take him in ; 
 but he will often find, on a closer and more im- 
 partial examination, that the judgment formed 
 by this drcumstance alone in France, is quite 
 erroneous. One of our party entered a small 
 shop in the Palais Royal to buy a travelling cap. 
 The woman who attended in it, with perfect 
 effrontery, asked 16 francs for one which was 
 certainly not worth more than six, and which 
 she at last gave him for seven. Being in a 
 hurry at the time, he inadvertently left on the 
 counter a purse, containing 20 gold pieces of 30 
 francs each.* He did not miss it for more than 
 an hour : on returning to the shop, he found 
 the old lady gone, and concluded at first, that she 
 had absented herself to avoid interrogation ; but 
 to his surprise, he was accosted immediately on 
 entering, by a pretty young girl, who had come 
 
167 
 
 in her place, with the sweetest smile imaginable, 
 
 « Monsieur, a oublie sa bourse — que nous 
 
 « sommes heureuses de la lui rendre." 
 
 It is certainly incorrect to say, that the taste 
 of the French is decidedly superior to that of 
 other nations. Their poetry, on the whole, will 
 not bear a comparison with the EngUsh; their 
 modern music is not nearly so beautiful as their 
 ancient songs, which have now descended to 
 the lower ranks ; their painting is in a pecuUar 
 and not pleasing style ; then- taste in gardening 
 is antiquated and artificial ; then* architecture is 
 only fine where it is modelled on the ancient ; 
 their theatrical tastes, if they are more correct 
 than ours, are also more limited. We have al- 
 i-eady taken occasion more than once to repro- 
 bate the general taste of the French, as being 
 partial to art, and brilliant execution, rather than 
 to simphcity and beautiful design. 
 
 But what distinguishes the French from al- 
 most every other nation, is the general diffu- 
 sion of the taste for the fine arts, and for ele- 
 gant amusements, among all ranks of the people. 
 Almost all Frenchmen take not only a pride, 
 but an interest, in the public buildings of Paris, 
 and in the collections of paintings and statues 
 There is a very general liking for poetry and 
 
 L 4 
 
m 
 
 works of imagination aiKiong the middling and 
 lower ranks ; they go to the theatres, not merely 
 for relaxation and amu^emmt, but with a serious 
 intention of cultivating their taste, and display- 
 ing their critical powers. Many of them are 
 so much in the habit of attending the theatres 
 when favourite plays are acted, that they know 
 almost every word of the principal scenes by 
 heajpt. All their favourite amusements are in 
 some measure of a refined kind. It is not in 
 drinkinf clubs, or m sensual gratifications alone, 
 that men of these ranks seek for relaxation, as 
 is too often the case with us ; but it is in the 
 society of women, in conversation, in music and 
 dancing, in theatres and operas, and cafF^s and 
 promenades, in seeing and being seen ; in short, 
 in scenes resembling, as nearly as possible, those 
 in which the higher ranks of all nations spend 
 their leisure hours. 
 
 While the usefiil arts are comparatively little 
 advanced, those which relate to ornaments alone 
 are very generally superior to ours; and the 
 persons wha profess th^ese arts speak of them 
 witb a degfee of fervour that often seems ludi- 
 crous. " Monsieur," says a peruquier in the 
 Pakis: Koya], with tbe \o(]k of a man wIk> lets 
 you into sti profound secret in science, " Notre 
 " airt esk Win art imitatif; en effet, c'estun des 
 
169 
 
 " beaux arts then taking up a London-made 
 wig, and twirling it round on his finger, with a 
 look of ineffable contempt, « Celui ci n'est pas 
 " la belle nature ; mais voici la mienne, — e'est 
 " la nature personifiee !" 
 
 One of the best proofs of tlie tastes of the 
 lower ranks being, at least in part, cultivated 
 and refined, is to be found in the songs which 
 are common among the peasantry and soldiers. 
 There are a great number of these, and some of 
 them, in point of beauty of sentiment, and 
 elegance of expression, might eliallenge a com- 
 parison even with the admired productions of 
 our own land of song. The following is part of 
 a song which was written in April 1814, and set 
 to the beautiful air of Charles VII. It was po- 
 pular among the description of persons to whom 
 it relates ; and the young man from whom we 
 got it had himself returned home, after serving 
 as a private in the young guard. 
 
 LE RETOUR BE L'AMANT FEANCAIS, 
 
 De bon coeuF je pose les. amies ; ' 
 Adieu le turaulte ties camps, 
 L'amitie m'offre d'autres charmes, 
 Au sein de mes joyenx parents j 
 
170 
 
 Le Dieu des Amants me rapellc, 
 C'est pour m'enroler a son tour *, 
 Et je vais aupres de ma belle, 
 Servir sous les lois de I'amour. 
 
 Aux ncms d'honneur et de patrie, 
 On m'a vu braver le trepas •, 
 Aujourd'hui pour charmer ma vie 
 La paix fait cesser les combats. 
 Le Dieu des Amants, &.c. 
 
 After all that we had heard, and all that is 
 known over the whole world, of the unbridled 
 licentiousness, and savage ferocity of the French 
 soldiers, we were not a httle surprised to find, 
 that this and other songs written in good taste, 
 and expressing sentiments of a kind of chivalrous 
 elevation and refinement, were popular in their 
 ranks. 
 
 The last peculiarity in the French character 
 which we shall notice, is perhaps the most fun- 
 damental of the whole ; it is their love of mixed 
 society ; of the society of those for whom they 
 have no regard, but whom they meet on the 
 footing of common acquaintances. This is the 
 favourite enjoyment of almost every Frenchman ; 
 to shine in such society, is the main object .of 
 his ambition ; his whole life is regulated so as to 
 gratify this desire. He is indifferent about com- 
 
171 
 
 forts at home — he disHkes domestic society — he 
 hates the retirement of the country; but he 
 loves, and is taught to love, to figure in a large 
 circle of acquaintance, for whom he has not the 
 least heartfelt friendship, with whom he is on 
 no more intimate terms than with perfect stran- 
 gers, after the first half hour. If he has ac- 
 quired a reputation in science, arts, or arms, so 
 much the better ; his glory will be of much ser- 
 vice to him ; if hot, he must make it up by his 
 conversation. 
 
 In consequence of the predilection of the 
 French for social intercourse of this kind, it is, 
 that knowledge of such kinds, and to such an 
 extent, as can be easily introduced into conver- 
 sation, is very general; that the opportunities 
 of such intercourse are carefully multiplied ; that 
 all arts which can add to the attractions of such 
 scenes are assiduously improved ; that liveHness 
 of disposition is prized beyond all other quah- 
 ties, while those eccentricities of manner, which 
 seem to form a component part of what we call 
 humorous characters, are excluded ; that even 
 childish amusements are preferred to solitary oc- 
 cupations; that taste is cultivated more than 
 morality, wit esteemed more than wisdom, and 
 vanity encouraged more than merit. 
 
 It is easy to trace the pernicious effects of a 
 
taste for society of tliis kind, on individual ch»^ 
 racter, when it is encouraged to such a degfee 
 as to become a serious occupation, instead of a 
 relaxation to the mind. When the main object 
 of a man's life is distinction among his acquaint- 
 ances, from his wit — his liveliness — his elegance 
 of taste — his powers of conversation— or even 
 from the fame he may have earned by his ta- 
 lents ; he becomes careless about the love of 
 those with whom he is on more intimate terms, 
 and who do not value him exclusively, or even 
 chiefly, for such qualities. His domestic affec- 
 tions are weakened ; he lives for himself, and en- 
 joys the present moment without either reflec- 
 tion or foresight ; with the outward appearance 
 of an open friendly disposition, he becomes, in 
 reality, selfish and interested ; that he may se- 
 cure general sympathy from indifferent specta- 
 tors, he is under the necessity of repressing all 
 strong emotions, and expressions of ardent feel- 
 ing, and of confining himself to a wofldly and 
 common-place morality ; he learns to value 
 his moral feelings, as well as his intellectual 
 powers, chiefly for the sake of the display which 
 he can make of them in society ; and to repro- 
 bate vice, rather on account of its outward de- 
 formity, than of its intrinsic guilt ; gradually 
 he becomes impatient of restraints on the plea- 
 
173 
 
 sure which he derives from social intercourse ; 
 and the rehgious and moral principles of his na- 
 ture are sacrificed to the visionary idol to which 
 his love of pleasure and his love of glory have 
 devoted him. 
 
 Such appears to be the state of the minds of 
 most Parisians. They have been so much ac- 
 customed to pride themselves on the outward 
 appearance of their actions, that they have be- 
 come regardless of their intrinsic merits ; they 
 have lived so long for effect, that they have for- 
 gotten that there is any other principle by which 
 their lives can be regulated. 
 
 Of the devotion of the French to the sort of 
 life to which we refer, the best possible proof 
 is, their fondness for a town hfe ; the small num^ 
 ber of chateaux in the country that are inhabit- 
 ed — and the still more remarkable scarcity of 
 villas in the neighbourhood of Paris, to whicli 
 men of business may retire. There are a few 
 houses of this description about Belleville and 
 near Malmaison ; but in general, you pass fix)m 
 the noisy and dirty Fauxbourgs at once into the 
 solitude of the country ; and it is quite obvious, 
 that you have left behind you all the scenes in 
 which the Parisians find enjoyment. The con- 
 trast in the neighbourhood of London, is most 
 striking. It is easy to laugh at the dulness and 
 
174 
 
 vulgarity of a London citizen, who divides hijr 
 time between his counting-house and his villa, 
 or at the coarseness and rusticity of an English 
 country squire ; but there is no description of 
 men to whom the national character of our coun- 
 try is more deeply indebted. 
 
 It seems no difficult matter to ascribe most of 
 the differences which we observe between the 
 English and French character to the differences 
 in the habits of the people, occasioned by form 
 of government and various assignable causes : 
 and the French character, in particular, has very 
 much the appearance of being moulded by the ar- 
 tificial form of society which prevails among the 
 people. Yet it is not easy to reconcile such ex- 
 planations with the instances we can often ob- 
 serve, of difference of national character mani- 
 fested under circumstances, or at an age, when 
 the causes assigned can hardly have operated. 
 The peculiarities which appear to us most arti- 
 ficial in the Parisian character and manners, may 
 often be seen in full perfection in very young 
 children. Every httle French girl, almost from 
 the time when she begins to speak, seems to 
 place her chief delight in attracting the regard 
 of the other sex, rather than in playing with 
 her female companions. " In England," says 
 Chateaubriand, " girls are sent to school in their 
 
175 
 
 earliest years : you sometimes see groups of 
 *" these little ones, dressed in white mantles, 
 with straw hats tied under the chin with a 
 **• ribband, and a basket on the arm, containing 
 fruit and a book — all with downcast eyes, 
 blushing when looked at. When I have 
 seen," he continues, " our French female 
 " children, dressed in their antiquated fashion, 
 lifting up the trains of their gowns, looking 
 **'at every one they meet with effrontery, sing- 
 *^ ing love-sick airs, and taking lessons in decla- 
 " mation ; I have thought with regi'et, of the 
 " simphcity and modesty of the little English 
 " girls." 
 
 It is the opinion of some naturalists, that the 
 acquired habits, as well as the natural instincts 
 of animals, are transmitted to their progeny ; 
 and in comparing the causes commonly assign- 
 ed, and plausibly supported, for the peculiarities 
 of national character, with the ver}- early age at 
 which these peculiarities shew tliemselves, one is 
 almost tempted to believe, that something of 
 the same kind may take place in the human 
 species. 
 
 In what has now been said, no reference has 
 been made to the influence of the revolution 
 on the parts of the French character on which 
 
176 
 
 we have touched. On this point we have not, 
 of course, the means of judging with precision ; 
 but most of the pecuHarities which appeared to 
 us most striking certainly existed before the re- 
 volution, and we should be disposed to doubt 
 whether the leading features are materially al- 
 tered. The influence of the writings of the 
 French philosophers on the religious and moral 
 principles of their countrymen, has certainly 
 been very great, and has been probably strength- 
 ened, rather than weakened, by the events of 
 the last twenty rfive years. 
 
 The general diffusion of a mihtary spirit ; 
 the unprincipled manner in which war has been 
 conducted, and the encouragement which has 
 been given to martial qualities, to the exclusion 
 of all pacific virtues, have promoted the growth 
 of the French mihtary vices, particularly sel- 
 fishness and licentiousness, among aU ranks and 
 descriptions of the people, and materially in- 
 jured their general character, even in the re- 
 motest parts of the country. During the revo- 
 lution, and under the Imperial Government, 
 naen have owed their success, in France, almost 
 exclusively to the influence of their intellectual 
 abilities, without any assistance fi-om their moral 
 character ; in consequence, the contempt for reli- 
 gion is more generally diffused, and more openly 
 
177 
 
 expressed than it was ; and although loud pro- 
 testations of inviolable honour are still neces-r 
 sary, integrity of conduct is much less respect- 
 ed. The abolition of the old, and the formation 
 of a new nobility, composed chiefly of men who 
 had risen from inferior military sitviations, has 
 had a most pernicious effect on the general man- 
 ners of the nation. The chief or sole use of a 
 hereditary nobility in a free country, is to keep 
 up a standard of dignity and elegance of man- 
 ner, which serves as a model of imitation much 
 more extensively than the middling and lowev 
 ranks are often willing to allow, and has a more 
 beneficial effect on the national character, than 
 it is easy to explain on mere speculative prin- 
 ciples. But the manners of the new French no- 
 bihty being the very reverse of dignified or ele- 
 gant, their constitution has hitherto tended only 
 to confirm the changes in the general manners of 
 a great proportion of the French nation, which 
 the revolutionary ideas had effected. There are 
 very few men to be seen now in France, who 
 (making all allowances for difference of previous 
 habits) appear to Enghshmen to possess either 
 the manners or feelings of gentlemen. 
 
 The best possible proof that this is not a mere 
 national prejudice, in so far as the army is con- 
 cerned, is, that the French ladies are very ge- 
 
 VOL. L M 
 
178 
 
 nerally of the same way of thinking. After the 
 Enghsh officers left Toulouse in the summer of 
 1814, the ladies of that town found the man- 
 ners of the French officers who succeeded them 
 so much less agreeable, that they could not be 
 prevailed on, for a long time, to admit them into 
 their society. This is a triumph over the arms 
 of France, which we apprehend our country- 
 men would have found it much more difficult to 
 achieve in the days of the ancient monarchy. 
 
 On the other hand, it must be admitted, that 
 the revolution has had the effect of completely 
 removing from the French character that silly 
 veneration for high rank, unaccompanied by any 
 commanding qualities of mind, which used to 
 form a predominant feature in it. Yet it seems 
 doubtful whether the equivalent they have ob- 
 tained is more likely to promote their happiness. 
 They have now an equally infatuated admira- 
 tion for ability and success, without integrity or 
 virtue. Their minds have been delivered from 
 the dominion of rank without talents, and have 
 fallen under that of talents without principle, 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 PARIS — THE THEATRES. 
 
 It is difficult for any person wHo has never quit- 
 ted England to enter into the feelings whicji 
 every one must experience when he first finds 
 it in his power to examine those peculiarities of 
 national manners, or national taste, in the people 
 of other states., which have long been the sub- 
 ject of speculation in his own country, and on 
 his imperfect knowledge of which, much per- 
 haps of the estimate he has formed of the cha- 
 racter of those nations may depend. The cir- 
 cumstance which perhaps, of all others con. 
 nected with the people of France, is most likely 
 to create this feeling of curiosity and interest, 
 is the opportunity of attending the French 
 
 M 2 
 
180 
 
 theatres. In most countries, and even in some 
 where dramatic representations possess much 
 greater power over the minds of the audience, 
 the theatre is comparatively of much less im- 
 portance to a stranger in assisting him to judge 
 of the character of the people ; the observations 
 which he may collect can seldom be of any 
 great use in affording him means of understand- 
 ing their manners and pubHc character, and at 
 the most, cannot inform him of those circum- 
 stances in the character of the people with 
 which their happiness and prosperity are con- 
 nected ; — ^but the theatre at Paris is an object of 
 the greatest interest to a stranger ; every one 
 knows how strikingly the character and disposi- 
 tions of the French people are displayed at their 
 theatres; and at the period when we w^re 
 there, as every speech almost contained some- 
 thing which was eagerly turned into an allusion 
 to the circumstances of their situation, and to 
 the events which had so lately taken place, the 
 interest which the theatres must at any time 
 have excited, was greatly increased. 
 
 There was another object also, less temporary 
 in its nature, which rendered frequent attend- 
 ance at the theatre, one of the most useful and 
 instructive occupations of our time. The con- 
 struction and character of the French tragedies 
 
181 
 
 have been as generally questioned in other 
 countries, as they are universally and enthusias- 
 tically admired in France ; and with whatever 
 feelings, whether of pleasure or fatigue, we 
 might have read these celebrated compositions, 
 we were all naturally most anxious to ascertain 
 how far they were calculated for actual repre- 
 sentation, and what effect these plays, which 
 possess such influence over the French people, 
 might produce on those who had been accus- 
 tomed to dramatic writings of so very different 
 a description. 
 
 The theatres present, at first view, a very fa- 
 vourable aspect of French character. The au- 
 dience vmiformly conduct themselves with pro- 
 priety and decorum ; they are always attentive 
 to the piece represented, and shew themselves, 
 in general, very good judges of theatrical merit ; 
 and the entertainments which please their taste 
 are certainly of a superior order to a great part 
 of those which are popular in England. A 
 great number of the performances which are 
 loudly applauded by the pit and boxes of the 
 London theatres, would be esteemed low and 
 vulgar, even by the galleries at the Theatre 
 Fran9ais. It must be added, likewise, that the 
 morality of the plays which are in request, is 
 very generally more strict than of favourite En- 
 M 3 
 
182 
 
 glish plays ; and often of a refined and senti- 
 mental turn, which would be little relished in 
 England. The tragedies acted at the Theatre 
 Fran9ais are generally modelled on the Greek ; 
 those of Racine and Voltaire are common. The 
 comedies have seldom any low life or buffoonery, 
 or vulgar ribaldry in them. The after pieces* 
 and the ballets at the Academic de Musique, 
 and at the Opera Comique, are often beautiful 
 representations of rural innocence and enjoy- 
 ments. 
 
 It appears at first difficult to reconcile this 
 taste in theatrical entertainments with the well- 
 known immorality of the Parisians ; but the 
 fact is, that as they are in the daily habit of 
 speaking of virtues which they do not practise, 
 so it never appears to enter their heads, that the 
 sentiments which they delight in hearing at the 
 theatres ought to regulate their conduct to one 
 another. They applaud them only for their 
 adaptation to the situation of the fictitious per- 
 sonages ; whereas in England they are applaud- 
 ed, for speaking home to the business and bosoms 
 of the audience. 
 
 The conduct and style of the French trage- 
 dies, in particular, appear to be very characteris- 
 tic of a nation among whom noble and virtuous 
 feehngs are no sooner experienced than they are 
 
183 
 
 proclaimed to the world; and are there valued, 
 rather for the selfish pleasure they produce in 
 the mind» than for their influence oh conduct. 
 The French will not admit, in their tragedies, 
 the representation of all the variety of character 
 and situation that can throw an air of truth and 
 reahty over dramatic fiction ; they can admire 
 such incidents and characters only, as accord 
 with the sentiments and emotions which it is 
 the pecuhar province of tragedy to excite. They 
 are not satisfied with the indication, in a few 
 energetic words, — ^valuable only as an index to 
 the state of the mind, and an earnest of the ac- 
 tions of the speaker,— of feelings too strong to 
 find vent at the moment, in words capable of 
 fully expressing them ; they must have the full 
 developement, the long detailed exposition of 
 all the thoughts which crowd into the mind of 
 the actor or sufferer, expanded, as it were, to 
 prolong the enjoyment of those who are to 
 sympathise with them, and expressed in select 
 and appropriate terms, with the pomp and state- 
 liness of heroic verse. An English tragedy is 
 valued as a representation of life and character ; 
 a French tragedy as a display of eloquence and 
 feeling : and the reason is, that in France elo- 
 quence and feehng are valued for their own 
 sake, and in England they are valued for the 
 M 4 
 
184 
 
 sake of the corresponding cHiaracter and con- 
 duct. 
 
 It is perhaps one of the strongest arg-uments 
 in favour of the general plan of the English 
 drama, and one of the best proofs that dramatic 
 poetry ought to be judged by very different 
 principles from those by which other kinds of 
 poetry are criticised, that one of the principal 
 merits of the French actors consists in hiding 
 the chief peculiarities of their own dramatic 
 school. The personages in a French tragedy 
 are represented by the authors as it were a de- 
 gree above human nature ; but the actors study 
 to present themselves before the audience as 
 simple men and women : the speeches are ge- 
 nerally such as appear to be delivered by per- 
 sons who are superior to the overwhelming in- 
 fluence of strong passions, and who can calmly 
 enter into an analysis of their own feelings; 
 but the actors labour to give you the impres- 
 sion, that they are agitated by present, violent, 
 and sudden emotions ; the tragedies are com- 
 posed with as much regularity as epic poems in 
 heroic verse, but the best actors do all in their 
 power, by varied intonation, by irregular pauses, 
 and frequent bursts of passion, to conceal the 
 rhymes, and break the uniformity of the mea- 
 sure. 
 
185 
 
 The effect of the rhymes and regular versifi- 
 cation, in the mouths of the inferior actors, who 
 have not the art to conceal them, is, to an En- 
 glish ear at least, very unpleasing, and indeed 
 almost destructive of theatrical illusion ; and as 
 a number of such actors must necessarily appear 
 in eveiy tragedy, it may be doubted whether a 
 tragedy is ever acted throughout on the French 
 istage in so pleasing a manner, at least to an 
 English taste, as some of our English tragedies 
 are at present in the London theatres — as Ve- 
 nice preserved, for example, is now acted at 
 Covent Garden. If such be our superiority, 
 however, it must be ascribed, not to the tragic 
 genius of the people being greater, but to there 
 being fewer difficulties to be overcome on the 
 English stage than on the French. 
 
 We think it is pretty clear, Hkewise, that the 
 style of the best English tragedies affords a better 
 field for the display of genius in the actors, than 
 that of the French. Where the sentiments of 
 the characters introduced are fully expressed in 
 their words — where their whole thoughts are 
 detailed for the edification of the audience, how- 
 ever grand or touching these may be, it is ob- 
 vious, that the actor who is to represent them is 
 in trammels ; the poet has done so much, that 
 little remains for him ; his art is confined to the 
 
186 
 
 tiisplay of emotions of passions, all the variation* 
 of which are set down for him, and which he is 
 not permitted to alter. But when the expres- 
 sion of intense feeling is confined to few words, 
 to broken sentences, and sudden transitions of 
 thought, which let you, indeed, into the inmost 
 recesses of the soul of the sufferer, but do not 
 lay it open before you, it is permitted for the 
 genius of the actor to co-operate with that of 
 the poet in producing an effect, for which neither 
 was singly competent. Those who have wit- 
 nessed the representation of the heart-rendings 
 of jealousy in Kean's Othello, or of the agonies 
 of " love and sorrow joined" in Miss O'Neil's 
 Belvidera, will, we are persuaded, acknowledge 
 the truth of this observation. 
 
 The ideas which we had formed of the French 
 stage, from reading their tragedies, had prepared 
 us to expect, in their principal actor, a figure, 
 countenance, and manner, resembhng those of 
 Kemble, fitted to dve full effect to the decla- 
 mations in which they abound, and to the re- 
 presentation of characters of heroic virtue, ele- 
 vated above the influence of earthly passions. 
 The appearance of Talma is very different from 
 this, and certainly has by no means the uniform 
 dignity and majestic elevation of Kemble. 
 
 Difficult as it must always be to convey, by 
 
187 
 
 any general description, a distinct or adequate 
 notion of the excellence of any actor, there are 
 some circumstances which it is common to men- 
 tion, and some expressions which must be un- 
 derstood wherever the theatre is an object of inte- 
 rest, and the power of acting appreciated. Talma 
 appears to us to unite more of the advantages 
 of figure, and countenance, and voice, than any 
 actor that we have ever seen : it is not that his 
 person is large and graceful, or even weU pro- 
 portioned ; on the contrary, he is rather a short 
 man, and is certainly not without defects in the 
 shape of his limbs. But these disadvantages are 
 wholly overlooked in admiration of his dignified 
 and imposing carriage — of his majestic head— • 
 and of his full and finely-proportioned chest, 
 which expresses so nobly the resolution, and 
 manliness, and independence of the human cha- 
 racter. 
 
 There is one circumstance in which Talma has 
 every perfection which it is possible to conceive 
 — in the power, and richness, and beauty of his 
 voice. It is one of those commanding and pa- 
 thetic voices which can never, at any distance of 
 time, be forgotten by any one who has once heard 
 it : every variety of tone and expression of which 
 the human voice is capable, is perfectly at his 
 command, and succeed each other with a rapidity 
 
188 
 
 and power which it is not possible to conceive. 
 It makes its way to the heart the instant it is 
 heard, and at the moment he begins to speak, you 
 feel not only your attention fixed, and your 
 admiration excited, but the mind wholly sub- 
 dued by its resistless influence, and disposed to 
 enter at once into every emotion which he may 
 wish to produce. The beauty and feeling of his 
 under tones, the affection, tenderness, and pity 
 which they so exquisitely express, are so per- 
 fect, that no one could foresee in such perfec- 
 tions, the fierce, hurried, and overbearing tones 
 of Nero — the voice of deep and exhausting suf- 
 fering, which in Hamlet shews so profound an 
 impression of the misery he had undergone, and 
 of the hopelessness of the situation in Avhich he 
 is placed, — or still more the shriek of agony in 
 Orestes, when he finds the horrors of madness 
 again assailing him, and when, in that utter pros- 
 tration of soul which the belief of inevitable 
 and merciless destiny alone could produce in 
 his mind, he abandons himself in dark despair 
 to the misery which seems to close around him 
 for ever. 
 
 We have heard several English people de- 
 scribe Talma's countenance, as by no means 
 powerful enough for a great actor ; it appeared to 
 us, that in no one respect was he so decidedly su- 
 
189 
 
 perior to any actor on the English stage, as in the 
 truth and variety of expression which it dis- 
 plays. There is one observation indeed re- 
 garding the acting of Talma, which often sug- 
 gested itself, and which may, in some degree, 
 prepare us to expect, that English people in ge- 
 neral could not be much struck with the expres- 
 sion of his countenance. On the EngUsh stage, 
 it appears commonly to be the object of the ac- 
 tors, to give to every sentiment the whole effect 
 of which the words of the part will admit, as 
 fully as if that sentiment were the only one 
 which could occupy the mind of the character at 
 the time ; and any person who will attend to 
 the manner in which Macbeth and Hamlet are 
 performed, even by that great actor whose genius 
 has secured at once the pre-eminence which the 
 reputation of Garrick had left so long uncon- 
 tested, may observe, that many of the parts, 
 which are applauded as the strongest proofs of 
 the abilities of the actor, consist in the expres- 
 sion given to sentiments, undoubtedly of subor- 
 dinate importance in the situation of these cha- 
 racters, and which probably could never occupy 
 so exclusively the mind of any one really placed 
 in the circumstances represented in the play, and 
 under the influence of the feelings which such 
 circumstances are calculated to produce. In the 
 
190 
 
 character of Hamlet, in particular, there are 
 several passages, in which it is the custom to 
 express minor and passing sentiments with a 
 keenness little suitable to the profound grief in 
 which Hamlet ought to be absorbed at the com- 
 mencement of the play, and which can be na- 
 tural only when the mind is free from other 
 more powerful emotions. It appears to us, 
 that the consistency of character is much 
 more judiciously and naturally preserved in the 
 acting of Talma; that he is more careful to 
 maintain invariably that unity of expression 
 which ought to be given to the character, and 
 is more uniformly under the influence of those 
 predominating feehngs, which the circumstances 
 of the situation in which the part has placed him 
 seem fitted to excite. Under this impression 
 apparently of the object which an actor ought to 
 keep in view. Talma omits many opportunities, 
 which would be eagerly employed on the Eng- 
 lish stage, to display the power of the actor, 
 though the natural consistency of character 
 might be violated ; and never seems to think it 
 proper to express, on all occasions, every senti- 
 ment with that effect which should be given 
 to it, only when it becomes the predominant 
 feeling of the moment. Much, no doubt, is 
 lost for stage etFect by this notion of acting. 
 
191 
 
 iMany opportunities are passed over, which 
 might have been employed to shew the manner 
 in which the actor can represent a variety of 
 feelings, which the language of the play may 
 seem to admit ; and we lose much of the art 
 and skiU of acting, when the talents of the actor 
 are limited to the display of such sentiments 
 only as accord with the simple and decided ex- 
 pression of character which he is anxious to 
 maintain. 
 
 But on the other hand, the impression which 
 this representation of character makes upon the 
 mind, is on the whole much more profound, and 
 the interest which the spectator takes in the cir- 
 cumstances in which the character is placed, is 
 much greater when the actor is so wholly under 
 the influence of the feelings which the situation 
 of the part ought to excite, as never to betray 
 any emotion which can weaken that general 
 effect which this situation would naturally pro- 
 duce. To those, therefore, accustomed to the 
 greater variety of expression which the prac- 
 tice of the English stage renders necessary in 
 the Countenance of every actor, and to the 
 strong and often exaggerated manner in which 
 common sentiments and ordinary feeUngs are 
 represented, there may perhaps appear some 
 want of expression in Talma's countenance ; but 
 
192 
 
 no one can attend fully to any of the more in- 
 teresting characters which he performs, without 
 feeHng: an impression produced by the power 
 and intelligence of his countenance, which no 
 length of time will ever wholly efface. It is 
 not the expression of his countenance at any 
 particular moment which fixes itself on the 
 mind, or the force with which accidental feelings 
 are represented ; but that permanent and power- 
 ful expression which suits the character he has to 
 sustain, and never for an instant permits you to 
 forget the circumstances, of whatever kind, in 
 which he is placed ; and those who have seen him 
 in any of the greater parts on the French stage* 
 can never forget that unrivalled power of express- 
 ing deep grief, of which nothing in any English 
 actor at present on the stage can afford any idea. 
 
 At the same time it must be admitted, that 
 Talma has arrived at that time of life, when the 
 hand of age has impaired, in some degree, the 
 vigour and expression of the human frame, and 
 when his countenance has lost much of that va- 
 riety and play of expression which belongs to 
 the period of youth alone ; it has lost much of 
 the warmth and keenness of youthful feeling, 
 and probably might fail in expressing that open- 
 ness, and gaiety, and enthusiasm, which time 
 has so great a tendency to diminish. But these 
 
193 
 
 qualities are not often required in the parts 
 which Talma has to perform in the French 
 plays; and if his countenance has lost some 
 of the perfections of earlier years, it has, on 
 the other hand, gained much from the serious- 
 ness and dignity of age. If, for instance, he 
 does not express so well the ardour — the hope 
 — the triumph of youthful love, there is yet 
 something irresistibly affecting in the earnest- 
 ness with which he expresses that passion ; some- 
 thing which adds most deeply to the interest 
 which its expression is calculated to excite, by 
 reminding one of the instability of human en- 
 joyment, and of the many misfortunes which 
 the course of life may bring with it to destroy 
 the visions of inexperienced affection. We have 
 ah-eady mentioned, that in the expression of pro- 
 found emotion and deep suffering, the counte- 
 nance of Talma is altogether admirable; and 
 we doubt whether there is any thing in this 
 respect more true and perfect, even in the per- 
 formance of that great actress who has, in the 
 present day, united every perfection of grace, 
 and beauty, and genuine feeling which the stage 
 has ever exhibited. But the countenance of 
 Talma, in scenes of distress, expresses not mere- 
 ly suffering, but, if possible, something more, 
 which we have never seen in any other actor.' 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
194 
 
 He alone possesses the power of expressing that 
 impatience under suffering — that restless, con- 
 stant wish for relief, which produces so strong 
 an impression of the truth and reality of the 
 affliction with which you are called upon to 
 sympathise. 
 
 His attitudes and action are uncommonly 
 striking, seldom in the exaggeration of the 
 French stage, and never running into that im- 
 moderate expression of passion in which dignity 
 of character is necessarily sacrificed. Talma 
 appears to understand the use and management 
 of action better than any actor on the French 
 §tage; and though at times some prominent 
 faults, inseparable, perhaps, from the character 
 of the plays in which he is compelled to per- 
 form, may be observable ; yet, in general, his 
 action appears to possess a power and expression 
 beyond what is attempted by any actor on the 
 English stage. 
 
 Nothing can be conceived apparently so in- 
 consistent with the character of the French 
 plays, as the manner in which they are delivered. 
 The harangues, which are tedious to many 
 when read, might probably be very uninterest- 
 ing to all when performed, if dehvered with 
 that unbending and unimpassioned declamation, 
 which seems to suit " their stately march and 
 
195 
 
 " long resounding lines :" to a French audience, 
 in particular, such representations would be 
 intolerable, and the actors, accordingly, have 
 been led to perform them with a degree of 
 energy and passion which they do not appear 
 intended to admit, but which was necessar}'^, 
 perhaps, to awaken those emotions which it 
 must be more or less the object of theatrical re- 
 presentations to excite, wherever they are to be 
 performed to all classes of mankind. As might 
 have been foreseen, the French actors, compelled 
 to counterfeit a degree of warmth and feeling 
 which was not suggested by the sentiments they 
 utter, or the language they employ, have fallen 
 very naturally into the error of making the ex- 
 pression of passion immoderately vehement; 
 and thus, when not guided by the language 
 they are to use, have become not only indis- 
 criminate in the introduction of violent emo- 
 tion, but often run into a degree of warmth, 
 totally destructive of every feeling of propriety 
 and dignity. 
 
 The striking circumstance in Talma's acting 
 is, that he alone seems to know how to act the 
 French plays with all the feeling and interest 
 which can be necessary to produce effect; and 
 at the same time, to avoid that exaggerated re- 
 presentation of passion which represses the very 
 
 >: 2 
 
emotions it is intended to excite. The means 
 by which the genius of this great actor has ac- 
 complished so important an effect, and overcome 
 the difficulties which seem insuperable to the 
 rest of his countrymen, afford the best illustra- 
 tion that can be given of the talents and ima- 
 gination he displays. Talma appears to have 
 thought, and most justly, that the only manner 
 in wliich the French trag-edies can approach and 
 interest the heart, is by the impression which 
 the character and the moral tendency of the 
 play may, upon the whole, be able to produce, 
 not by the force or pathos which can be thrown 
 into any detached speeches, or by the effect 
 with which individual parts of the tragedy may 
 be given. The impression which might be 
 created by the delivery of any particular pas- 
 sage, or by the expression of any occasional 
 sentiment, he seems at all times to consider as 
 of subordinate importance to the preservation 
 of that permanent character, whether of intense 
 and overpowering suffering, or wild desperation* 
 by which he thinks the feelings of the specta- 
 tors may be most deeply and heartily interested. 
 Much as we admire the excellencies of the En- 
 glish stage, and none we are persuaded can 
 have an opportunity of comparing it with the 
 acting of the French theatre, without being 
 
more sensible of its perfections, we think it may 
 yet be observed, that many important objects 
 are sacrificed to the desire of producing continual 
 emotion, — to the practice of making every sen- 
 timent and every word tell upon the audience, 
 with an effect which could not be greater, if 
 that sentiment were the whole object of the tra- 
 gedy. We admit, most wiUingly, the talent 
 and feeling which are often so beautifully dis- 
 played in the course of the inferior scenes ; and 
 the impression, which is so frequently produced 
 over the " whole assembled multitude," by the 
 delivery of a single passage, of no importance 
 in itself, attests sufficiently the merits of the 
 actors who can thus wield at wiU the passions of 
 the spectators. What we are anxious to ob- 
 serve is, that the general impression from the 
 play must be less profound, when the mind is 
 thus distracted by a variety of powerful feelings 
 succeeding each other so rapidly, and when the 
 interest, which would naturally increase of it- 
 self as the performance proceeds, in the history 
 and moral tendency of the tragedy, is thus 
 broken, as it were, by the influence of so many 
 transient passions. It is very singular to observe 
 the difference, in this respect, between the cha- 
 racter of an English and a Parisian audience: 
 To the former, every thing, as it passes, must 
 
 N 3 
 
198 
 
 be given with the greatest effect ; no opportu- 
 nity can safely be omitted, by any one attentive 
 to the pubhc opinion, of displaying the power 
 Vidth which each sentiment may be expressed ; 
 and there is no common feeling among the 
 spectators, of the subserviency of all the diffe- 
 rent parts of the tragedy to one great import, 
 or that it is only in the more important scenes, 
 where the events of the story are coming to a 
 close, that great talent is to be exerted, or pro- 
 found emotion excited. The feelings of a French 
 audience, as might be expected, are such as 
 better suit the character of the plays which have 
 been so long addressed to them ; they Uke to 
 have their interest awakened, and their feelings 
 excited, only as the story proceeds, and the 
 deeper scenes of the tragedy begin to open upon 
 them ; and it is to the general impression which 
 the progress and close of the play leave upon 
 the mind, that they look, as to the criterion of 
 the excellence of the manner, in which that play 
 has been performed. Nothing, therefore, can 
 be apparently quieter than the commencement 
 of a French tragedy ; and a person unacquaint- 
 ed with the language, would be disposed to con- 
 clude what was passing before him as uninterest- 
 ing in the highest degree, if he did not observe 
 the most profound and eager attention to prevail 
 
199 
 
 in those to whom it is addressed. It would be 
 a subject of very curious and instructive specu- 
 lation, to examine the circumstances, in the si- 
 tuation and intelligence of the people in both 
 countries, which have occasioned this remark- 
 able difference in their feelings, in moments 
 when the influence of prejudice, or the effect of 
 peculiar character, generally gives way, and 
 when the genviine sentiments of mankind, as 
 invariably happens when the different ranks of 
 men are assembled indiscriminately together, as- 
 sume their natural empire over the human heart. 
 It might unfold some interesting conclusions 
 both as to the great object of the drama, and the 
 genuine style of dramatic representation ; and 
 might place, in a more important point of view 
 than is within the consideration, perhaps, of 
 many who so hastily decide on the superiority of 
 the English stage, the excellence they admire. 
 
 Much as the French tragedies are despis- 
 ed in this country, and sensible as we are of 
 many essential defects which belong to them, 
 when considered as the means of exciting popu- 
 lar feeling, or of applying to the duties of com- 
 mon life, we must yet state the very great and 
 lasting impression which many of them left on 
 our minds, and which, we can truly say, was 
 never equalled by any effect produced by the 
 
 N 4 
 
200 
 
 most successful efforts of the English stage. 
 At our own theatres, we have been often more 
 deeply affected during the performance of the 
 play, — we have often admired, much more, the 
 gTace, or feeling, or grandeur of the acting we 
 witnessed, and been more highly delighted with 
 the species of talent which was displayed ; but 
 yet we must acknowledge, that the impression 
 th^t all this left upon the mind, was not such as 
 has been produced by the powers of Talma in 
 the French tmgedies. We had many occasions, 
 however, to see that this effect was to be attri- 
 buted chiefly to the genius of this great actor, and 
 that it was only when entrusted to him, that 
 the influence of these plays was so deeply felt. 
 
 The great difference, then, between the act- 
 ing of Talma, and of the other actors on the 
 French stage, is his constant attention to the 
 means by which the impression which the ge- 
 neral tendency of the play will produce, may 
 be increased. Whatever may be the character 
 which the nature of the tragedy seems to re- 
 quire, his whole powers are employed to pursue 
 that character inviolably during the progress of 
 the play, and to add to the effect it is fitted to 
 produce : The character of profound grief, for 
 instance, is so completely sustained, that the 
 vary act of speaking seems an exertion too great 
 
201 
 
 for a mind which suffering has nearly exhaustedj^ 
 and where, in consequence, the pomp and ener- 
 gy of declamation, and many of the most na- 
 tural aids by which passion is wont to express 
 itself, are all disregarded in the intensity of 
 mental agony. It is not uncommon, according- 
 ly, to see Talma perform parts of a tragedy 
 in a manner which might seem tame and un- 
 meaning to one who had not been present at the 
 preceding parts, but which is most interesting 
 to those who have seen the character which he 
 adopts from the first, and feel the propriety and 
 effect of the manner in which that character is 
 sustained. Some of the most striking effects 
 we have ever seen produced in any acting, are 
 in those scenes, in many plays in which he 
 performs, in which, from his powerful and af- 
 fecting personation of character, his exhausted 
 mind seems unable to enter into any events 
 which are not either to relieve his sufferings, or 
 terminate an existence which appears beset with 
 such hopeless misery. Other actors may havQ 
 succeeded in expressing as strongly the influ- 
 ence of present suffering, or the despair of in- 
 tense grief. It is Talma alone who knows how 
 to express, what is so much more grand, the 
 effects of long suffering • to remind you of the 
 misery he has endured by the spectacle of an 
 
202 
 
 exhausted frame andi broken spirit ; and by ex- 
 hibiting the overwhehning consequeiKie of those 
 sufferings which the poet has not dared to de- 
 scribe, nor the actor ventured to represent, to 
 interest the mind far more profoundly than any 
 representation of present passion could possibly 
 effect. The influence of the exertions of other 
 actors is limited to the effects of the emotions 
 they represent, and of the suffering they exhi- 
 bit : the genius of Talma has imitated the efforts 
 of ancient Greece in her matchless sculpture, 
 and, in every situation which put it within his 
 power, chosen, as the proper field for the dis- 
 play of the actor's powers, not the mere repre- 
 sentation of excess in suffering, but that mo- 
 ment of greater interest, when the struggle of 
 nature is past, and the mind has sunk under 
 the pressure of affliction, which no fortitude 
 could sustain, and which no ray of hope had 
 cheered. 
 
 Every one knows the peculiar manner in 
 which, in general, the verses of the French 
 tragedy are repeated, and the delight which the 
 French people take in the uniform and balanced 
 modulation of voice with which they are ac- 
 companied. In an ordinary actor, this peculiar 
 tone is often, to many foreigners, extremely fa- 
 tiguing, but it is defended in France, as secur- 
 
203 
 
 ing a pleasure in some degree independent of 
 the merits of the actor, and defending the au- 
 dience from the harshness of tone, and extrava- 
 gancies of acfcent, to which otherwise, in bad 
 actors, they would be exposed ; and certainly 
 no one can listen, in the ISfational Theatre, to 
 the beautiful and splendid declamations of the 
 most celebrated compositions in French litera- 
 ture, delivered in the manner which has been 
 selected as best adapted to the character of the 
 plays and the taste of the people, with any feel- 
 ing of indifference. In the skilful hands of 
 Talma, who preserves the beauty of the poetiy 
 nearly unimpaired in the very abandon of feel- 
 ing, the French verse acquires beauties which 
 it never before could boast, and loses all that 
 is harsh or painful in the uniformity of its 
 structure, or the monotony of artificial taste. 
 The description which Le Baron de Grimm 
 has given of Le Kain may be well appUed 
 to Talma. « Un talent plus precieux sans 
 " doute et qu'il avait porte au plus haut 
 " degre c'etait celui de faire sentir tout le 
 " charme des beaux vers sans nuire jamais 
 " a la verite de I'expression. En dechirant le 
 " coeur, il enchantait toujours I'oreille, sa voix 
 penetrait jusqu' au fond de I'ame, et I'im- 
 
''^ pression qu'elle y faisait, semblable a celle du 
 ** burin, y laissait des traces et longs souvenirs." 
 
 The tragedy of Hamlet, in which we saw 
 Talma perform for the first time, is one which 
 must be interesting to every person who has 
 any acquaintance with French literature ; and it 
 will not probably be considered as any great di- 
 gression in a description of Talma's excellencies 
 as an actor, to add some further remarks con- 
 cerning that celebrated play in which his powers 
 are perhaps most strikingly displayed, and which 
 is one of the greatest compositions undoubtedly 
 of the French theatre. It can hardly be called 
 a translation, as many material alterations were 
 made in the story of the play ; and though the 
 general pui-port of the principal speeches has 
 been sometimes preserved, the language and 
 sentiments are generally extremely different. 
 The character of Shakespeare's Hamlet was 
 wholly un suited to the taste of a French au- 
 dience. What is the great attraction in that 
 mysterious being to the feelings of the English 
 people, the strange, wild, and metaphysical 
 ideas which his art or his madness seems to take 
 such pleasure in starting, and the uncertainty 
 in which Shakespeare has left the reader with 
 regard to Hamlet's real situation, would not 
 perhaps have been understood — certainly npt 
 
205 
 
 admired, by those who were accustomed to con- 
 sider the works of Racine and Voltaire as the 
 models of dramatic composition. In the play 
 of Ducis, accordingly, Hamlet thinks, talks, 
 and acts pretty much as any other hurpan being 
 would do, who should be compelled to speak 
 only in the verse of the French tragedy, which 
 necessarily excludes, in a great degree, any great 
 incoherence or flightiness of sentiment. In some 
 respects, however, the French Hamlet, if a less 
 poetical personage, is nevertheless a more inte- 
 resting one, and better adapted to excite those 
 feelings which are most within the command of 
 the actor's genius. M. Ducis has represented 
 him as more doubtful of the reality of the vision 
 which haunted him, or at least of the authority 
 which had commissioned it for such dreadful 
 communications ; and this alteration, so impor- 
 tant in the hands of Talma, was required on ac- 
 count of other changes which had been made in 
 the story of the play. The paramour of the 
 Queen is not Hamlet's uncle, nor had the Queen 
 either married the murderer,, or discovered her 
 criminal connexion with him. Hamlet, there- 
 fore, has not, in the incestuous marriage of his 
 mother, that strong confirmation of the ghost's 
 communication, which, in Shakespeare, led him 
 tp suspect foul play even before he sees his fa- 
 
206 
 
 ther's spirit. In the Frencli play, therefore, 
 Hamlet is placed in one of the most dreadful 
 situations in which the genius of poetry can 
 imagine a human being : Haunted by a spirit, 
 which assumes such mastery over his mind, that 
 he cannot dispel the fearful impression it has 
 made, or disregard the communication it so often 
 repeats, while his attachment to his mother, in 
 whom he reveres the parent he has lost, makes 
 him question the truth of crimes which are thus 
 kid to her charge, and causes him to look upon 
 this terrific spectre as the punishment of un- 
 known crime, and the visitation of an offended 
 Deity. Ducis has most judiciously and most 
 poetically represented Hamlet, in the despair 
 which his sufferings produce, as driven to the 
 beUef of an overruhng destiny, disposing of the 
 fate of its unhappy victims by the most arbi- 
 trary and revolting arrangement, and visiting 
 upon some, with vindictive fury, the whole 
 crimes of the age in which they live. There is 
 in this introduction of ancient superstition, some- 
 thing which throws a mysterious veil round the 
 destiny of Hamlet, that irresistibly engrosses the 
 imagination, and which must be doubly interest- 
 ing in that country where the horrors of the re- 
 volution have ended in producing a very preva- 
 lent, though vague belief, in the influence of 
 
207 
 
 fatality upon human character and human ac- 
 tions, among those who pretend to ridicule, as 
 unmanly prejudice and childish delusion, the re- 
 ligion of modern Europe. 
 
 The struggle, accordingly, that appears to 
 take place in Hamlet's mind is most striking ; 
 and when at last he yields to the authority and 
 the commands of the spirit, which exercises 
 such tyranny over his mind, it does not seem 
 the result of any farther evidence of the guilt 
 which he is enjoined to revenge, but as the 
 triumph of superstition over the strength of his 
 reason. He had long resisted the influence of 
 that visionary being, which announced itself a« 
 his father's injured spirit, and in assuming that 
 sacred form, had urged him to destroy the only 
 parent whom fate had left ; but the struggle had 
 brought him to the brink of the grave, and 
 shaken the empire of reason ; and when at 
 last he abandons himself to the guidance of 
 a power which his firmer nature had long 
 resisted, the impression of the spectator is, 
 that his mind has yielded in the struggle, and 
 that, in the desperate hope of obtaining relief 
 from present wretchedness, he is about to com- 
 mit the most horrible crimes, by obeying the 
 suggestions of a spirit, which he more than sus- 
 pects to be employed only to tempt him on to 
 
perdition. No description can possibly do jus- 
 tice to the manner in which this situation of 
 Hamlet is represented by Talma; indeed, on 
 reading over the play some time afterwards, it 
 was very evident that the powers of the actor 
 had invested the character with much of the 
 grandeur and terror which seemed to belong to 
 it, and that the imagination of the French poet, 
 which rises into excellence, even when compar- 
 ed with the productions of that great master of 
 the passions whom he has not submitted to 
 copy, has been surpassed by the fancy of the 
 actor for whom he wrote. The Hamlet of Tal- 
 ma is probably productive of more profound 
 emotion, than any representation of character 
 on any stage ever excited. 
 
 One other alteration ought to be mentioned, 
 as it renders the circumstances of Hamlet's si- 
 tuation still more distressing, and affords Talma 
 an opportunity of displaying the effects of one 
 of the gentler passions of human nature, when 
 its influence seemed irreconcileable with the 
 stern and fearful duties which fate had assigned 
 to him. The Ophelia of the French play, so 
 unlike that beautiful and innocent being who 
 alone seems to connect the Hamlet of Shake- 
 speare with the feelings and nature of ordinary 
 men, has been made the daughter of the man 
 
m 
 
 for whose sake the king has been poisoned, and 
 was engaged to marry Hamlet at that happier 
 period when he was the ornament of his father's 
 court, and the hope of his father's subjects. In 
 the first part of the play, though no hint of the 
 teiTible revenge which he was to execute on her 
 father has escaped, the looks and anxiety of 
 Talma discover to her that her fate is in some 
 degree connected with the emotions which so 
 visibly oppress him, and she makes him at last 
 confess the insurmountable baiTier which sepa- 
 rates them for ever. Nothing can be greater 
 than the acting of Talma during this difficult 
 scene, in which he has to resist the entreaties of 
 the woman whom he loves, when imploring for 
 the life of her father, and yet so overcome with 
 his affection, as hardly to have strength left to 
 adhere to his dreadful purpose. 
 
 The feelings of a French audience do not per- 
 mit the spirit of Hamlet's father to appear on 
 the stage : " L'apparition se passe, (says Madame 
 " de Stael en entier dans la physionomie de 
 " Talma, et certes elle n'en est pas ainsi moins 
 " effrayante. Quand, au milieu d'un entretien 
 " calme et melancohque, tout a coup il aperc^oit 
 
 * De I'Allemagne, torn. 2d. 305. 
 VOL. J. © 
 
^10 
 
 " le spectre, on suit tout ses mouvemens dans 
 " les yeux qui le contemplent, et Ton ne peut 
 " douter de la presence du fantome quand un 
 " tel regard I'atteste." The remark is perfectly- 
 just, nothing can be imagined more calculated 
 to dispel at once the effect which the counte- 
 nance of a great actor, in such circumstances, 
 would naturally produce, than bringing any one 
 on the stage to personate the ghost ; and who- 
 ever has seen Talma in this part, will acknow- 
 ledge that the mind is not disposed to doubt, 
 for an instant, the existence of that form which 
 no eye but his has seen, and of that voice which 
 no ear but his has heard. We regretted much, 
 while witnessing the astonishing powers which 
 Talma displayed in this very difficult part of the 
 play, that it was impossible to see his genius 
 employed in giving effect to the character of 
 Aristodemo, (in the Italian tragedy of that 
 name by Monti), to which his talents alone 
 could do justice, and which, perhaps, affords 
 more room for the display of the actor's powers, 
 than any other play with which we are ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 But the soliloquy on death is the part in 
 which the astonishing excellence and genius of 
 Talma are most strikingly displayed. What- 
 ever difficulty there may often be to determine 
 
211 
 
 the particular manner in which scenes, with 
 other characters, ought to be performed, there 
 is no difference of opinion as to the manner in 
 which soHloquies ought in general to be deliver- 
 ed. How comes it, then, that these are the 
 very parts in which all feel that the powers of 
 the actors are so much tried, and in which, for 
 the most part, they principally fail ? No one can 
 have paid any attention to the English stage, 
 without being struck with the circumstance, 
 that while there may be much to praise in the 
 per^orniaaice of the other parts, many of the 
 best actors uniformly fail in soliloquies; and that 
 it is only of late, since the reputation of the 
 English stage has been so splendidly revived, 
 that we have seen these difficult and interesting 
 parts properly performed. It is in this circumt 
 stance, more than any other, in which the ta- 
 lents of Talma are most remarkably displayed, 
 because he is peculiarly fitted, by his complete 
 personation of character, and the deep interest 
 which he seems himself to take in the part he 
 is sustaining, to excel in performing what chiefly 
 requires such interest. He is, at all times, so 
 fully impressed with the feelings, which, under 
 such circumstances, must have been really felt, 
 that one is uniformly struck with the truth and 
 propriety of every thing he does ; and of course, 
 
 & 2 
 
in soliloquies, which must be perfect, when the 
 actor appears to be seriously and deeply interests 
 ed in the subjects on which he is meditating, 
 Talma invariably succeeds. In this soUloquy 
 in Hamlet, he is completely absorbed in the 
 awful importance of the great question which 
 occupies his attention, and nothing indicates the 
 least consciousness of the multitude which sur- 
 rounds him, or even that he is giving utterance 
 to the mighty thoughts which crowd upon his 
 mind. " Talma ne faisoit pas un geste, quel- 
 " quefois seulement il remuoit la tete pour ques- 
 " tioner la terre et le ciel sur ce que c'est que la 
 " mort ! Immobile, la dignite de la meditation 
 " absorboit tout son etre."— De 1' AUemagne, 1. c. 
 We could wish to avoid any attempt to describe 
 the acting of Talma in those passages which the 
 eloquence of M. de Stael has rendered familiar 
 throughout Europe ; yet we feel that this ac- 
 count of the tragedy of Hamlet would be im- 
 perfect, if we did not allude to that very inter- 
 esting scene, which corresponds, in the history 
 of the play, to the closet scene in Shakespeare. 
 Talma appears with the urn which contains the 
 ashes of his father, and whose injured spirit he 
 seems to consult, to obtain more proof of the 
 guilt which he is to revenge, or in the hope that 
 the affections of hvmian nature may yet survive 
 
215 
 
 the horrors of the tomb, and that the duty of 
 the son will not be tried in the blood of the pa- 
 rent who gave him birth. But no voice is heard 
 to alter the sentence which he is doomed to exe- 
 cute ; and he is still compelled to prepare himself 
 to meet with sternness his guilty mother. After 
 charging her, with the utmost tenderness and 
 solemnity, with the knowledge of her husband's 
 murder, he places the urn in her hands, and re- 
 quires her to swear her innocence over the sacred 
 ashes which it contains. At first, the conscious- 
 ness that Hamlet could only suf^pect her crime, 
 gives her resolution to commence the oath with 
 firmness; and Talma, with an expression of 
 countenance which cannot be described, awaits, 
 in triumph and joy, the confirmation of her in- 
 nocence, — and seems to call upon the spirit 
 which had haunted him, to behold the solemn 
 scene which proves the falsehood of its mission. 
 But the very tenderness which he shews de- 
 stroys the resolution of his mother, and she he- 
 sitates in the oath she had begun to pronounce. 
 His feelings are at once changed, — the paleness 
 of horror, and fury of revenge, are marked in 
 his countenance, and his hands grasp the steel 
 which is to punish her guilt : But the agony of 
 his mother again overpowers him, at the mo- 
 ment he is about to strike ; he appeals for mercy 
 
 o 3 
 
214 
 
 to the shade of his father, in a voice, in which, 
 as M. de Stael has truly said, all the feelings of 
 human nature seem at once to burst from his 
 heart, and, in an attitude humbled by the view 
 of his mother's guilt and wretchedness, he awaits 
 the confession she seems ready to make : and 
 when she sinks, overcome by the remorse and 
 agony which she feels, he remembers only that she 
 is his mother ; the affection which had been long 
 repressed again returns, and he throws himself 
 on his knees, to assure her of the mercy of 
 Heaven. We do not wish to be thought so 
 presumptuous as to compare the talents of the 
 French author with the genius of Shakespeare, 
 but we must be allowed to say, that we think 
 this scene better managed for dramatic effect : 
 and certainly no part of Hamlet, on the English 
 stage, ever produced the same impression, or 
 affected us so deeply. We are well aware, how- 
 ever, how very different the scene would have 
 appeared in the hands of any other actors than 
 Talma and Madle. Duchesnois, and that a very 
 great part of the merit which the play seemed 
 to possess, might be more justly attributed to 
 the talents which they displayed. At the con- 
 clusion of this great tragedy, which has become 
 so popular in France, and in which the genius 
 of Tallica is so powerfully exhibited, the ap- 
 
215 
 
 plause was universal ; and after some little time, 
 to our surprise, instead of diminishing, became 
 much louder ; and presently a cry of Talma 
 burst out from the whole house. In a few mi- 
 nutes the curtain drew up, and discovered Talma 
 waiting to receive the applause with which they 
 honoured him, and to express his sense of the 
 distinction paid to him. 
 
 The part of Orestes in Andromaque, is an- 
 other character in which the acting of Talma is 
 seen to much advantage : and to a foreigner, it 
 is peculiarly interesting, as it displays, more 
 than any other almost, that uncommon power 
 of recitation which distinguishes his acting from 
 the tame and monotonous declamation of the 
 ordinary actors ; and which gives to the splen- 
 did language, and elevated sentiments of the 
 French tragedies, an effect which cannot easily 
 be understood by any one who has never seen 
 them well performed. The part is one which is 
 remarkably popular at present in Paris, as there 
 is something in the history of that fabulous be- 
 ing, who has been represented as the victim of 
 a capricious and arbitrary Providence, and ex- 
 posed during his whole life to the most un- 
 merited and horrible tonnents, which seems 
 greatly to interest the French people ; and 
 Talma has thus been led to bestow upon the 
 
 & 4 
 
S16 
 
 character a degree of reflection and prepara- 
 tion, which the parts in a French tragedy do 
 not in general require. There is a passage 
 which occurs in the first scene, which exhibits 
 very strikingly the judgment and genuine feel- 
 ing which uniformly marks his acting. After 
 mentioning what had happened to him after his 
 disappointment, with regard to Hermione, and 
 his separation from Pylades, he says, that he 
 had hastened to the great assembly of the 
 Greeks, which the common interest of Greece 
 had called together, in the hope, that the ar- 
 dour, the activity, and the love of glory which 
 had distinguished the period of youth, might; 
 revive with the animating scene which was again 
 presented to his mind. 
 
 En ce calme trompeur J'arrivai dans la Grece 
 Et Je trouvois d'abord ces princes rassembles, 
 Qu'un peril assez grand sembloit avoir troubles. 
 J'y courus. Je pensai que la guerre et la gloire 
 De soins plus importants remplissoit ma memoirr 
 Que mes sens reprenant leur premiere vigueur 
 L'amour acheveroit de sortir de men coeur. 
 Mais admire avec mois le sort, dent la pursuite 
 Me fait courir alors au piege que j'evite." 
 
 There is a similar passage in Othello, in which, 
 when the passion of jealousy had seized upon 
 
SIT 
 
 his mind, the Moor laments the degradation to 
 which he had fallen, when all the objects of his 
 former ambition ceased to interest his imagination, 
 or animate his exertions. In enumerating the 
 occupations which formed the pomp and glo- 
 rious circumstance of war, but for which the 
 misery of his situation had completely unmanned 
 him, the actors who have attempted this cha- 
 racter, fire with the description of the arms 
 which he now abandons, and of the scenes in 
 which his renown had been acquired. In this 
 analogous passage. Talma repeats these scenes 
 with much greater propriety and effect. He 
 appeared overwhelmed by a deep sense of the 
 degradation to which a foolish and unmanly at- 
 tachment had reduced him ; no gesture or tone 
 of voice, expressive of the slightest animation, 
 escaped him, when he described the objects of 
 his youthful ambition ; every thing denoted the 
 shame and regret of a man who felt that his 
 glory and his occupation were gone, and who 
 no longer dared to look up with pride to the 
 remembrance of those better days, when his va- 
 lour and his resolution were the admiration of 
 Greece. 
 
 The scene between Orestes and Hermione on 
 their first meeting, is one in which Talma dis- 
 plays very great power : with his heart full of 
 
218 
 
 the passion from which he had suffered so much, 
 he begins the declaration of his constancy in the 
 most ardent and impressive manner, and for a 
 time seems to flatter himself, that resentment 
 at the neglect which she had met with from 
 Pyrrhus might have awakened some affection 
 for himself in the breast of Hermione. At 
 first she is anxious to secure Orestes in case 
 that Pyrrhus should ultimately slight her, and 
 is at pains to confirm the hope which she per- 
 ceives that this passion had created : But when 
 he urges her to take the opportunity which now 
 offered itself, of leaving a court where she ap- 
 peared to be detained only t6 witness the mar- 
 riage of her rival, she betrays at once the state 
 ©f her mind : — 
 
 " Mais, seigneur, cependant s'il epouse Androraaque.. 
 
 Oreste. He, madame. 
 
 Her. Songez quelle honte pour nous, 
 Si d'une Plirygienne il devenoit lepoux. 
 
 Oreste. Et vous le haissez !"— &c. 
 
 The indignant and bitter irony with which 
 Talma delivers this speech, when he finds that 
 resentment at Pyrrhus, and not affection for 
 himself, has made her thus anxious to rivet the 
 chains which her former cruelty had hardly 
 weakened, is most striking, and he seems at 
 
ortce to regain the independence which he had 
 lost. 
 
 There is another passage of very peculiar in- 
 terest, which we hope it wiQ not be prolonging 
 these remarks too far to quote^ as affording a very 
 striking instance of the effect which the powers 
 of Talma are able to produce, under almost any 
 circumstances. When Pyrrhus, at one part of 
 the play, consents to surrender Astyanax, and 
 by this rupture with Andromache, resolves to 
 marry Hermione, Orestes is thrown at once in- 
 to the utmost despair by this sudden change o£ 
 plans, and by this disappointment of his hopes. 
 When he again appears with Pylades, he 
 threatens to take the most violent measures, to 
 interrupt this marriage, and to carry off Her^ 
 mione by force from the court where she was 
 detained. His friend naturally feels for the 
 wound which his fame must suffer from such 
 an outrage, and the dishonour which it would 
 bring upon a name rendered sacred throughout 
 Greece, from the unmerited misfortunes which 
 he had sustained. « Voila done le succes qu' 
 aura votre ambassade. Oreste ravisseur." But 
 such considerations are of no avail in the in- 
 temperance of his present feelings ; and Orestes, 
 after alluding to the injury of a second rejec- 
 tion by Hermione, proceeds to another motive, 
 
mo 
 
 which urged him to any means, however violent^ 
 to secure his object, and which most powerfully 
 interests the imagination. Every one knows 
 the supposed history of that mysterious cha- 
 racter, whose destiny seemed to have placed 
 him at the disposal of some unrelenting enemy 
 of the human race, and who had suffered every 
 misfortune which could oppress human nature. 
 
 *' Mais, s'il faut ne te rien deguiser 
 
 Mon innocence enfin commence a me peser, 
 Je ne sais, de tout tems, quelle injuste puissence 
 Laisse le crime en paix, et poursuit I'innocence, 
 De quelque part sur moi que je trouve les yeux, 
 Je ne vois que malheurs qui condamnent les Dieux, 
 Meritons leur courroux, justifions leur haine, 
 Et que le fruit du crime en precede la peine.'* 
 
 It is a remark of Seneca, that the most sub- 
 lime spectacle in nature is the view of a great 
 man stimggling against misfortune, and such 
 a character has ever been considered as the most 
 appropriate subject for dramatic representation. 
 The extreme difficulty of succeeding, in the 
 very important passage which I have quoted, 
 is obviously because the very reverse of such a 
 spectacle is now presented to the mind, — when 
 Orestes is made to abandon that distinction in his 
 fate which alone gave him any peculiar hold 
 over the feelings of the spectators, and because 
 
the actor must continue to engage, even more 
 deeply than before, their interest and their pity, 
 at the very time when the sentiments he utters 
 must necessarily lower the dignity of the charac- 
 ter he sustains, and diminish the compassion he 
 had previously awakened. How, then, is that 
 ascendency over the mind, which the singular 
 destiny of Orestes naturally acquires, to be pre- 
 served, when he no longer is to be regarded as 
 the innocent sufferer who claims our inte rest^ 
 and when he is content to descend to the level 
 of ordinary men ? In this very difficult passage 
 Talma is eminently successful; no vehemence of 
 manner accompanies the desperate resolution he 
 expresses, the recollection of the misery he has 
 suffered, and the dread of the greater misfortunes 
 which his present intentions must bring upon 
 him, seem wholly to overpower him, and his 
 countenance, marked with the utmost dejection 
 and wretchedness, appears still to appeal for 
 mercy to the power which persecutes him. 
 Every thing in his appearance and voice con- 
 veys the impression of a person overwhelmed 
 with misfortunes, and hurried on, by an impulse 
 he cannot controu', into greater calamities, and 
 more complicated misery. The very sentiment 
 which he avows, seems to proceed from the 
 over-ruling influence of a destiny which he has 
 
in vain attempted to resist, and to be only an«^ 
 other proof of the unceasing persecution to 
 which he is exposed ; and though he no long- 
 er commands admiration, or desei-ves esteem, 
 he becomes more than ever the object of the 
 deepest commiseration. Talma appears to at- 
 tach much importance to the impression which 
 this passage may produce, as much of the view 
 which he exhibits of the character of Orestes 
 seems intended to assist its effect; and we 
 certainly consider it as the greatest and most 
 successful effort of genius, which we have ever 
 seen displayed upon any stage. After witness- 
 ing tliis representation of the character of Orestes 
 at this melancholy period of his life, it was with 
 no ordinary interest that we shortly afler saw 
 Talma perform the part of Orestes in Iphigenie 
 en Tauride, a play which represents very beau- 
 tifully the only event in his life, which ever 
 seemed likely to secure his happiness, the dis- 
 covery of his sister ; and we shall never forget 
 the beautiful expression of Talma's countenance, 
 and the delightful tones of his voice, when he de- 
 scribed to his sister and his friend, the emotions 
 which the feehng of happiness so new to him 
 had created, and the hopes of future exertion 
 and honour, which he now felt himself able to 
 entertain. 
 
The last scene of this interestina: tragedy is 
 the most celebrated and most admired part in 
 the range of Talma's characters, and undoubtedly 
 it is impossible to find any acting more admir- 
 able or more affecting : After the death of Pyr- 
 rhus, he rushes upon the stage to inform Her- 
 mione that he had obeyed her dreadful commis- 
 sion, and to receive the reward of such a proof 
 of his attachment ; the hon'or of the crime which 
 he had committed is sunk in his confidence of 
 the claim he has now acquired to her gratitude, 
 and he triumphantly relates the circumstances 
 of the scene which had passed, as giving him 
 such undeniable titles to the reward which had 
 been promised to his firmness. — Madame de 
 Stael has mentioned the effect he gives to the 
 short and feeble reply wliich he makes, when 
 Hermione accuses him of cruelty, and throws 
 all the guilt of the murder on himself; — but it is 
 in the subsequent part that he appears so great : 
 After Hermione leaves him, and he recovers in 
 some degree of the stupor which such an unex- 
 pected attack had produced, he repeats, in a 
 hurried manner, the circumstances of his situa- 
 tion, and dwells on the perfidy of Hermione ; 
 but when he finds no palliation for his crime, 
 and sees how completely he has been degraded by 
 his unmanly weakness, the whole enormity of 
 
his guilt comes full upon his mind, and he ac- 
 quires even dignity in the opinion of the be- 
 holder, from the solemn and emphatic manner 
 in wjiich he curses the folly and inhumanity 
 ot his conduct. But a further blow awaits him ; 
 and it is not till Pylades informs him of the 
 death of Hermione, that the horrors of madness 
 begin to seize on his mind. At first he remains 
 motionless and thunderstruck with the dreadful 
 issue of his enterprise ; then, in a low and thril- 
 hng tone of voice, he laments the bitterness and 
 misery of that destiny by which he is doomed 
 to be for ever the victim of fate, (du malheur 
 un module accompli,) till the wildness of mad- 
 ness comes over him : In a voice hardly heard, 
 he seems to ask himself, *' Quelle epaisse nuit 
 tout a coup m'environne, de quelle cote sortir ? 
 D'ou vient que je frissonne. Quelle horreur me 
 saisit ?" — and at once a shriek, dreadful beyond 
 all description, announces the destruction of 
 reason, and the agonies of madness. It is vain 
 to describe the wild, desperate, and horrifying 
 manner in which he represents Orestes tortured 
 by the frightful visions with which the furies 
 had visited his mind, till his nature, exhausted 
 by such intense sufferings, sinks at once into a 
 calm, more dreadful even than the wildness 
 which had preceded it. 
 
225 
 
 These remarks have been extended so mucJh 
 beyond the hmits which can be interesting to 
 those who have never seen this unrivalled actor, 
 and to whom they can convey so very inadequate 
 a notion of his powers, that it is impossible to 
 make any further observations, which his per- 
 formance in other characters may have suggest- 
 ed. The most interesting character, perhaps, 
 in which we saw him perform after these, was 
 Nero in Bi-itannicus. Every person who has 
 been in Paris, since the collection of statues 
 was brought there, must have remarked the 
 striking resemblance of Talma's countenance to 
 the first busts of Nero; and this singular cir- 
 cumstance, along with the admirable manner in 
 which he represents the impatient, headstrong, 
 and profligate tyrant, rendered his acting in 
 this character remarkably interesting. The 
 opportunities which he enjoyed of studying 
 the ch^acter and the manner of Bonaparte, 
 —who never forgot the assistance he received 
 fi'om Talma, when he first entered that city, 
 where he was afterwards to govern with such 
 unbounded power,— must have been present to 
 his mind when he was preparing this difficult 
 character ; and if it is supposed that he must- 
 have been, even with this advantage, little able 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
226 
 
 to imagine correctly the manner and depoi^ 
 ment of so singular a character as the Roman 
 Emperor, none will question the judgment, on 
 this point, of that extraordinary person, under 
 whose tyranny Talma so long Uved, and who, 
 as Talma has often declared, did actually suggest 
 many improvements in the manner in which he 
 had first acted the part. 
 
 Mademoiselle Georges, the great tragic ac- 
 tress, was reckoned at one time the most beau- 
 tiful woman in France. She is now grown very 
 large, and her movements are, from that cause, 
 stiff and constrained ; but she is still a fine wo- 
 man, and her countenance, though not very 
 strikmg at first sight, is capable of wonderful 
 variety and intensity of expression ; her style of 
 acting may be said to be intermediate between 
 the matronly dignity and majestic deportment 
 of Mrs Siddons, and the enchanting sweets 
 ness and feminine graces of Miss O'Neil. In 
 the delineation of strong feeUngs and violent 
 passions, of grief, madness, or despair, she will 
 not suffer from comparison with either of these 
 actresses ; but we should doubt whether she can 
 ever have inspired as much moral sympathy and 
 admiration as the one has always commanded, 
 by the elevation and grandeur of her representa- 
 tion of characters of exalted virtue, and the 
 
other daily wins, by the interesting tenderness 
 of her manner, by the truth and energy of 
 her impassioned scenes, and the overpowering 
 pathos of her distress. 
 
 The tragedy of CEdipe, by Voltaire, affords 
 room for the display of the^ most characte-^ 
 ristic qualities of Talma and Mademoiselle 
 Georges ; and when we saw them act (Edipus 
 and Jocasta in this piece, we agreed that there 
 were certainly no actor and actress, of equally 
 transcendent merit, who act together in either 
 of the London theatres. The distress of the 
 play is of too horrible and repulsive a kind, we 
 should conceive, to be ever admitted on the En^ 
 glish stage; but it furnishes occasion for the dis- 
 play of consummate art in the imitation of the 
 most terrible and overpowering emotions ; and 
 it is difficult to conceive a more powerful repre- 
 sentation than they exhibited of the gloomy 
 forebodings of suspicion, of the agonizing sus- 
 pence of unsatisfied doubt, and the « sickening 
 pang of hope deferred" — heightened, rather than 
 diminished, by the consciousness of innocent in- 
 tention, and the feehng of undeserved affliction, 
 and giving way only to the certainty of irre- 
 trievable misery, and the phrenzy of utter de- 
 spair. ' 
 
 P 2 
 
"228 
 
 In concluding these remarks, upon a subject 
 n^hich interested us so much, we are anxious to 
 offer some general reflections upon the charac- 
 ter of the French stage, which were suggested 
 by the observations we had an opportunity of 
 making. It is far from being our intention, to 
 enter into any discussion of the rules upon 
 which the construction of their tragedies is 
 supposed to depend, or to occupy the time of 
 our readers, by useless remarks upon the sacri- 
 fices which it is said must be made, by strictly 
 observing the unities in dramatic compositions. 
 Quite enough is known of the defects of the 
 French tragedy, and it is much to be regretted, 
 that those who have had an opportunity of at- 
 tending the French theatre, have generally car- 
 ried their national prejudices along with them, 
 and seem to have been more desirous to confirm 
 the prepossessions they had previously acquired, 
 than to form any fair and correct estimate of the 
 merits of that drama. We are httle aware in 
 general in this Country, how much the compo- 
 sition of our own tragedies might be improved, 
 and how much the effect of the talents which 
 the stage displays might be increased, were we 
 as candid in admitting the very great excellen- 
 des which the French stage possesses, as we 
 
229 
 
 Jiave been desirous to discover its imperfections. 
 Without presuming to attempt an examination 
 of the French theatre, in the view of correcting 
 wliat appear to us the errors in the pubHc taste, 
 we mean merely to state in what respects it 
 appeared to us, that the impression left on the 
 mind by the French tragedies is stronger and 
 more lasting than any that we have experienced 
 firom attending our own theatres. Our convic- 
 tion of the general superiority of the English 
 stage has been already expressed, and therefore 
 we hope we shall not be misapprehended in the 
 object which we have in view in such remarks. 
 
 1. In the first place, then, we would mention 
 -«what we hope it is not necessary to illustrate 
 at any length-— the very great impression which 
 must be njade upon every thoughtful mind, by 
 tiie unity of emotion which ihe French trage- 
 dies are fitted to produce. The effect which 
 may result from this unity of emotion appears 
 to excite much deeper interest, than can be 
 produced by the mere exertion of the actors' 
 power, when it is not uniformly directed to the 
 expression of one general character. It is also 
 worthy of coilsideratibn, whether the very im- 
 portant purposes to which the drama may be 
 rendered (Subservient, may not be more easily 
 
 p3 ^ 
 
230 
 
 accomplished, when the whole tendency of the 
 composition, and the influence of acting, are em- 
 ployed in one general and consistent design. 
 No such principle seems to have been kept in 
 view in the composition of the greater part of 
 the English tragedies. They resemble much, 
 in truth, as we have before observed, the scene 
 of human affairs, which the general aspect of 
 the world presents, — full of every variety of 
 incident, and depending upon the actions of a 
 number of different characters. In the principal 
 subject of the play, miiny seem to perform parts 
 nearly of equal importance, and to be equally 
 concerned in the issue of the story ; each per- 
 sonage has his separate interest to claim our at- 
 tention, and peculiar features of character, which 
 require nice discrimination ; and in general, no 
 one character, or one subject, is sufficiently 
 presented to view. The minds of the specta- 
 tors, therefore, are oppressed and distracted by 
 the variety of feelings which are excited, and 
 thek interest interrupted and dissipated, in some 
 degree, from the variety of objects which claim 
 it. The general wipression, therefore, left up- 
 on the mind, is less pointed, less profound, and 
 must produce less influence upon character, than 
 when the feelings have been steadily and pqwer- 
 
231 
 
 ftiUy interested in the consequences of one 
 marked and important event, or in the illustra- 
 tion of one great moral truth. 
 
 2. We must be permitted to state, in the 
 second place, that we think the French theatre 
 is decidedly superior to our own, in the pro- 
 priety and discrimination with which they keep 
 out of view many of those exhibitions, which, on 
 the English stage, are studiously brought forward 
 with a view to effect : It would be altogether 
 useless, to enter into any discussion of a question 
 which has often been the subject of much idle 
 controversy ; nor should we be able, we know, to 
 suggest any thing which could have any influ^ 
 ence with those who think, that all the murders, 
 and battles, and bustle, which occur in many of 
 the grander scenes in the Enghsh tragedies, can 
 increase the interest which such tragedies might 
 produce, or contribute to the effect of theatrical 
 illusion. We were not fortunate enough to see 
 Talma in Ducis' play of Macbeth, where the 
 difference between the French and English 
 stage in this particular is very strongly illus- 
 trated ; but from every thing we have under- 
 stood, of the wonderful impression which is pro- 
 duced, when he describes his interview with the 
 weird sisters-— the terrors which accompanied t^eir 
 
 ? 4) 
 
252} 
 
 appearance, and the feelings which their predic- 
 tions awakened, we are persuaded that the effect 
 must be much finer than any thing which can 
 result from the feeble attempt to represent all this 
 to the eye. Macbeth, however, without the 
 witches, and all the clumsy machinery which is 
 employed on the stage to carry through so im- 
 practicable a scene, would appear stripped of its 
 principal beauties to the taste of a great part of 
 an English audience ; and yet we are perfectly 
 convinced, that there is no one imperfection, in 
 the plan or composition of the French tragedies, 
 so deserving of censure, as the taste which can 
 admit such representations on the' stage. We 
 allude, of course, entirely to the attempt to in- 
 troduce this celebrated scene upon the stage ; 
 none can admire more than we do, the power- 
 ful and creative imagination which it displays. 
 
 3. The next circumstance to which We allude, 
 is that vei-y remarkable one— of the dignity of 
 sentiment, and elevation of thought, which uni- 
 formly characterise the compositions of the French 
 stage. This is a perfection which, we beheve, 
 has never been denied by any one who is in any 
 degree acquainted with these productions ; and 
 therefore we are anxious, as that very excellence 
 has sometimes been thought to unfit them for 
 
^33 
 
 actual representation, merely to state, from our 
 own experience, the very great impression which 
 such lofty and dignified sentiments, in the com- 
 position of the play, are fitted to produce. For 
 ourselves we can say, that no dramatic repre- 
 sentation on the EngHsh stage produced the same 
 permanent effect with some of the greater com- 
 positions of the French tragedy ; and we cannot 
 but consider much of their influence to be owing 
 to the sublime and elevating sentiments with 
 which they abound. We could wish to see the 
 tone of the tragedies which are now presented 
 for the English stage, animated by the same 
 strain of dignified thought, and become more 
 worthy of the approbation of a great, and en- 
 lightened, and virtuous people. 
 
 Simple as these observations may appear, they 
 yet suggest what we must consider as most im- 
 portant improvements in the composition and 
 character of the English drama : The only tra- 
 gedies which have been written for many years 
 for our stage are, with a few exceptions, unde- 
 niably the feeblest productions in any branch of 
 the national literature, and have in general car- 
 ried, to the utmost extreme, the imperfections 
 which existed in the woyks of those earlier 
 writers whose genius and natural feeling they 
 have never been able to equal. Whenever any 
 
334 
 
 change does occur in the character and tone of 
 the tragedies of the English stage, we are per^ 
 suaded that much will be gained by further ac- 
 quaintance with the dramatic representations of 
 the French theatre ; and that the defects of our 
 ©wn theatre can only be avoided, by imitating 
 some of the perfections of that drama, which 
 we are accustomed at present so hastily to cen- 
 sure. 
 
 We have only now to remark, that while the 
 works of Comeille, of Racine^ and Voltaire, 
 must ever remain conspicuous in the French 
 drama, we shall judge very erroneously of the 
 present character of the French stage, if we are 
 only acquainted with these compositions of 
 earlier times. The consequences of the revolu- 
 tion have been felt in the tone of dramatic com- 
 
 ' position, as in every other branch of literature, 
 and in every condition of society. The misfor- 
 
 • tunes which all classes of the people have sus-. 
 tained,— the anxiety, and suspence, and terror, 
 which they so often felt, and the insecurity 
 which so long seemed to attend every enjoy^ 
 ment of human life, accustomed them so much 
 to scenes of deep interest, and to profound emo. 
 tion, that it became necessary, in the theatre, 
 to have recourse to more powerful means of ex- 
 citing their compassion, and engaging their in^ 
 
^35 
 
 terest, than was always afforded by the trage- 
 die's of the old writers. The same change, 
 then, which is observable in many other branches 
 of the French literature of late years, seems to 
 have taken place, to a considerable extent, iu 
 compositions for the stage; and from the se- 
 rious and melancholy turn which was often 
 given to the public mind, it has become requisite, 
 in later writings, to introduce subjects of deeper 
 interest, and more fitted to affect the imacdnation 
 in moments of strong popular feeling, and of 
 great national danger. JVIany of the reflections, 
 therefore, which such circumstances suggested, 
 have been introduced into the tragedies which 
 have been composed during the very eventful pe- 
 riod which has elapsed since the commencement 
 of the revolution ; and the authors have adapted, 
 in a considerable degree, the interest, or the 
 management of their plays, to those peculiar 
 sentiments which the character of that period 
 had given to the people. These sentiments 
 may not always indicate very sound principle, 
 or very elevated feeling, but, in the turn which 
 has sometimes been given to the French plays, 
 they are made to favour the introduction of 
 much poetical beauty, and much dramatic in-, 
 terest. We have already mentioned, that there 
 appears to be a vague, but general impression 
 
236 
 
 of the influence fatality upon human conduct, 
 floating in the puMic mind ; and though such a 
 notion, probably, is seldom admitted in the shape 
 of a distinct doctrine, many circumtsances indi- 
 cate, that among the body of the people, and 
 among the army in particular, the infliience of 
 this superstition is very considerable. It is ap- 
 pealed to in many of those political writings 
 which best indicate the feelings of those to 
 whom they are addressed ; ajid we have all re- 
 marked how much and how artfully their late 
 ruler availed himself of this belief, to connect 
 the ascendancy of his arms, and the prosperity 
 of his dynasty, with the destiny of human af- 
 fairs. On several very important occasions, the 
 utmost possible interest has been given to the 
 history of particular characters, in many recent 
 tragedies, by employing this powerful feehng 
 in the public mind ; and it was very apparent, 
 that the spectators took peculiar interest in the 
 denouement of the plays in which this subject 
 was introduced. 
 
 In the works of Ducis, of Raynouard, and 
 of several other recent writers, and in many of 
 the plays formed from tragedies of the German 
 school, very strong indications are to be found 
 of the effect of the circumstances in which the 
 people have been placed, in giving, in some 
 
237 
 
 respects, a new tone to dramatic compositions:, 
 and in calling forth productions of deeper in- 
 terest, and capable of exciti?)g more profound 
 emotion, than could generally be produced by the 
 works of the earlier periods of French literature. 
 
 It is an animating proof of the ascendancy of 
 virtuous feeling, and a striking illustration of 
 the tendency of great assemblies of men, when 
 not actuated by particular passions, to join in 
 what is generous and elevated in human thought, 
 that not only have the tragedies of the earlier 
 writers continued to be universally admired, and 
 constantly acted during the whole period of the 
 revolution, but that the standard of sentiment 
 has not been lowered in those productions 
 which have been designed expressly for the 
 French stage during that period, and that the 
 dignity of ancient virtue, and the elevation of 
 natural feeling, still ennoble the tone of French 
 tragedy. 
 
 The French comedies and comic acting are 
 not less characteristic of the people than their 
 tragedies. They are a gay and lively, but not 
 a humorous people. A Frenchman enters into 
 amusements with an eagerness and relish, of^ 
 which, in this country, we have no conception ; 
 all his cares and sorrows are forgotten ; all his 
 
^rious occupations are postponed ; all his unruly 
 passions are calmed ; — ^he thinks neither of his 
 individual misfortunes, nor of his national degra- 
 dation ; neither of the friends whom he has lost in 
 the war, nor of the foreign soldiers whom it has 
 placed at his elbow ; his whole soul is absorbed 
 in the game, in the dance, or in the spectacle. 
 But his object is not laughter, or passive enjoy- 
 ment, or relaxation ; it is the excitation of his 
 Spirits, the occupation, and interest, and agita- 
 tion of his mind, the varied gratification of his 
 senses, the exercise of his fancy, the display of 
 his wit, and taste, and politeness. 
 
 The exhibitions at the theatres are accommo- 
 dated to this taste. With the exception of 
 some of Moliere's works, such as the Bourgeois 
 Gentilhomme, and M. de Pourceaugnac, (which 
 are seldom acted, at least at the Theatre Fran- 
 9ais), there are hardly any French comedies 
 which are characterised by what we call humour, 
 — which have for their main object the represen- 
 tation of palpably ludicrous peculiarities of cha- 
 racter and manner. You never hear, in a French 
 theatre, the same loud incontrollable bursts of 
 laughter, which are so often excited by repre- 
 sentations of this kind in London. There are 
 no such actors, at the principal theatres, as Ma- 
 thews, or Liston, or Bannister, or Mimden, or 
 
Emery, whose principal merit lies in mimicry 
 and buffoonery. There are hardly any enter- 
 tainments corresponding in character to our 
 farces ; the after-pieces are short comedies, and 
 characters in low life are introduced into them, 
 not as objects of derision, but of interest and 
 sympathy. 
 
 On the other hand, operas and genteel come- 
 dies, which are esteemed only by -the higher 
 ranks in England, are a favourite amusement of 
 all ranks in France. The quaUties which are 
 most highly prized in the comedies, are, interest 
 and variety of incident and situation, wit and 
 liveliness of dialogue, and a certain elevation 
 and elegance of character. 
 
 Regarding the character of the French tra- 
 gedies, there will always be much difference of 
 opinion ; and many, probably, of those who 
 have had the best opportunities of studying 
 them, as performed upon the stage at Paris, 
 may yet retain nearly the same judgment con- 
 cerning them which they formed in reading 
 them in the closet. And we are willing to ad- 
 mit, that admirable as they appear to us in 
 many respects, they are not well adapted to be- 
 come popular in this country. I^ut the excel- 
 lencies and unrivalled elegance of the French 
 comedy, have been at all times universally ad^ 
 
^^40 
 
 mitted, while there is this great distinction be- 
 tween them and the tragedies of tlie French 
 school, that however great the pleasure we may 
 take in reading them, no one ever saw them 
 well performed^ without acknowledging, that 
 until then, he had no conception of the astonish* 
 ing field which they afford for the display of the 
 actor's poAver, or of the innumerable charms 
 which they possess as dramatic compositions. 
 
 Every thing that ever was amiable and en- 
 gaging in the character of the French people ; 
 the elegance and bon-hommie of their manners, 
 which served as a passport to the French in 
 every country in Europe, and softened the feel- 
 ings of national resentment with which their am- 
 bition and their arrogance to other nations had 
 taught many to regard them as a people ; their 
 well-known superiority to other nations in those 
 circumstances, which render them agreeable and 
 pleasant in society, in their constant attention 
 and accommodation to the wishes and pursuits 
 of others, in that anxiety to please, to entertain, 
 and to promote the interests and happiness of 
 others, which costs so little to those who are 
 never subject to that unhappy irregularity of 
 temper and spirit, so visible to all foreigners in 
 the character of the English people, and which 
 never fails to secure esteem, and to interest the 
 
Ml 
 
 affectiorts, while superior worth, less happily 
 gifted for the common purposes and intercourse 
 of Ufe, may be regarded with no warmer feel- 
 ing than that of distant respect; the loyautS 
 and frankness once so closely associated with the 
 history and character of the French people ; the 
 manliness which taught them at once to admit 
 and to repair the wrongs which their impetuosi- 
 ty of spirit, or their harshness of feeling, might 
 have occasioned, and the gallantry with which 
 they were wont to defend with their sword what 
 their honour bound them to maintain ; and 
 above all, that delightful and touching abandon 
 of feeling, which seemed the result of genuine 
 simplicity, and which appeared to know no re- 
 serve, only because it knew no guilt ; all these 
 beautiful and interesting traits, which adorned 
 the character of former and of later days, are still 
 preserved in the comedies of their greater 
 writers ; the purity of former character seems to 
 animate the pages which they write, and the 
 spirit of earlier times seems yet to retain its as- 
 cendancy, when they wish to pourtray the man- 
 ners of the present day. 
 
 In the degradation of the present period, they 
 delight to recall the splendour and the renown 
 of the period that is past ; and, by preserving 
 in their works the character which adorned the 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
2142 
 
 t^rench people before the profligacy and the in- 
 sidious pohey of a corrupt court disarmed the 
 nation of its virtue, to reconcile it to slavery, 
 they attempt to awaken a nobler spirit, and lay 
 the foundation of future grandeur. Whatever 
 has delighted us in reading the history of the 
 earlier periods of the French monarchy, when 
 the elevation of chivalrous feeling, and the dis- 
 interestedness of simp e manners, distinguished 
 the French people, and when the character of 
 the great Henry displayed, in a more conspi- 
 cuous station, the virtues which ennobled the 
 duties of private life, is yet to be found in their 
 best comedies. Among the many thousands 
 who crowd to their numerous theatres, there 
 are many, one would hope, who can feel the 
 sad contrast which the last century of French 
 history, " fertile only in crime," presents to the 
 honour of former times, and in whom may be 
 reviving that lofty and generous spirit which 
 may yet redeem the character they have lost. 
 
 It seems not a httle singular, that this taste 
 in comedy should have survived all the disor- 
 ders of the revolution, and remained unchanged 
 amid the general diffusion of military habits and 
 manners. This may be partly explained by 
 the circumstance, that the judges by whom 
 theatrical exhibitions are mainly regulated, are 
 
stationary at Paris, while the men, whose ac- 
 tions have stamped the French character of the 
 present day, have been dispersed over the world. 
 But it must certainly be admitted, that the taste 
 of the French has not undergone an alteration 
 corresponding with that which is so obvious in 
 their manners ; and has not degenerated to the 
 degree that might have been expected, fr om the 
 diffusion of revolutionary ideas and licentious 
 habits. The Theatre Fran9ais affords perhaps 
 the best specimen that now remains of the style 
 of conversation, and manners, and costume, of 
 the old school of French politeness. 
 
 For the representation of pieces bearing the 
 general character which v/e have described, the 
 French are certainly better fitted than any other 
 people,— their native gaiety and sprightKness of 
 disposition,— the pohsh which their manners so 
 readily acquire,— their irrepressible confidence 
 and self-conceit,— their love of shewing off, and 
 attracting attention, give really a stage effect to 
 many of their serious actions, and to almost all 
 their trifling conversation and amusements. 
 Hence, a stranger is particularly struck with 
 the uniform excellence of the comic acting on 
 the French stage ; all the inferior parts are sus- 
 tained with spirit, and originahty, and discrimi- 
 nating judgment ; all the actors are at their 
 
 Q2 
 
U4 
 
 ease, and a regular genteel conledy is as well 
 acted throughout, as a farce is on the London 
 stage. 
 
 The greatest comic actor at the Theatre Fran- 
 ^ais it Fleury. He is an actor completely fitted 
 for the French style of comedy. He gives you 
 the idea of a perfect gentleman, with much wit 
 and liveliness, and consummate confidence and 
 self-possession ; who delivers himself with inimi- 
 table archness and pleasantry, but without the 
 least exaggeration or buffoonery ; who has too 
 high an opinion of himself and his powers, to 
 descend to broad jokes or allusions belonging to 
 the lower kinds of humour. Those who have 
 an accurate recollection of the admirable acting 
 of Irish Johnstone, in the characters of Major 
 O'Flaherty, or Sir Lucius O'Trigger, will have 
 a better conception, than any description of ours 
 can convey, of the style of acting in which 
 Fleury so eminently excels. 
 
 Whatever may be thought of the other per- 
 formers, none can see without pleasure the per- 
 formances of that celebracted actress, who has 
 so long been the ornament of the national 
 theatre, and to whom the support of their 
 comedy has been so long entrusted. During 
 the greatest period of the revolution, MadCr 
 moiselle Mars has been the favourite and the 
 
MB 
 
 delight of the people of Paris, and there is per- 
 haps no feeling among; liiem stronger, or more 
 national, than the pride which they take in her 
 incomparable acting ; all the grace, and ele- 
 gance, and genuine feeling which she so beauti- 
 fully displays, they consider as belonging to her 
 only because she is a French woman ; and no- 
 thing would ever convince them that, had she 
 been born in any other country, it would have 
 been possible that she sliould possess half the 
 perfections which they new admire in her. 
 
 Mademoiselle Mars is probably as perfect an 
 actress in comedy as any that ever appeared on 
 any stage. She has united every advantage of 
 countenance, and voice, and figure, which it is 
 possible to conceive, and no one can ever have 
 witnessed her incomparable acting, without feel- 
 ing that the imagination can suggest nothing 
 more completely lovely — more graceful, or more 
 natural and touching, than her representation 
 of character. Mademoiselle Mars has been 
 most exquisitely beautiful ; and though the pe- 
 riod is past when that beauty had all the bril- 
 liancy and freshness of youth, time appears 
 hardly to have dared to lay his chilling hand 
 on that lovely countenance, and she still acts 
 characters which require all the naivete, and 
 
 Q 3 
 
246 
 
 gaiety, and tenderness of youthful feeling, with 
 every appearance of the spring of human Ufe, 
 It is remarked by Gibber, that a woman has 
 hardly time to become a perfect actress, during 
 the continuance of her personal attractions. If 
 there ever was an exception to this remark. Ma- 
 demoiselle Mars is one. She was an admired 
 actress, we were assured, before the revolution ; 
 yet she has still, at least on the stage, a light ele- 
 gant figure, and a countenance of youthful ani- 
 mation and beauty, while long experience ha§ 
 given that polish and perfection to her acting, 
 which can be derived from no other source. 
 
 It were in vain to attempt describing the innu- 
 merable excellencies which render her acting so 
 perfectly enchanting 'the admirable manner in 
 which the French comedies are performed is so 
 particular to the stage of that country, that it would 
 be quite fruitless to attempt to describe a style 
 of acting unknown to the people of Britain ; 
 and of that style Mademoiselle Mars is the mo- 
 del. Every thing that can result from the truest 
 elegance and gracefulness of manners — from the 
 most genuine and lively abandon of feeling, — 
 from the most winning sweetness of expression, 
 and the greatest imaginable gaiety and benevo- 
 lence, displayed in one of the most beautiful 
 women ever seen, and endowed with the most 
 
247 
 
 (delightful and melodious voice, is united in 
 Mademoiselle Mars ; and all words were in 
 vain, which would pretend to describe the 
 bright and glittering vision which captivates the 
 imagination. It is impossible to conceive any- 
 thing more perfect as a specimen of art, or 
 more beautiful as an imitation of nature, than 
 her representation of the kind of heroine most 
 commonly to be found in a French comedy ; 
 lively and playful, yet elegant and graceful; 
 entering with ardour into amusements, yet ca- 
 pable of deep feeling and serious reflection : 
 fond of admiration and flattery, yet innocent 
 and modest ; full of petty artifice and coquetry, 
 yet natural and unaffected in affairs of impor- 
 tance ; capricious and giddy in appearance, but 
 warm-hearted and affectionate in reality. It is 
 a character to which there is a kind of approxi- 
 mation among many French women ; and if it 
 were as well supported by them in real Ufe, as 
 by her on the stage, it would be difficult even 
 for French vanity to describe the fascination of 
 their manner, in terms of admiration which 
 would not command general assent. There is 
 much variety, it must be added, in her powers. 
 On one occasion, we saw her act Henriette in 
 Les Femmes Savantes of Moliere, and Catau 
 
 Q 4 
 
in La Partie de Chasse de Henri IV. and it was 
 difficult to say whether most to admire the wit, 
 and elegance, and polite raillery of the woman 
 of fashion, or the innocent gaiety, and interest- 
 ing naivete of the simple peasant girl. 
 
 There is no actress at present on the English 
 stage of equal eminence in a similar line of 
 parts. The exhibition which can best convey 
 to an English reader some slight notion of her 
 enchanting acting, is the manner in which Miss 
 O'Neil performs the scene in Juliet with the old 
 nurse ; because it is probably exactly the man- 
 ner in which Mademoiselle Mars would perform 
 that scene, but cannot afford any conception of 
 her excellence in scenes of higher interest and 
 greater feeling. Mrs Jordan may have equalled 
 her in gaiety, and probably excelled her in hu- 
 morous expression, but we suspect she must 
 always have been deficient in elegance and re^ 
 finement. The actress who, we think, comes 
 nearest to her in genteel comedy, is Mrs Henry 
 Siddons, in her beautiful representation of such 
 parts as Beatrice, or Viola ; but she has not the 
 same appearance of natural light-hearted buoy- 
 ancy and playfulness of disposition; you see 
 occasional transient indications of a serious 
 thoughtful turn of mind, which assumes gaiety 
 and cheerfulness, rather than passes naturally 
 
M9 
 
 into it ; which you admire, because it places the 
 actress in a more amiable light, but which takes 
 off from the fidelity and perfection of her art. 
 
 Wherever Mademoiselle Mars has ^cted, in 
 every part of France, the enthusiasm which sh6 
 inspires, and the astonishing interest which they 
 take in her acting, is such as could be felt only 
 in France. We were fortunately in Lyons 
 when she came there, on leaving Paris during 
 the course of last summer ; and during the few 
 days we were there, nothing appeared to be 
 thought of but the merits of this unrivalled ac- 
 tress. The interest which the recent visit of 
 .Madame had created, was altogether lost in the 
 dehght which the performance of Mademoiselle 
 Mars had occasioned : She was crowned publicly 
 in the theatre with a garland of flowers, and a 
 fete was celebrated in honour of her by the 
 pubUc bodies and authorities of the town. 
 
 Corresponding to the Opera House in Lon- 
 don, there are three theatres in Paris ; the Odeon, 
 the Opera Comique, and the Academie de Mu- 
 sique. At the first of these there is an immense 
 company of musicians, of all kinds ; and Italian 
 Operas are admirably performed. It is the 
 handsomest, and perhaps the most genteelly at- 
 tended pf any of the l^arisian theatres, Th^ 
 
250 
 
 music here, as well as the musicians, are all 
 Italian; and there can certainly be no comparison 
 between it and the French, which is generally 
 feeble and insipid in pathetic expression, and 
 extravagant and bombastic in all attempts at 
 grandeur. The first singer at the Odeon was 
 Madame Sessi, who has since been in London ; 
 but Madame Morelli, with a voice somewhat 
 inferior in power, appeared to us a more elegant 
 actress. The performance of Girard on the flute 
 was wonderful, and met with extravagant ap- 
 plause, but it was somewhat too laboured and 
 artificial for our untutored ears. 
 
 The Opera Comique is confined almost exclu- 
 sively to the sort of entertainment which the 
 name expresses : the scenes are generally laid in 
 the country, and the characters introduced are 
 of the lower orders : the pieces commonly re- 
 presented belong to the same class, therefore, as 
 the English operas. Love in a Village, Hosina, 
 &c. but the dialogue is in general more animat- 
 ed, less vulgar in the lower parts, and less sen- 
 timental in the higher. The number of per- 
 formers at this theatre is not very great ; but 
 there are some good singers and dancers, and 
 the acting is almost uniformly excellent. In- 
 deed, the French character is peculiarly well 
 fitted for assuming the gay and lively tone that 
 
251 
 
 pervades their opera huffa, which may be cha- 
 racterised as amusing and interesting in general, 
 rather than comic ; as full of spirit and vivacity, 
 rather than of humour. Occasionally, however, 
 characters and incidents of true humour are in- 
 troduced ; but these are in general considered 
 as belonging to a lower species of amusement ; 
 and are to be found in higher perfection, we be- 
 lieve, in some of the inferior theatres, particu- 
 larly the Theatre des Varietes. 
 
 The aeting at the Opera Comique appeared 
 to us deserving of the same encomiums with the 
 comic acting at the Theatre Francais : every 
 part is well supported, not with the elegance 
 that characterises the latter theatre, but with 
 perfect adaptation to the situation of the cha- 
 racters. A Mademoiselle Regnaud, of this 
 theatre, acts with admirable livehness and spirit. 
 Jler quarrel and reconciliation with her lover, 
 in " Le Nouveau Seigneur du Village," appear- 
 ed to us a chef d'oeuvre of the light and pleasing 
 style of acting, which suits the character of the 
 French comic opera. 
 
 The Academic de Musique, (which is cele- 
 brated for dancers, not for musicians), is on a 
 very different plan from the opera in London. 
 The performers being in part supported by gOr 
 vernment, the prices of admission are made- 
 
^252 
 
 very low ; and the company, particularly in the 
 pai'terre, or pit, is therefore of a much lower 
 class than in London, though perfect decorum 
 is, as usual, uniformly observed. The perfor- 
 mances at this theatre are, we think, decidedly 
 superior to those in the London opera. This 
 superiority consists partly in the pre-eminent 
 merits of the first-rate dancers ; but chiefly in 
 the uniform excellence of the vast number of 
 inferior performers, the beauty of the scenery, 
 and the complete knowledge of stage effect, 
 which is displayed in aU the arrangements of the 
 representations. 
 
 We believe there are not at present, on the 
 London stage, any dancers of equal merit with 
 Madame Gardel, or Mademoiselle Bigottini. 
 The former of these is said to be 45 years of 
 age, and has long been reckoned the best figu- 
 rante on this stage. Her face is not handsome, 
 but her figure is admirably formed for the dis- 
 play of her art, of which she is probably the 
 most perfect mistress to be found in Europe. 
 The latter, an Italian by birth, is much younger, 
 and if she does not yet quite equal her rival in 
 artificial accomplishments, she at least attracts 
 more admirers by her youth and beauty ; by the 
 exquisite symmetry of her form, and the natu- 
 ral grace and elegance of her movements. The 
 
^55 
 
 one of these is certainly the first dancer, and 
 the other is perhaps the most beautiful woman 
 in Paris. 
 
 But the same unfortunate peculiarity of taste 
 which we formerly noticed in the painting and 
 in the gardening of the French, extends to their 
 opera dancing ; indeed it may be said to be the 
 worst feature of their general taste. They are 
 too fond of the exhibition of art, and too regard- 
 less of the object, to which art should be made 
 subservient. Dancing should never be consi- 
 dered as a mere display of agiUty and muscular 
 power. It is then degraded to a level with 
 Harlequin's tricks, wrestling, tumbhng, or such 
 other fashionable entertainments. The main 
 object of the art unquestionably is, to display 
 in full perfection the beauty and grace of the 
 human form and movements. In so far as per- 
 fect command of the limbs is necessary, or may 
 be made subservient to this object, it cannot be 
 too much esteemed; but when you pass this 
 limit, it not only ceases to be pleasing, but often 
 becomes positively offensive. Many of the pi- 
 rouettes, and other difficult movements, which 
 are introduced into the pas seuls, pas de deux, 
 &c. in which the great dancers display their 
 whole powers, however wonderful as specimens 
 of art, are certainly any thing but elegant or 
 
254 
 
 graceful. The applause in the French opera 
 seemed to us to be in direct proportion to the 
 difficulty, and to bear no relation whatever to 
 the beauty of the performances. A Frenchman 
 regards, with perfect indifference, dances which, 
 to a stranger at least, appear performed with 
 inimitable grace, because they are only common 
 dances, admirably well executed ; but when one 
 of the male performers, after spinning about for 
 a long time, with wonderful velocity, arrests 
 himself suddenly, and stands immoveable on 
 one foot ; or when one of the females wheels 
 round on the toes of one foot, holding her other 
 limb nearly in a horizontal position— he breaks 
 out into extravagant exclamations of astonish- 
 ment and delight : " Quel a plomb ! Ah diable ! 
 " Sacre Dieu !" &c. 
 
 But although the principal dances at the 
 Opera, and those on which the French chiefly 
 pride themselves, are much injured, in point of 
 beauty, by this artificial taste, the execution of 
 the less laboured parts of these dances, and of 
 nearly the whole of their common national 
 dances, is quite fi-ee from this defect, and is, 
 we should conceive, the most beautiful exhibi- 
 tion of the kind that is any where to be seen. 
 It is only in a city where amusements of all 
 kinds are sought for, not merely by way of re- 
 
255 
 
 laxation, but as matters of serious interest and 
 national concern, and where dancing, in parti- 
 cular, is an object of universal and passionate 
 admiration, that such numbers of first-rate 
 dancers can be found, as perform constantly at 
 the Academic de Musique. The whole strength 
 of the company there, which often appeared 
 on the stage ai: the time we speak of, was cer- 
 tainly not less than 150 ; and there were hardly 
 any of these whose performance was not highly 
 pleasing, and did not present the appearance of 
 animation and interest in the parts assigned 
 them. 
 
 Many of the serious operas performed here 
 are exceedingly beautiful ; they are got up, not 
 perhaps at more expense, nor with more mag- 
 nificence, than the spectacles in London, but cer- 
 tainly with more taste and knowledge of stage 
 effect. The scenery is beautifully painted, and 
 is disposed upon the stage with more variety, and 
 in such a manner as to form a more complete 
 illusion, than on any other stage we have seen. 
 The music and singmg are certainly inferior to 
 what is heard at the Odeon, but the actings 
 where it is not injured by the effect of the reci- 
 tative, is very generally excellent ; and the num- 
 ber and variety of dances introduced, afford op- 
 
^5^ 
 
 jportUTiities of displaying all the attractions of 
 this theatre. 
 
 The pantomimes are uniformly executed with 
 inimitable grace and effect. We were particu- 
 larly pleased with that called L'Enfant Prodigue, 
 in which the powers and graces of Mademoiselle 
 Bigottini are displayed to all possible advantage. 
 One of the most splendid of the .serious operas, 
 is that entitled Le Caravansera de Cairo, the 
 scenery of which was painted in Egypt, by one 
 of the artists who accompanied Napoleon thither, 
 and is beyond comparison the most highly finish- 
 ed and beautiful that w^e have ever seen, and 
 gives an idea of the aspect of that country, 
 which no other work of art could convey. An- 
 other opera, which attracted our attention, vras 
 called " Gssian, ou les Bardes." One of the 
 scenes, where the heroes and heroines of departed 
 times are seen seated on the clouds, displayed a 
 degree of magnificence which made it a fit repre- 
 sentation of " the dream of Ossian." Some of the 
 Highland scenery in this opera was really like na- 
 ture ; and the dresses, particularly the cambric 
 and vandyked kilts, bore some distant analogy to 
 the real costume of the Highlanders; and although 
 ^e could not gratify the Parisians who sat by 
 us, by admitting the resemblance of the female 
 figures, who skipped about the stage with 
 
^5? 
 
 single muslin petticoats, and pink and white 
 kid slippers, to the " Montagnardes Ecossaises 
 " c'est a dire demi-sauvages" whom they were 
 intended to represent, we at least flattened their 
 vanity, by expressing our wish that the latter 
 had resembled the former. 
 
 But the most beautiful of all the exhibitions 
 at the Academic de Musique, are the ballets 
 which represent pastol^al scenes anxi rural fetes' 
 Such as CoKnette a la Cour, L'Epreuve Villa- 
 geoise, &c. It is singular, that in a city, the 
 inhabitants of which have so entire a contempt 
 for rural enjoyments, pieces of this kind should 
 form so favourite a theatrical entertainment; 
 but it must be confessed, that such scenes as 
 form the subject of these ballets, occur but sel- 
 dom in the course of a country life, and never 
 in the degree of peifection in which they are 
 represented in Paris. The union of rustic sim- 
 phcity and innocence, with the polish and re- 
 finement which are acquired by intercourse with 
 the world, may be conceived by the help of 
 these exhibitions, but can hardly be witnessed 
 in real lifci The illusion, however, when such 
 scenes are exhibited, is exceedingly pleasing; 
 and no where certainly is this illusion so perfect 
 as in the Academic de Musique, where thf^ 
 
 VOL; I; K • 
 
^58 
 
 charming scenery, the enUvening music, the 
 number and variety of characters, which are 
 supported with hfe and spirit, the beauty of the 
 female performers, and the graceful movements, 
 and lively animated air of all ; — ^if they do not 
 recal to the spectator any thing which he has 
 really witnessed, seem to transport him into the 
 more deHghtful regions in which his fancy has 
 occasionally wandered, ai^ to realize for a mo- 
 ment to him, those fairy scenes to which his 
 youthful imagination had been familiarized, by 
 the beautiful fictions of poetry or romance. , 
 
 The Parisian theatres are at all times sources 
 of much amusement and delight ; but at the 
 time of which we speak, they were doubly in- 
 teresting, as affording opportunities of seeing 
 the most distinguished characters of this event- 
 ful age; and as furnishing occasional strong 
 indications of the state of popular feehng in 
 France. The interest of occurrences of this last 
 kind is now gone by, and it is almost unneces- 
 sary for us to bear testimony to the strong party 
 that uniformly manifested itseh* when any senti- 
 ment was uttered expressive of a wish for war, 
 of admiration of martial achievements, and of^ 
 indignation at foreign influence, or domestic 
 perfidy, (under which head the conduct of Tal- 
 
259 
 
 ieyrand and of Marmont was included); and 
 more especially, when the success, and glory, 
 and eternal, immutable, untarnished honour of 
 France, were the theme of declamation. The 
 applause at passages of this last description 
 seemed sometimes ludicrous enough, when the 
 theatres were guarded by Russian grenadiers, 
 and nearly half filled with allied officers, loaded 
 with honours which had been won in combating 
 the French armies. 
 
 The majority of the audience, however, ap- 
 peared always dehghted at the change of go- 
 vernment, and in the opera in particular, the 
 first time that the King appeared, the expres- 
 sion of loyalty was long, reiterated, and enthu- 
 siastic, far beyond our most sanguine anticipa- 
 tions. It would have been absurd to judge of 
 the real feelings of the majority of the Parisians, 
 still more of the nation at large, from this 
 scene ; and it was certainly not to be wished, 
 that a blind and devoted loyalty to one sove- 
 reign should take the place of infatuated attach- 
 ment to another ; yet it was impossible not to 
 sympathize with the jcy of people who had been 
 agitated, during the best part of their lives, by 
 pohtical convulsions, or oppressed by military 
 tyranny, but who fancied themselves at length 
 relieved from both ; and who connected the hope 
 
260 
 
 of spending the remjinder of their days m trati* 
 quillity and peace, ^v^ith the recollections which 
 they had received from their fathers, of the hap- 
 J)iness and prosperity of their country under 
 the long line of its ancient kingS; It was im- 
 possible to hear the national air of " Vive Henri 
 Quatre," and the enthusiastic acclamations which 
 accompanied it, without entering for the mo- 
 ment into the feeling of unhesitating attach- 
 ment, and unqualified loyalty, which has so 
 long prevailed in most countries of the world, 
 but which the citizens of a free country should 
 indulge only \vhen it has been deserved by long 
 experience and tried virtue* 
 
 It was with different, but not less interesting 
 feelings, that we listened to the same tune from 
 the splendid bands of the Russian and Prussian 
 guards, as they passed along the Boulevards, on 
 their return to their own countries. It was a 
 grand and moving spectacle of political virtue^ 
 to see the armies which had been arrayed against 
 France, striving to do honour to the govern- 
 ment which she had assumed: — instead of breath- 
 ing curses, or committing outrages on the great 
 and guilty city, which had provoked all their 
 vengeance, to see them march out of the gates 
 of Paris with the regularity of the strictest mili- 
 tary discipline, to the sound of the grand na- 
 
^61 
 
 tional air, which spoke " peace to her walls, and 
 " prosperity to her palaces," — leaving, as it were, 
 a blessing on the capital which they had con- 
 quered and forgiven : It was a scene that left an 
 impression on the mind worthy of the troops 
 who had bravely and successfully opposed the 
 domineering power of France, — who had strug- 
 gled with it when it was strongest, and " ruled it 
 " when 'twas wildest," but who spared it when 
 it was fallen who forgot their wrongs when it 
 was in their powgr to revenge them ; — who cast 
 the laurels from their brows, as they passed be- 
 fore the rightful monarch of France, and honour- 
 ed him as the representative of a great and gal- 
 lant people, long beguiled by ambition, and 
 abused by tyranny, but now acknowledging 
 their errors, and professing moderation and re- 
 pentance, 
 
 » 3 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAEIS — THE FRENCH ARMY AND IMPERIAI* 
 GOVERNMENT* 
 
 It is certainly a mistake to suppose, that the 
 miUtary power of France was first created by 
 Napoleon, or that military habits were actually 
 forced on the people, with the view of aiding 
 his ambitious projects. The French have a 
 restless, aspiring, enterprising spirit, not accom- 
 panied, as in England, by a feeling of individual 
 importance, and a desire of individual indepen- 
 dence, but modified by habits of submission to 
 arbitrary power, and fitted, by the influence of 
 despotic government, for the subordination of 
 military discipline. Add to this, the encourage- 
 ment which was held out by the rapid promo- 
 
tion of soldiers during the wars of the revolu- 
 tion, when the highest military offices were not 
 only open to the attainment, but were generally 
 appropriated to the claims of men who rose 
 from the ranks; and the genera dissemination, at 
 that period, of an unbounded desire for violence 
 and rapine : And it will probably be allowed, 
 that the spirit of the French nation, at the time 
 when he came to the head of it, was truly and 
 almost exclusively miUtary. He was himself a 
 great soldier ; he rose to the supreme govern- 
 ment of a great' military people, and he availed 
 himself of their habits and principles to gratify 
 his ambition, and extend his fame ; but he ought 
 not to be charged with having created the spirit, 
 which in fact created him ; a spirit so powerful, 
 and so extensively diffused, that in comparison 
 with it, even his efforts might be said to be " dash- 
 " ing with his oar to hasten the cataract ;" to be 
 " waving with his fan to give speed to the 
 " wind." The favourite saying of Napoleon, 
 " Every Frenchman is a soldier, and as such, 
 
 at the disposal of the Emperor," expresses a 
 principle which was not merely enforced by ar- 
 bitrary power, but engrafted on the character 
 and habits of the French people. 
 
 The French are certainly admirably fitted for 
 becoming soldiers : they have a restless activity, 
 R 4 
 
264 
 
 which surmounts difficulties, a buoyancy and 
 elasticity of disposition, which rises superior to 
 hardships, and calamities, and privations, not 
 with patient fortitude, but with ease and cheer- 
 fulness. A Frenchnian does not regard war^ 
 merely as the serious struggle in which his pa- 
 triotism and valour are to be tried ; he loves it 
 for its own sake, for the interest and agitation 
 it gives ^o his mind • it is his ^' game,— his gain, 
 
 —his glory,— his delight." Other nations of 
 Europe have become miUtary, in consequence 
 of threats or injuries, of the dread of hostile in- 
 vasion, of the presence of foreign armies, or the 
 gaUing influence of foreign power ; but if the 
 origin of the French mihtary spirit may be 
 traced to similar sources, it must at least be al- 
 lowed, that the effect has been out of all pro- 
 portion to the cause. 
 
 It is probable, however, that the effervescence 
 of military ideas and feehngs, which arose out 
 of the revolution, would have gradually sub- 
 sided, had it not been for the fostering influence 
 of the imperial government, The turbulent 
 and irregular energies of a great people let loose 
 fi'om former bonds, received a fixed direction, 
 and were devoted to views of mihtary ascend-, 
 ancy and national aggrandizement under Napo- 
 leon , The continued gratification of the FrencI^ 
 
265 
 
 vanity, by the fame of victories and the conr 
 quest of nations, completed the effect on the 
 manner and habits of the people, which the 
 events of the revolution had begun. Napoleon 
 well knew, that in flattering this ruling pro- 
 pensity, he took the whole French nation on 
 their weak side, and he had some reason for say- 
 ing, that their thirst for martial glory and poli- 
 tical influence ought to be a sufficient apology 
 to them for all the wars into which he plunged 
 them. 
 
 It is impossible to spend eveil a few days in 
 France without seeing strong indications of the 
 prevaihng love of military occupations, and ad. 
 miration of military merit. The common pea- 
 sants in the fields shew, by their conversation, 
 that they are deeply interested in the glory of 
 the French arms, and competent to discuss 
 the manner in* which they are conducted. 
 In the parts of the country which had been 
 the seat of war, we found them always able 
 to give a good general description of the mih- 
 tary events that had taken place ; and when due 
 allowance was made for their invariable exag- 
 geration of the number of the aUied troops, and 
 concealment of that of the French, these ac- 
 counts, as far as we could judge by comparino- 
 th^n^ with the official details, and with the int 
 
266 
 
 ibrmation of officers who bad borne a part in 
 the campaign, were tolerably correct. The 
 fluency with which they talked of miUtary ope- 
 rations, of occupying positions, cutting off re- 
 treats, defiling over bridges, debouching from 
 woods, advancing and retreating, marching and 
 bivouacking, shewed the habitual current of 
 their thoughts; and they were always more 
 willing to enter on the details of such operations, 
 than to enumerate their own losses, or dwell on 
 their individual sufferings. 
 
 A similar eagerness to enter into conversa- 
 tion on military subjects, was observable in al- 
 most all Frenchmen of the lower orders, with 
 whom we had any deahngs. Our landlord at 
 Paris, a quiet sickly man, who had no connec- 
 tion with the army, and who had little to say 
 for himself on most subjects, displayed a marvel- 
 lous fluency on mihtary tactics*; and seemed to 
 think that no time was lost which was employed 
 in haranguing to us on the glory and honour of 
 the French army, and impressing on our minds 
 its superiority to the alUes. 
 
 Indeed, the whole French nation certainly 
 take a pride in the deeds of their brethren in 
 arms, which absorbs almost all other feelings ; 
 and which is the more singular, as it does not 
 appear t« us to be connected with strong or 
 
267 
 
 general ajffection or gratitude for any particular 
 individual. It was not the fame of any one 
 General, but the general honour of the French 
 arms, about which they seemed anxious. We 
 never met with a Frenchman, of any rank, or of 
 any political persuasion, who considered the 
 French army as fairly overcome in the campaign 
 of 1814 ; and the shifts and contrivances by 
 which they explained aU the events of the cam- 
 paign, without having recourse to that supposi- 
 tion, were wonderfuUy ingenious. The best 
 informed Frenchmen whom we met in Paris, 
 even those who did not join in the popular cry 
 of treason and corruption against Marmont, re- 
 garded the tenns granted by Alexander to their 
 city, as a measure of poUcy rather than of mag- 
 nanimity. They uniformly maintained, that 
 the possession of the heights of Belleville and 
 Montmartre did not secure the command of 
 Paris : that if Marmont had chosen, he might 
 have defended the town after he had lost these 
 positions; and that, if the Russians had at- 
 tempted to take the town by force, they might 
 have succeeded, but would have lost half their 
 army. Indeed, so confidently were these pro- 
 positions maintained by all the best informed 
 Frenchmen, civil or military, royahst or impe- 
 rialist, whom we met, that we were at a loss 
 
268 
 
 whether to give credit to the statement uni- 
 formly given us by the allied officers, that the 
 town was completely commanded by those 
 heights, and might have been burnt and de- 
 stroyed, without farther risk on the part of 
 the assailants, after they were occupied. The 
 English officers, with whom we had an op- 
 portunity of conversing on this subject, seeme4 
 divided in opinion regarding it ; and we should 
 have hesitated to which party to yield our 
 belief, had not the conduct of Napoleon and 
 his officers in the campaign of the present 
 year, the extraordinary precautions which they 
 took to prevent access to the positions in ques- 
 tion, by laying the adjacent country under wa- 
 ter, and fortifying the heights themselves, clearly 
 shewn the importance, in a military point of 
 view, which is really attached to them. 
 
 The creduHty of the French, in matters con- 
 nected with the operations of their armies, often 
 astonished us. It appeared to arise, partly from 
 the scarcity of information in the country ; from 
 their having no means of confirming, correcting, 
 or disproving the exaggerated and garbled state- 
 ments which were laid before them ; and partly 
 from their national vanity, which disposed them 
 to yield a very easy assent to every thing that ex- 
 9,lted their national character. Jn no other coun. 
 
269 
 
 try, we should conceive, would such extravagant 
 and manifestly exaggerated statements be swal- 
 lowed, as the French soldiers are continually in 
 the habit of dispersing among their countrymen. 
 From the style of the conversation which we 
 were accustomed to hear at caffes and tahlek 
 d'hote, we should conceive^ that the French bul- 
 letins, which appeared to us such models of gas- 
 conade, were admirably well fitted, not merely 
 to please the taste, but even to regulate the be- 
 lief, or at least the professions of behef, of the 
 majority of French pohticians, with regard to 
 the events they commemorate. 
 
 The general interest of a nation in the deeds 
 and honours of its army, is the best possible se- 
 curity for its general conduct; and it must be 
 admitted, that in those qualities which are chiefly 
 valued by the French nation, the French army 
 was never surpassed; while it is equally ob- 
 vious, that both the army and the people have 
 at present little regard for some of the finest 
 virtues which can adorn the character of sol- 
 diers. 
 
 The grand characteristic of the French army, 
 on which both the soldiers and the people 
 pride themselves, is what was long ago ably 
 pointed out by the author of the " Caractere des 
 " Armees Europeennes Actuelles"— the indivi- 
 
270 
 
 dual intelligence and activity of the soldiers. 
 They were taken at that early age, when the 
 influence of previous habit is small, and when 
 the character is easily moulded into any form 
 that is wished ; they were accustomed to pride 
 themselves on no qualities, but those which are 
 serviceable against their enemies, and they had 
 before them the most animating prospect of re- 
 wards and promotion, if their conduct was dis- 
 tinguished. Under these circumstances, the na- 
 tive vigour, and activity, and acuteness of their 
 minds, took the very direction which was likely, 
 not merely to make them good soldiers, but to 
 fit them for becoming great oflicers ; and this 
 ultimate destination of his experience, and abi- 
 lity, and valour, has a very manifest effect on 
 the mind of the French soldier. We hardly 
 ever spoke to one of them, of any rank, about 
 any of the battles in which he had been en- 
 gaged, without observing, that he had in his 
 head a general plan of the action, which he al- 
 ways delivered to us with perfect fluency, in 
 the technical language of war, and with quite as 
 much exaggeration as was necessary for his pur- 
 pose. What he wanted in correct information, 
 he would assuredly make up with lies, but he 
 would seldom fail to give a general consistent 
 idea of the affair ; and it wa« obvious, that the 
 
mi 
 
 manoeuvres of the armies, and the conduct of 
 the generals, on both sides, had occupied as 
 much of his consideration and reflection, as his 
 own individual dangers and adventures. 
 
 When we afterwards entered into conversation 
 with some English private soldiers, at Brussels 
 and Antwerp, concerning the actions they had 
 seen, we perceived a very marked, difference. 
 They were very ready to enter into details con- 
 cerning all that they had themselves witnessed, 
 and very anxious to be perfectly correct in their 
 statements; but they did not appear ever to 
 have troubled their heads about the general 
 plan of the actions. They had abundance of 
 technical phrases concerning their own depart- 
 ments of the service ; but very few words rela- 
 tive to the manoeuvring of large bodies of men. 
 Their rule seemed to be, to do their own duty, 
 and let their officers do theirs ; the principle of 
 the division of labour seemed to prevail in mili- 
 tary, as well as in civil affairs, much more ex- 
 tensively in England than in France. 
 
 The soldiers of the French imperial guard, in 
 particular, are remarkably intelligent, and in ge- 
 neral very communicative. We entered into 
 conversation with some of these men at La 
 Fer^, and from one of them, who had been in 
 the great battle at Laon, we had fully as distinct. 
 
iin account of that action as we are able to col- 
 lect, the next day, from several officers who ac- 
 companied us from St Quentin to Cambray, and 
 who had likewise befen engaged in it. When 
 we asked him the numbers of the two armies on 
 that day, he replied without the least hesitation^ 
 that the allied army was 100,000 and the French 
 30,000. — Another of these men had been at Sa- 
 lamanca, and after we had granted his funda- 
 mental assumption, that the EngHsh army there 
 was 120,000 strong, and the French 40,000, he 
 proceeded to give us a very good account of tlie 
 battle. 
 
 These men, as well as almost all the French 
 officers and soldiers with whom we had oppor- 
 tunities at different times of conversing, gave 
 their opinions of the allied armies without any 
 reserve, and with considerable discrimination. 
 Of the Russians and Prussians they said, " lis 
 " savent bien faire la guerre ; ils sont des bons 
 
 soldats ;" but of the common soldiers of these 
 services in particular, they said, " lis sont tres 
 " forts, et durs comme I'ame du diable— mais 
 " ils sont des veritables betes ; ils n'ont point 
 " d'intelligence. La puissance de I'armee Fran- 
 " 9aise," they added, with an air of true French 
 gasconade, " est dans I'intelligence des soldats." 
 —Of the Austrians, they said, " Ils brillent dan? 
 
leur cavalerie, mais pour leur infanterie, elle 
 " ne vaut rien." 
 
 From these soldiers we could extract no more 
 particular character of the English troops, than 
 " lis se battent bien." But it is doing no more 
 than justice to the French officers, even such as 
 were decidedly imperialist, who conversed with 
 us at Paris, and in different parts of the country, 
 to acknowledge that they uniformly spoke in 
 the highest terms of the conduct of the EngHsh 
 troops. The expression which they very com- 
 monly used, in speaking of the manner in which 
 the English carried on the war in Spain, and in 
 France, was, " loyaute." " Les Russes, et les 
 " Prussiens," they said, " sont des grands et 
 " beauxhommes, mais ils n'ont pas le coeur ou la 
 " loyaute des Anglais. Les Anglais sont la na- 
 " tion du monde qui font la guerre avec le plus 
 " de loyaute," &c. This referred partly to their 
 valour in the field, and partly to their humane 
 treatment of prisoners and wounded ; and partly 
 also to their honourable conduct in France, 
 where they preserved the strictest discipline, 
 and paid for every thing they took. Of the 
 behaviour of the English army in France, they 
 always spoke as excellent : — " digne de leur 
 " civilization." 
 
 A French officer who introduced himself to 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
ST4t 
 
 us one night in a box at the opera, expressing 
 his high respect for the Enghsh, against whom, 
 he said, he had the honour to fight for six years 
 in Spain, described the steadiness and determi- 
 nation of the* English infantry in attacking the 
 heights on which the French army was posted 
 at Salamanca, in terms of enthusiastic admira- 
 tion. Another who had been in the battle of 
 Toulouse, extolled the conduct of the Highland 
 regiments in words highly expressive of 
 
 " The stern joy which warriors feel, 
 " In foemen worthy of their steel." 
 
 " II y a quelques regimens des Ecossais sans 
 " culottes," said he, " dans I'armee de WeUing- 
 « ton, qui se battent joliment." He then de- 
 scribed the conduct of one regiment in par- 
 ticular, (probably the 42ld or 79th), who at- 
 tacked a redoubt defended with cannon, and 
 marched up to it in perfect order, never taking 
 the muskets from their shoulders, till they were 
 on the parapet: " Si tranquillement,— sacre 
 " Dieu ! c'etoit superbe." 
 
 Of the military talents of the Duke of Wel- 
 lington they spoke also with much respect, 
 though generally with strong indications of 
 jealousy. They were often very ingenious ij^ 
 
275 
 
 devising means of explaining his victories, with- 
 out compromising, as they called it, the honour 
 of the French arms. At Salamanca, they said, 
 that in consequence of the wounds of Marmont 
 and other generals, their army was two hours 
 without a commander. At Vittoria again, it 
 was commanded by Jourdan, and any body 
 could beat Jourdan. At Talavera, he com- 
 mitted " les plus grandes sottises du monde ; il 
 "a fait une contre-marche digne d'un bete." 
 Some of the Duke of Wellington's victories 
 over Soult they stoutly denied, and others they 
 ascribed to great superiority of numbers, and to 
 the large drafts of Soult's best troops for the 
 purpose of forming skeleton battalions, to receive 
 the conscripts of 181S. 
 
 The French pride themselves greatly on the 
 honour of their soldiers, and in this quality they 
 uniformly maintain that they are unrivalled, at 
 least on the continent of Europe. To this it 
 IS easy to reply, that, according to the com- 
 mon notions of honour, it has been violated 
 more frequently and more completely by the 
 French army than by any other. But this is 
 in fact eluding the observation rather than re- 
 futing it. The truth appears to be, that the 
 French soldiers have a stronger sense of honour 
 than those of almost any other service ; but that 
 s % 
 
the officers, having risen from the ranks, have 
 brought with them to the most exalted stations, 
 no more refined or hberal sentiments than those 
 by which the private soldiers are very frequent- 
 ly actuated ; and have, on the contrary, ac- 
 quired habits of duplicity and intrigue, from 
 which their brethren in inferior situations are 
 exempt. 
 
 When we say of the French soldiers that 
 they have a strong sense of honour, we mean 
 merely to express, that they will encounter dan- 
 gers, and hardships, and privations, and calami- 
 ties of every kind, with wonderful fortitude, and 
 even cheerfulness, from no other motive than an 
 esprit du carps — a regard for the character of 
 the French arms. Without provocation from 
 their enemies, without the prospect of plunder, 
 without the hope of victory, without the con- 
 viction of the interest of their country in their 
 deeds, without even the consolation of expecting 
 care or attention in case of wounds or sickness, 
 
 they will not hesitate to lavish their blood, 
 
 and sacrifice their fives, /or the glory of France. 
 Other troops go through similar scenes of suf- 
 fering and danger with equal fortitude, when 
 under the influence of strong passions, w^hen 
 fired by revenge, or animated by the hope of 
 plunder, or cheered by the acclamations of vie- 
 
277 
 
 tory ; but witli the single exception of the Eri- 
 tish army, we doubt whether there are any to 
 whom the mere spirit of miUtary honour is of 
 itself so strong a stimulus. 
 
 We have already noticed the state of the 
 French sick and wounded, left in the hospitals at 
 Wilna during the retreat from Russia ; a state 
 so deplorable, as to have excited the strongest 
 commiseration among their indignant enemies. 
 This, however, was but a single instance of 
 the system almost uniformly acted on, we have 
 understood, by the French medical staff in 
 Russia, Germany, and Spain, of deserting their 
 hospitals on the approach of the enemy, so as 
 to leave to him, if he did not chuse to see the 
 whole of the patients perish before his eyes, the 
 burden of maintaining them. The miseries 
 which this system must have occasioned, in the 
 campaign of 1813 in particular, require no illus- 
 tration. 
 
 Another regulation of the French army, dur- 
 ing tiie campaign of that year, will shew the 
 utter carelessness of its leaders, in regard to the 
 itves or comforts of the soldiers. When the men 
 who were incapacitated for service by wounds 
 or disease, were? sent back to France, they were 
 directed, in the first instance, to Mentz, where 
 their uniforms, and any money they might have 
 
 s 3 
 
^78 
 
 about them, were regularly taken from them, 
 and given to the young conscripts who were 
 passing through to join the armies ; they were 
 then dressed in miserable old rags, which were 
 collected in the adjacent provinces by Jews em- 
 ployed for that purpose, and in this state they 
 were sent to heg their way to their homes. 
 Such, as we were assured by some of our coun- 
 trymen, who saw many of these men passing 
 through Verdun, was the reward of thousands 
 of the " grande nation^ who had lost their 
 limbs or their health in vainly endeavouring to 
 maintain the glory and influence of their coun- 
 try in foreign states. In the campaign of 1814, 
 which was carried on during the continuance of 
 a frost of almost unprecedented intensity, and 
 in so rapid and variable a manner, and with so 
 large bodies of troops, as to prevent the esta- 
 blishment of regular hospitals or of any thing 
 like a regular Commissariat, the French troops, 
 particularly the young conscripts and national 
 guards, suffered dreadfully; and numbers of 
 them who escaped the swords of their enemies, 
 perished miserably or were disabled for life, in 
 consequence of hardships, and fatigues, and pri- 
 vations. 
 
 All these examples were known to the French 
 soldiers— they took place daily betbre their eyes. 
 
m9 
 
 and, in the last instance, the allies took pains to 
 let them know, that the only obstacle to honour- 
 able peace was the obstinacy of their com- 
 mander ; yet their ardour continued unabated ; 
 the young soldiers displayed a degree of valour 
 in every action of both campaigns, which drew 
 forth the warm applause even of their enemies ; 
 and it is not to be doubted, that the troops 
 whom Napoleon collected at Fontainbleau, at 
 the end of the campaign in France, were enthu- 
 siastically bent on carrying into effect the frantic 
 j'esolution of attacking Paris, then occupied by 
 a triple force of the alhes, from which his officers 
 with difficulty dissuaded him. 
 
 In like manner, there is probably no general 
 but Napoleon, who would not have attempted 
 to terminate the miseries of the army during 
 the retreat from Moscow, by entering into ne- 
 gotiation with the Russians ; nor is there any 
 army but the French which would have tamely 
 consented to be entirely sacrificed to the obsti- 
 nacy of an individual. But to have concluded 
 a convention with the Russians would have been 
 compromising the honour of the French arms ; 
 and this little form of words seemed to strike 
 more terror to the hearts of the French soldiers, 
 than either the swords of the Russians, or the 
 dreary wastes and wintry storms of Russia^ 
 
 s 4 
 
280 
 
 which might have been apostrophised in the 
 words of the poet, 
 
 " Alas ! even your unhallowed breath 
 May spare the victim fallen low, 
 But man will ask no truce to death. 
 No bounds to human woe." 
 
 " He saw, without emotion, (says Labaume), 
 " the miserable remains of an army, lately so 
 " powerful, defile before him ; yet his |)resence 
 *• never excited a murmur ; on the contrary, it 
 " animated even the most timid, who were al- 
 " ways tranquil when in presence of the em- 
 " peror." At the present moment, from all the 
 accounts that we have received, as well as from 
 our own observations of those French soldiers 
 whom we have ourselves seen after their return 
 from Moscow, the sentiments of the survivors 
 of that expedition with regard to Napoleon re- 
 mained unchanged; and no person who has 
 read any of the narratives of the campaign can 
 ascribe their constancy to any other cause, than 
 that feeling of attachment to the glory of their 
 country, to which the French, however impro- 
 perly, give the name of military honour. 
 
 If the character of the French soldiers is de- 
 serving of high admiration for Hieir constancy 
 
and courage, it must be observed, on the other 
 hand, that there is a mixture of selfishness in 
 it, an utter disregard of the feelings, and indif- 
 ference as to the sufferings, not merely of their 
 enemies, or of the inhabitants of the countries 
 which they traverse, but even of their best 
 friends and companions, which forbids us to go 
 farther in their praise. It is as unnecessary, as 
 it would be painful, to enter on an enumeration 
 of the instances of wanton cruelty, violence, 
 and rapacity, which have sullied the fame of 
 their most brilliant deeds in arms. It will be 
 long before the French name will recover the 
 disgrace which the remembrance of such scenes 
 as Moscow, or Saragossa, or Tarragona, has at- 
 tached to it, in every country of Europe ; and 
 it is impossible to have a more convincing proof 
 of the tyrannical and oppressive conduct of the 
 French armies in foreign states, than the uni- 
 versal enthusiasm with which Europe has risen 
 against them, — the indignant and determined 
 spirit with which all ranks of every country 
 have united to rid themselves of an oppression, 
 not less galling to their individual feelings, than 
 degrading to their national character. But it is 
 particularly worthy of remark, that the latest 
 and most authentic writers in France itself, who 
 have given any account of the French armies. 
 
282 
 
 have noticed selfishness, and disregard of the 
 feehngs of their own comrades, as well as of all 
 other persons, as one of the most prominent 
 features of their character. We need only re- 
 fer to Labaume's book on the expedition to 
 Russia, to Miot's work on the Egyptian cam- 
 paigns, or to Rocca's history of the war in 
 Spain, for ample proofs of the correctness of 
 this observation. Whether this peculiarity is to 
 be ascribed chiefly to their national character, or 
 to the nature of the services in which they have 
 been engaged, it is not very easy to decide. 
 
 The dishonourable conduct of the French 
 officers, particularly of the superior officers, in 
 the present year, is much more easily explain- 
 ed than excused. They had risen from the 
 ranks — they had been engaged all their lives in 
 active and iniquitous services — they had been 
 accustomed to look to success as the best crite- 
 rion of merit, and to regard attachment to their 
 leaders and their colours, as the only duties of 
 soldiers ; — they had never thought seriously on 
 morality or religion — they had been applauded 
 by their countrymen and fellow-soldiers, for ac- 
 tions in direct violation of both — and they had 
 been taught to consider that applause as their high- 
 est honour and legitimate reward. Under these 
 circumstances, it is easy to see, that they could 
 
385 
 
 have little information with regard to the true 
 interests of France, and that they would regard 
 the most sacred engagements as binding only in 
 so far as general opinion would reprobate the 
 violation of them; and when a strong party 
 shewed itself, in the nation as well as the army, 
 ready to support them and to extol their con- 
 duct in rising against the government, that their 
 oaths would have no influence to restrain them. 
 It is to be considered, likemse, that a large 
 proportion of the officers had been originally 
 republicans. They had been engaged in long 
 and active military service, and been elated 
 with military glory ; in the multiplicity of their 
 duties, and the intoxication of their success as 
 soldiers, they had ceased to be citizens; but 
 during the repose that succeeded the establish^ 
 ment of the Bourbons, when they again found 
 themselves in the midst of their countrymen, 
 their original political feelings and prejudices 
 returned, embitteied and exasperated by the 
 influence of their military habits, and the re- 
 membrance of their military disgraces. We 
 have ourselves conversed with several officers, 
 who were strongly attached to Napoleon, but 
 whose political views were decidedly republican ; 
 and have heard it stated, that the officers of ar- 
 
284 
 
 tillery and engineers are supposed to be parti- 
 cularly democratic in their principles. 
 
 It is much easier to account for the conduct 
 of the French army since the dethronement of 
 Napoleon, than to point out any means by 
 which that conduct could have been altered. It 
 was stated to us at Paris, that the number of 
 miUtary officers to be provided for by govern- 
 ment, was upwards of 60,000. These would 
 certainly comprise a very large proportion of the 
 talents and enterprise of the French nation. 
 The number of them that can have been sin- 
 cerely devoted to the Bourbons, or that can 
 have been otherwise disposed of since that time, 
 cannot be great ; nor do we see by what means 
 it will be possible to reconcile the majority of 
 this very important class of men, to a govern- 
 ment which has twice owed its elevation to the 
 discomfiture and humiliation of the French 
 arms. 
 
 It may be easily conceived, that in an army, 
 the officers of which have, for the most part, 
 risen from the ranks, the principles of strict 
 military subordination cannot be enforced with 
 the same punctilious rigour as in services where 
 a marked distinction is constantly kept up be- 
 tween officers and soldiers. There is a more 
 gradual transition from the highest to the lowest 
 
285 
 
 situations of the French army — a more complete 
 amalgamation of the whole mass, than is con- 
 sistent with the views of other governments in 
 the maintenance of their standing armies. 
 
 It is true, that a change has taken place in the 
 composition of the French army, in this respect, 
 under the imperial government. A number of 
 military schools were established and encouraged 
 in different parts of the country, and a great 
 number of young men were sent to these by 
 their parents, under the understanding, that af- 
 ter being educated in them they should become 
 officers at once, without passing through the in- 
 ferior steps, to which they would otherwise have 
 been devoted by the conscription. A great 
 number of officers, therefore, have of late years 
 bet n appointed from these schools to the army, 
 who have never served in the ranks ; but the 
 manners and habits which they acquire at the 
 schools are, we should conceive, very little su- 
 perior to what they might have learnt from the 
 private soldiers, who would otherwise have been 
 their associates. A comparison of the appear- 
 ance and manner of the pupils of the Ecole MiU- 
 taire, with those of the young men at the En- 
 glish military colleges, would shew, as strongly 
 as any other parallel that could be drawn, the 
 difference in respectability and gentlemanlike 
 
286 
 
 feeling between the English and French offi- 
 cers. 
 
 There is so little of uniformity in dress, of re- 
 gard to external appearance, or of shew of sub- 
 ordination, and inferiority to their officers, in 
 the French soldiers, that a stranger would be 
 apt to consider them as deficient in discipline. 
 The fact is, that they know perfectly, from be- 
 ing continually engaged in active service, what 
 are the essentials of miUtary discipline, and that 
 they are quite careless of all superfluous forms. 
 Whatever regulations are necessary, in any par- 
 ticular circumstances, are strictly enforced ; and 
 the men submit to them, not from any principle 
 of slavish subjection to their officers, but rather 
 from deference to their superior intelligence and 
 information, and fi'om a regard to the good of 
 the service. 
 
 The French army may, in fact, be said to 
 have little of the feelings which are truly mili- 
 tary. The officers have not the strong feeling 
 of humanity, and the high and just sense of 
 honour, not merely as members of the army, 
 but as individuals ; the soldiers have not the 
 habit of implicit obedience and attachment to 
 their peculiar duties ; and the whole have not the 
 lively sense of responsibiUty to their country, 
 and dependence on their sovereign, which are 
 
m 
 
 probably essential to the existence of an arniy 
 which shall not be dangerous, even to the state 
 that maintains it. The French ai'my submitted 
 implicitly to Napoleon, because he was their 
 general ; but we should doubt if they ever con- 
 sidered themselves, even under his dominion, as 
 the servants of France. They appear, at pre- 
 sent, at least, to think themselves an indepen- 
 dent body, who have a right to act according to 
 their own judgment, and are accountable to no- 
 body for their actions. In this idea of their 
 own importance they were, of course, encouraged 
 by Napoleon, who, on his return from Elba, 
 spoke of the injuries done by the Bourbons to 
 the army and people^ and assigned the former 
 the most honourable place in his Champ de Mai. 
 And it will appear by no means surprising, that 
 they should have acquired these sentiments, 
 when we consider the importance which has 
 been attached to their exploits by their country- 
 men, the encouragement to which they have been 
 accustomed, the preference to all other classes of 
 men which was shewn them by the late govern- 
 ment, and the nature of the services in which 
 they have been engaged, and for which they 
 have been rewarded ; circumstances fitted to as- 
 similate them, in reality as well as appearance, 
 rather to an immense band of freebooters, hav^ 
 
 1 
 
m 
 
 ing no principle but vuiion arniong themselves, 
 and submission to their chiefs^ than to an esta- 
 blished and responsible standing army. 
 
 This observation appUes to the feelings and 
 principles of the soldiers taken as a body, not to 
 their individual habits ; for, excepting in the 
 case of the detachment of the imperial guard, 
 quartered at Fontainbleau, we never understood 
 that the French soldiers in time of peace, at 
 least among their own countrymen, were ac- 
 cused of outrage or rapine. 
 
 There is considerable variety in the personal 
 appearance of the French soldiers. The infan- 
 try are generally little men, much inferior to 
 the Russians and Prussians in size and weight ; 
 but as they are almost all young, they appear 
 equally well fitted for bearing fatigues, and they 
 have an activity in their gait and demeanour, 
 which accords well with their general character. 
 In travelling through the country, we could al- 
 most always tell a French soldier from one of 
 the allies at a distance, by the spring of his step. 
 They have another excellent quality, that of be- 
 ing easily fed. Nothing appeared to excite 
 more astonishment or indignation in France, 
 than the quantity of food consumed by the al- 
 lied troops. We found at Paris, that the Rus- 
 ^!ian convalescents, occupying the hospitals which 
 
289 
 
 had formerly been appropriated to French 
 troops, actually eat three times the rations which 
 the French had been allowed. Frenchmen 
 of the middhng and higher ranks appear to 
 have generally very keen appetites, and often 
 surprise Enghshmen by the magnitude and va- 
 riety of their meals ; but the peasantry and 
 lower orders are accustomed to much poorer 
 fare than the corresponding classes, at least in 
 the southern par t of our island, and the ordinary 
 diet of the French soldiers is inferior to that of 
 the EngUsh. In garrison, they are never al- 
 lowed animal food, at least when in their own 
 country ; and the better living to which they are 
 accustomed in foreign countries, and on active 
 service, is a stronger recommendation of war to 
 these volatile and unreflecting spkits, than it 
 might at first be thought. 
 
 The French cavalry are almost universally fine 
 men, much superior to the infantry in appear- 
 ance. The horses of the chasseurs d cheval, 
 and hussars, are small, but active and hardy ; 
 and even those of the cuirassiers have not the 
 weight 6r beauty of the English heavy dragoons, 
 though we have understood that they bear the 
 fatigues and privations, incident to long cam- 
 paigns, much better. 
 
 The imperial guard was composed, hke the 
 
 TOL. I. T 
 
Russian guard, of picked men, who had akeady 
 sei-ved a certain length of time, and the pay be- 
 ing higher than of the regiments of the hne, 
 and great pains being uniformly taken to pre- 
 serve them as much as possible, from the hard- 
 ships and dangers to which the other troops were 
 exposed, and to reserve them for great emergen- 
 cies, it was at once an honour and a reward to 
 belong to them. We saw a review of the elite 
 of the imperial guard on the 8th of May 1814, 
 in presence of the King of France; the regi- 
 ments of cavalry, of which a great number pass- 
 ed, were very weak in numbers, but the men 
 were uncommonly fine, and the horses strong 
 and active. The finest regiment of infantry of 
 the old guard, with some pieces of cannon, did 
 not defile before the King, but passed out of 
 the Cour de Carousel by a back way, on ac- 
 count, as we understood, of its having shewn 
 strong symptoms of disgust on the entrance of 
 the King into Paris. That regiment, as well as 
 all the rest of the infantry of the old guard, 
 then called tlie Grenadiers Fran^ais, whom we 
 had ever occasion to see, was composed of the 
 finest men, not merely in point of strength, but 
 of activity and apparent intelligence. The few 
 pieces of artillery of the guard that we saw were 
 in very bad condition, and their equipment par- 
 
ticulaiiy mean ; but this branch of the service 
 had not then had time to repair the losses it 
 had sustained in the campaign. 
 
 The cavalry of the guard appeared to have 
 been the most fashionable service under Napo- 
 leon. There were cuirassiers, heavy and light 
 dragoons, chasseurs, hussars, grenadiers a che- 
 val, and lancers of the guard, all of whom had 
 different and splendid uniforms, and presented 
 an uncommonly varied and magnificent appear- 
 ance when reviewed together. Their magnifi- 
 cence and variety was evidently intended to 
 gratify the taste of the French people for splen- 
 did shows, and to attract young men of fortune 
 and expensive habits. 
 
 The imperial guard had much more of the air 
 and manner, as well as dress, of regular soldiers^ 
 than any other part of the French army ; indeed 
 it is impossible to conceive a more martial or 
 imposing figure than that of one of the old 
 grenadiers, (commonly called the vieua^ mous- 
 taches,) in his striking and appropriate costume, 
 armed with his musket and sword, the cross of 
 the legion of honour on his breast, his rough 
 and weather-beaten countenance bearing the 
 impression of the sun of Italy and the snows of 
 Russia^ while his keen and restless eye shows, 
 T 2 
 
29^ 
 
 more expressively than words, that he is still 
 " ready, aye ready, for the field." 
 
 We thought we could discern in the counte- 
 nances of the troops of different nations, whom 
 saw reviewed about this time, the traces of 
 the difference of national character. The gene- 
 ral expression of the Russians, we thought, was 
 that of stern obstinate determination ; of the 
 Prussians, warm enthusiastic gallantry ; of the 
 French, fierce and indignant impetuosity. This 
 may have been fancy, but all who have seen the 
 troops of these different nations, will aUow a 
 very striking difference of expression of counte- 
 nance, as well as of features. 
 
 No measure was omitted by Napoleon to se- 
 cure the services, in the anny, of all who could 
 be of any use in it. The organization of the 
 garde d'honneur was intended to include as large 
 a number as possible of the young men, whose 
 circumstances had enabled them to avoid the 
 conscription. No act of the Imperial Govern- 
 ment seemed to have given more general offence 
 
 France than the formation of this corps, the 
 number of which was stated to have amounted 
 at one time to 10,000. They were, in the first 
 instance, invited to volunteer, under the assu- 
 rance that they were to be employed as a guard 
 
for Maria Louisa, and under no circumstances 
 to be sent across the Rhine. A maximum and 
 minimum number were fixed for each arron-^ 
 dissemenf, some number between which was tp 
 be made up by voluntary enrohnents ; but when 
 any deficiency was discovered, as for example in 
 Holland, where the young men were very little 
 disposed to voluntary service in the French 
 army, a balloting immediately took place, and 
 a number greater than the maximum was com- 
 pelled to come forward. Exemption from this 
 service was impossible ; immense sums were of- 
 fered and refused. They Avere all mounted, 
 armed, and clothed at their own expense ; those 
 who did not chuse to march, were sent off under 
 an escort of gens-d'armes ; and all were conduct- 
 ed to the fortresses on the Rhine, where they 
 were regularly drilled. Some of them were 
 induced to volunteer for extended service, by a 
 promise, that after serving one campaign, they 
 should be made officers ; and in the course of 
 the campaign of 1813, all of them were brought 
 up to join the army ; and these young men, 
 taken only a few weeks before from theu' fami- 
 lies, where many of them had been accustomed 
 to every luxury and indulgence, were compelled 
 to go through all the duties and fatigues of 
 common hussars. Some regiments of then>, 
 
 T 3 
 
'294 
 
 which were very early brought mto action, hav- 
 ing misconducted themselves, vere immediately 
 disbanded; their horses, arms, and uniforms, 
 were taken from them for the use of the other 
 troops, and they were dismissed, to find the best 
 of their way to their homes. Those who re- 
 mained were distributed among the different 
 corps of cavalry, and suffered very severely in 
 the campaign in France. We spoke to some of 
 them at Paris, who said they had bivouacked, 
 at one period of the campaign, on snow, fourteen 
 nights successively, and described to us the ac- 
 tion at Rheims, one of the last that was fought, 
 where half of their regiment were left on the 
 field. These men complained loudly of the 
 treacherous conduct of Napokon to them and 
 their brethren of the same corps; yet they ex- 
 pressed their willingness to undergo all their suf- 
 ferings again, if they could thereby transfer the 
 date of the peace to the other side of the Rhine. 
 
 The effect of this measure on the middling 
 and higher ranks was not more oppfessive than 
 that of the conscription on the lower ranks, and 
 even on persons in tolerably good circumstan- 
 ces ; for we have heard of £. 400 Sterling being 
 twice paid to rescue an individual, whom a third 
 conscription had at length torn from his family. 
 The impression produced in France, howeveiv 
 
295 
 
 by either of these measures, cannot be judged 
 of from a comparison with the feeUngs so often 
 manifested in this country, under circumstances 
 of less aggravated affliction. The same careless, 
 imthinking, constitutional cheerfulness, which 
 is so commendable in those Frenchmen whose 
 sufferings are all personal, displays itself in a 
 darker point of view, when they are called on 
 to sympathise with the sufferings of their friends. 
 It is a disposition, allied indeed to magnanimity 
 on the one hand, but to selfishness on the other. 
 The sufferings of the French on such an occa- 
 sion as the loss of a near relation, may be acute ; 
 but they are of very short duration. In Paris, 
 mourning is at present hardly ever worn. At 
 the time when we were there, although a bloody 
 campaign had only recently been concluded, we 
 did not see above five or six persons in mourning, 
 and even these were not certainly French. We 
 understood it to be a principle all over France, 
 never to wear mourning for a son ; but whether 
 this was adopted in compliance with the wishes 
 of Napoleon, ks was stated by some, or was ge- 
 neral before his time, as others maintained, we 
 were not sufficiently informed. 
 
 It may be a question, whether the real, as 
 well as professed motive of the poHcy of Napo- 
 
 T 4 
 
^96 
 
 leon,' while he directed the affairs of Fraiicey 
 was some ill-conceived and absurd idea of the 
 superior happiness and prosperity which France 
 might enjoy, if placed indisputably at the head 
 of the civilized world, and especially if elevated 
 above the rivalship of England ; but if the good 
 of France was really his end, it is quite certain 
 that it engaged very little of his attention, and 
 that he occupied himself almost exclusively with 
 regard to the means which he held to be neces- 
 sary to its attainment. The causes of the wars 
 in which he engaged were of little importance 
 to him ; but the immediate object of all of them 
 was the glory and aggrandizement of France ; 
 and to this object his whole soul was devoted., 
 and all the energies of the state were directed. 
 
 In a general view, the imperial government 
 may be said to have rested on the following 
 foundations. 
 
 In the first place, it rested on the principle 
 which was universally acted on, of giving active 
 employment, and animating encouragement, to 
 all men of talents or enterprise — to all whose 
 friendship might be useful, or whose enmity 
 might be dangerous. The conscription carried 
 off the flower of the youthful population ; pa- 
 rents were encouraged to send their children, if 
 they shewed apy superior abilities, to the mili- 
 
tary schools, whence they were rapidly promoted 
 in the army. The formation of the garde 
 d'honneur effectually prevented all danger from 
 a numerous class of men, whose circumstances 
 might have enabled them to exert themselves 
 in opposing public measures. In the civil ad^ 
 ministration of the country, it was the system 
 of Napoleon, from the beginning of his career, 
 to give employment to all who might be dan- 
 gerous, if their services were not secured. The 
 prefects of towns and arrondissements, were ge- 
 nerally men of intelUgence and information re- 
 garding the characters of the inhabitants ; and 
 the persons recommended by them to the im- 
 mense number of situations in the police, in the 
 collection of taxes, &c. were always men of acti- 
 vity, enterprise, and ability : Birth, education, 
 and moral character, were altogether disregard- 
 ed, and religious principle was rather considered 
 a fault than a recommendation. 
 
 The consequence was, that the young, the 
 t)old, the active, the enterprising, the indepen- 
 dent, were either attached to the imperial go- 
 A'ernment, or at least prevented from exerting 
 themselves in opposition to it; while those 
 whom family cares, or laborious occupations, 
 or habits of indolence, or want of energy of 
 mind, rendered unfit for resistance to any go. 
 
2D8 
 
 vernment, were the only people whose interest 
 it was to resist that of Napoleon. 
 
 In the next place, while much was done by 
 these means to secure the support of the most 
 important part of the nation to the imperial go- 
 vernment, the most effectual precautions were 
 taken to prevent danger to it, from those whom 
 either principle might lead, or injuries might pro- 
 voke to disaffection. The poHce was every- 
 where so powerful, and the system of espionage 
 so universally extended, that it was almost im- 
 possible for different individuals to combine 
 against the government. Without including 
 the hosts of douaniers, who were under the or- 
 ders of the collectors of taxes, the gens d'armerie, 
 who were at the disposal of the poHce, and had 
 no other duties to perform, amounted to aboye 
 10,000 men, cavalry and infantry, all completely 
 armed and equipped. As soon, therefore, as 
 any individual excited suspicion, there was no 
 difficulty as to his apprehension. The number 
 of pohce officers was very great, and they were 
 all low born, clever, unprincipled men, perfectly 
 fitted for their situations. The extent and ac- 
 curacy of the information possessed by them 
 was almost incredible. Indeed, we regard the 
 system of espionage, by which this information 
 
was procured, as the most complete and damning- 
 proof of the general selfishness and immorality 
 of the French people, of which we have received 
 any account. It was not merely that a numbei- 
 of persons were employed by the poUce as spies ; 
 but that no man could put any confidence even 
 in his best friends and nearest relations. The 
 very essence of the system was the destruction 
 of all confidence between man and man ; and its 
 success was such, that no man could venture to 
 express any sentiments hostile to the govern- 
 ment, even in the retirement of his own family 
 circle. That sacred sanctuary was every where 
 invaded, not by the strong hand of power, but 
 by the secret machinations of bribery and in- 
 trigue. 
 
 We were particularly informed, with respect 
 to the estabhshment of the police in Amster- 
 dam, where the sentiments of the people being 
 known to be averse to French dominion, it was 
 of course made stronger than in less suspicious 
 parts of the country. Within a week after the 
 annexation of Holland to France, the police was 
 in full force, and the spies every where in mo- 
 tion. No servant was allowed to engage him- 
 self who had not a certificate from the police, 
 implying his being a spy on his master. At 
 the tables d'hote, persons were placed to en- 
 
BOD 
 
 courage seditious conversation, and those who 
 expressed themselves strongly, were soon after 
 seized and committed to prison. No person 
 could leave Amsterdam, even to go three miles 
 into the country, without a passport from the 
 police, which was granted only to whom they 
 pleased. When a party went out on such an 
 excursion, they were sure to be met by some of 
 the gens d'armerie, who already knew their 
 names and destination, and who fixed the time 
 of their return. From the decisions of the 
 police there was no appeal ; and those who were 
 imprisoned by them, (as so many of the inhabi- 
 tants of Amsterdam were, that it ceased to be 
 any reproach,) had no method of bringing on a 
 trial, or even of ascertaining the crimes of which 
 they were accused. Frequently individuals 
 were transported from one part of the country 
 to another, without any reason beng assigned, 
 and set down among strangers, to make their 
 bread as they best could, under the inspection 
 of the police, who instantly arrested them on 
 their attempting to escape. This system was 
 probably more strictly enforced in Holland than 
 over the greater part of France, but its most es- 
 sential parts were every where the same, and 
 the information, with respect to the private 
 characters and sentiments of individuals, was 
 
5011 
 
 certainly more easily obtained in France than ia 
 Holland. 
 
 Such, according to the information of the 
 most intelligent and best informed persons with 
 whom we had an opportunity of conversing^ 
 were the principal means by which the power 
 of Napoleon was maintained, and his authority 
 enforced. But it must be owned that he did 
 more than this, — that during the greater part of 
 his reign, he not only commanded the obedience, 
 but obtained the admiration and esteem of the 
 majority of his subjects. 
 
 In looking for the causes of this, we shall in 
 vain attempt to discover them in real benefits 
 confeiTcd on France by Napoleon. It is true, 
 that agriculture made some progress during his 
 reign, but this was decidedly owing to the trans- 
 ference of the landed property from nobles and 
 churchmen, to persons really interested in the 
 cultivation of the soil, which had taken place 
 before his time, and not to the empty and osten- 
 tatious patronage which he bestowed on it ; the 
 best proof of which is, that tlie main improve- 
 ment that has taken place has not been, as al- 
 ready observed, in the principles or practice of 
 agriculture, but in the quantity of land under 
 tillage. It is true also, that certain manufactures 
 have been encouraged by the exclusion of the 
 
 .1 
 
5021 
 
 English goods,; but this partial increase of 
 wealth was certainly not worth the expense of a 
 year's war, and was heavily counterbalanced by 
 the distress occasioned by his tyrannical decrees 
 in the commercial towns of France, and of the 
 countries which were subjected to her control. 
 
 As a single instance of this distress, we may 
 just notice the situation of the city of Amster- 
 dam during the time that Holland was incor- 
 porated with France. Out of 200,000 inhabi- 
 tants of that city, more than one half, during 
 the whole of that time, were absolutely deprived 
 of the means of subsistence, and hved merely on 
 the charity of the remainder, who were, for the 
 most part, unable to engage in any profitable 
 business, all foreign commerce being at an end, 
 and supported themselves therefore on the capi- 
 tal which they had previously acquired; and, 
 lest that capital should escape, two-thirds of the 
 national debt of Holland were struck off by a 
 single decree of Napoleon. The population of 
 the town fell olF about 20,000 during the time 
 of its connection with France ; the taxes, while 
 the two countries were incorporated, were enor- 
 mous ; the income-tax, which was independent 
 of the droits reunis, or assessed taxes, having 
 been stated to us at one-fifth of every man's in- 
 cojne. It was during the pressure of these bur- 
 
303 
 
 dens that the tremendous system of police whicli 
 we have described was enforced ; and to add to 
 the miseries of the unfortunate inhabitants of 
 this and the other commercial towns of Holland, 
 they were not allowed to manifest their suffer- 
 ings. Every man who possessed or inhabited a 
 house was compelled to keep it in perfect re- 
 pair ; so that even at the time of their libera- 
 tion, these towns bore no external mark of po- 
 verty or decay. The consequence of that de- 
 cree, however, had been, that persons possessing 
 houses at first lowered their rents, then asked no 
 rents at all ; happy to get them off their hands^ 
 and throw on the tenants the burden of paymg 
 taxes for them and keeping them in repair ; and 
 lastly, in many instances, offered sums of money 
 to bribe others to live in their houses, or even 
 accept the property of them. 
 
 The taxes of France, under l^Japoleon, it would 
 have been supposed, were alone sufficient to ex- 
 asperate the people against them. They were 
 oppressive, not merely from their amount, but 
 especially from the arbitrary power which was 
 granted to the prefects of towns and arrondisse- 
 inents, and their agents, in collecting them. A 
 certain sum was directed to be levied in each 
 district, and the apportioning of this burden on 
 
504 
 
 the different inhabitants was left almost entirely 
 to the discretion of these officers. 
 
 It is quite obvious, therefore, as we abeady 
 hinted, that the popularity of Napoleon ui 
 France, during at least the greater part of his 
 reign, can be traced to no other source than 
 the national vanity of the French. As they 
 are niore fond of shew than of comfort in pri* 
 vate life, so their public affections are more 
 easily won by gaudy decorations than by sub- 
 stantial benefits. Napoleon gave them enough 
 of the former ; they had victories abroad and 
 spectacles at home — their capital was embel- 
 lished — their country was aggrandised — their 
 glory was exalted ; and if he had continued suc- 
 cessful, France would still have continued to 
 applaud and admire him, while she had sons to 
 swell her armies, and daughters to drudge in 
 her fields. 
 
 As it was not Napoleon who made the French 
 a military and ambitious people, so it is not his 
 fall alone that can secure the world against 
 the effects of their military and ambitious 
 spirit. It is not merely the removal of him 
 who has so long guided it, but the extinction 
 of the spirit itself that is necessary. The effect 
 of the late events on the active part of the 
 population of France, cannot be accurately 
 
judged of in the present moment of irritation 
 and disorder ; but whatever government that 
 country may ultimately assume, it may surely 
 be hoped that their experience of unsuccessful 
 and calamitous war has been sufficient to incline 
 them to peace ; that they will learn to measure 
 their national glory by a better standard than 
 mere victory or noise ; that they will reflect on 
 the true objects, both of political and military 
 institutions, and acknowledge the happiness of 
 the people they govern to be the supreme law 
 of kings, and the blessings of the country they 
 serve to be the best reward of soldiers. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 JOURNEY TO FLANDERS, 
 
 When we left Paris, we took the road to Sois- 
 sons and Laon, with a view to see the seat of 
 wai- during the previous campaign, and examine 
 the interesting country of Flanders. After 
 passing the village of La Villette, and the heights 
 of Belleville, the country becomes flat and un- 
 interesting, and is distinguished by those fea- 
 tures which characterise almost all the level agri- 
 cultural districts of France. The road, which is 
 of great breadth, and paved in the centre, runs 
 through a continued plain, in which, as far as 
 the eye can reach, nothing is to be discerned 
 but a vast expanse of corn fields, varied at in- 
 tervals by fallows, and small tracts of lucerne 
 
507 
 
 and sainfoin. No inclosures are to be met with ; 
 few w^oods are seen to vary the uniformity of 
 the view ; and the level surface of the ground 
 is only broken at intervals by the long rows of 
 fruit-trees which intersect the country in diffe- 
 rent directions, or the tall avenues of elms be- 
 tween which the chaussees are placed. 
 
 These elm trees would give a magnificent ap- 
 pearance to the roads, both from their age and 
 the immense length during which they fiinge its 
 sides, were it not that they are uniformly dipt- 
 to the very top, for firewood, by the peasantry, 
 and that all their natural beauty is in conse- 
 quence destroyed. The elm, indeed, pushes 
 out its shoots to replace the branches which have 
 been destroyed, and fringes the lofty stem with 
 a cluster of foliage ; but as soon as these young 
 branches have become large, they too ai-e in their 
 turn sacrificed to the same purpose. When 
 seen from a distance, accordingly, these trees 
 resemble tall May-poles with tufts at their tops, 
 and are hardly to be distinguished fi-om the 
 Lombardy poplars, which, in many parts of 
 the country, line the sides of the principal roads. 
 
 One most remarkable circumstance hi the 
 agricultural districts of France, is here to be 
 seen in its full extent. The people do not dwell 
 in detached cottages, placed in the centre of their 
 
508 
 
 farms or their properties, as in all parts of Eng- 
 land; they hve together in aged villages or 
 boroughs, often at the distance of two or three 
 miles from the place of their labour, and whoUy 
 separated from the farms which they are em- 
 ployed in cvdtivating. It is no uncommon thing, 
 accordingly, to see a farmer leaving a httle town 
 in the morning with his ploughs and horses, to 
 go to his piece of ground, which lies many miles 
 from the place of his residence. 
 
 This circumstance, which exists more or less 
 in every part of France, is characteristic of the 
 state in which the people were placed in those 
 remote periods, when their habits of life were 
 originally formed. It indicates that popular de- 
 gradation and public insecurity, when the poor 
 were compelled to unite themselves in villages 
 or towns for protection from the banditti, whom 
 the government was unable to restrain, or from 
 the more desolating oppression of feudal power. 
 In every country of Europe, in which the feudal 
 tyranny long subsisted ; in Spain, in France, in 
 Poland, and in Hungary, this custom has pre- 
 vailed to a certain extent, and the remains of it 
 are still to be seen in the remoter parts of Scot- 
 land. It is in countries alone whose freedom 
 has long subsisted; in Smtzerland, in Flanders, 
 and in England, that no traces of its effects are 
 
5.09 
 
 to be discerned in the manners and the condition 
 of the peasantry ; that the enjoyment of indivi- 
 dual security has enabled the poor to spread 
 themselves in fearless confidence over the coun- 
 try; and that the traveller, in admiring the 
 union of natural beauty with general prosperity, 
 vi^hich the appearance of the country exhibits, 
 blesses that government, by the influence of 
 whose equal laws that delightful union has been 
 effected. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Paris, and in those 
 situations which are favourable for vineyard or 
 garden cultivation, this circumstance gives a 
 very singular aspect to the face of the country. 
 As far as the eye can rfjach, the sloping banks, 
 or rising swells, are cultivated with the utmost 
 care, and intersected b) little paths, which wind 
 through the gardens, cr among the vineyards, 
 in the most beautiful manner ; yet no traces of 
 human habitation are t) be discerned, by whose 
 labour, or for whose ufe, this admirable cultiva- 
 tion has been conducted. The labourers, or pro- 
 prietors of these gardens, dwell at the distance 
 of miles, in antiqu^ed villages, which re- 
 semble the old borougls which are now wear- 
 ing out in the improved parts of Scot and. In 
 the greater part of F'raice, the people dwell in 
 this manner, in cro\^ded villages, while the 
 
 ¥3 
 
310 
 
 open country, every where cultivated, is but 
 seldom inhabited. The superiority, according- 
 ly, in the beauty of those districts, where the 
 cottages are sprinkled over the country, and 
 surrounded by fruit-trees, is greater than can 
 well be imagined : and it is owing to this cir- 
 cumstance that Picardy, Artois, and Normandy, 
 exhibit so much more pleasing an appearance, 
 than most of the other provinces of France. 
 
 In the district between Paris and Soissons, a& 
 in almost every other part of the country, the 
 land is now in the hands of the peasantiy, who 
 became proprietors of it during the struggles of 
 the revolution. We had every where occasion 
 to observe the extreme industry with which the 
 people conduct their cultivation, and perceived 
 numerous instances of the truth of Mr Yomig's 
 observation, " that there is no such instigator to 
 " severe and incessant labour, as the minute sub- 
 " division of landed property." But though 
 their industry was uniformly in the highest de- 
 gree laudable, yet we could not help deploring 
 the ignorant and unskilful manner in which 
 this industry is directed. The cultivation is 
 still carried on after the miserable rotation which 
 so justly excited the indignation of Mr Young 
 previous to the commencement of the revolii^ 
 tion. Wheat, barley or oats, sainfoin, lucerne oir 
 
311 
 
 clover, and fallow, form the universal rotation. 
 The green crops are uniformly cut, and carried 
 into the house for the cattle ; as there are no in- 
 closures, there is no such thing as pasturage in 
 the fields ; and, except once on the banks of the 
 Oise, we never saw cattle pasturing in those 
 parts of France. The small quantity of lucerne 
 and sainfoin, moreover, shews that there are but 
 few herds in this part of France, and that meat, 
 butter, or cheese, form but a small part of the 
 food of the peasantry. Normandy, in fact, is 
 the only pasture district of France, and the pro- 
 duce of the dairy there is principally intended 
 for the markets of Paris. 
 
 The soil is apparently excellent the whole 
 way, composed of a loam in some places, mixed 
 with clay and sand, and extremely easily work- 
 ed. Miserable fallows are often seen, on which 
 the sheep pick up a wretched subsistence — their 
 lean sides and meagre Umbs exhibit the effects 
 of the scanty food which they are able to ob- 
 tain. The ploughing to us appeared excellent ; 
 but we were unable to determine whether 
 this was to be imputed to the skilfulness of 
 the labourer, or the light friable nature of the 
 soil. 
 
 The property of the peasantry is not sur- 
 rounded by any enclosures, nor are there any 
 
 TJ 4 
 
512 
 
 visible marks whereby their separate boundaries 
 could be determined by the eye of a stranger. 
 The plain exhibits one unbroken surface of corn 
 or vineyards, and appears as if it all formed a 
 part of one boundless property. The vast ex- 
 panse, however, is in fact subdivided into an in- 
 finite number of small estates, the proprietors of 
 which dwell in the aged boroughs through which 
 the road occasionally passes, and the extremities 
 of which are marked by great stones fixed on 
 their ends, which are concealed from a passenger 
 by the luxuriant corn in which they are enve- 
 loped. This description applies to the grain dis- 
 tricts in almost every part of France. 
 
 Although the condition of the peasantry has 
 been greatly ameliorated, in consequence of the 
 division of landed property since the revolution, 
 yet their inci^eased wealth has not yet had any 
 influence on the state of their habitations, or the 
 general comfort of their dwellings. This rises 
 from the nature of the contributions to which 
 they were subjected during the despotic govern- 
 ments which succeeded the first years of the revo- 
 lution. These contributions were levied by the 
 governors of districts in the most arbitrary man- 
 ner. The arrondissement was assessed at a cer- 
 tain sum by the government, or a certain contri- 
 bution for the support of the war was imposed j 
 
313 
 
 and the sum was proportioned out among the 
 different inhabitants, according to the discretion 
 of the collector. Any appearance of comfort, 
 accordingly, among the peasantry, was imme- 
 diately followed by an increased contribution, 
 and heavier taxes ; and hence the people never 
 ventured to make any display of their increased 
 wealth in their dwellings, or in any article of 
 their expenditure, which might attract the no- 
 tice of the collectors of the imperial reA'^enue. 
 The burdens to which they were subjected, 
 moreover, especially during the last years of the 
 war, were extremely severe, aiising both from 
 the enormous sums requisite to save their sons 
 from the conscription, and the heavy unequal 
 contributions to which they were subjected. 
 
 From these causes, the division of landed pro- 
 perty has not yet produced that striking ame- 
 lioration in the habits and present comfort of 
 the peasantry, which generally attend this im- 
 portant measure; and their wealth is rather 
 hoarded up, after the eastern custom, for future 
 emergencies, or spent in the support of an early 
 marriage, and never lavished in the fearless en- 
 joyment of present opulence. 
 
 In some respects, however, their appearance 
 evidently bears the mark of the improvement in 
 their situation. Their" dress is upon the whole 
 
514 
 
 neat and comfortable, covered in general by a 
 species of smock frock of a light blue colour, 
 and exhibiting none of that miserable appear- 
 ance which Mr Young described as characteris- 
 ing the labouring classes during his time. They 
 evidently had the aspect of being well fed, and 
 both in their figures and dress, afforded a strik- 
 ing contrast to the wretched and decrepid in- 
 habitants of the towns, in whom the real po- 
 verty of the people, under the old regime, was 
 still perceptible. In some of these towns, the 
 appearance of the beggars, their extraordinary 
 figures, and tattered dress, exhibited a spectacle 
 which would have been inconceivably ludicrous, 
 were it not for the melancholy ideas of abject 
 poverty which it necessarily conveyed. 
 
 About twenty miles from Soissons, the road 
 passes through the magnificent forest of ViUars 
 Coterets, which, in the luxuriance and extent of 
 its woods, rivals the forest of Fontainbleau. 
 The place on which it stands is varied by rising 
 grounds, and the distance exhibits beautiful vis- 
 tas of forest scenery and gentle swells, adorned 
 by rich and varied foliage. It wants, however, 
 those grand and striking features, that mixture 
 of rock and wood, of forest gloom and savage 
 scenery, which give so unrivalled a charm to the 
 forest of Fontainbleau. 
 
315 
 
 From Villars Coterets, the road lies over a iiigli 
 plateau, covered with grain, and exhibiting more 
 than ordinary barrenness and desolation. After 
 passing over this dreary track, you arrive at the 
 edge of a steep declivity, which shelves down to 
 the valley in which the Aisne wanders. The 
 appearance of this valley is extremely beautiful. 
 It is sheltered by high ridges, or sloping hills, 
 covered with vineyards, orchards, and luxuriant 
 woods: the little plain is studded wjth villas 
 and neat cottages, embosomed in trees, or sur- 
 rounded by green meadows, in which the wind- 
 ing course of the Aisne can at intervals be dis- 
 cerned. When we reached this spot, the sun 
 had newly risen ; his level rays illuminated the 
 white cottages with which the valley is sprinkled, 
 or guttered on the stream which winded through 
 its plain ; while the Gothic towers of Soissons 
 threw a long shadow over the gi-een fields which 
 surrounded its walls. It reminded us of those 
 lines in Thomson, in which the effect of th^ 
 morning hght is so beautifully described : 
 
 " Lo, now apparent all, 
 Aslant the devv-briglit earth and coloured air, 
 He looks in boundless majesty abroad. 
 And sheds the shining day, that burnished piays 
 On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering stream??^ 
 High gleaming from afar.'* 
 
316 
 
 The descent to Soissons is through a declivity 
 adorned by thriving gardens and neat cottages, 
 detached from each other, which afforded a 
 pleasing contrast to the solitary, uninhabited, 
 though cultivated plains through which our 
 route had previously lain. The Fauxbourgs of 
 the town were wholly in ruins, having been to- 
 tally destroyed in the three assaults which they 
 had sustained during the previous campaign. 
 The town itself is small, surrounded by decayed 
 fortifications, and containing nothing of note, 
 except the Gothic spires, which bear testimony 
 to its antiquity. 
 
 On leaving Soissons on the road to Laon, you 
 go for two miles through the level plain in 
 which the town is situated ; after which you 
 begin to ascend the steep ridge by which its 
 eastern boundary is formed. It was on the 
 summit of this ridge that Marshal Blucher's 
 aiTOy was drawn up, 80,000 strong, at the time 
 when a detachment of his troops, under Count 
 Langeron, was defending Soissons against the 
 French army. Immediately below this position, 
 there is placed a small village, which bore the 
 marks of desperate fighting ; all the houses were 
 unroofed or shattered in every part by musket 
 baUs ; and many seemed to have been burnt 
 during the struggles of which it was formerly the 
 
317 
 
 theatre. There is an old castle a Httle higher up 
 the ascent, which was garrisoned by the alhed 
 troops ; in the neighbourliood of which, we per- 
 ceived numerous traces of the immense bivouacs 
 whicli had been made round its walls ; particu- 
 larly the bodies of horses and oxen, which the 
 Russians had left on the ground, and which the 
 peasants had taken no pains to remove. 
 
 From thence the road runs over a high level 
 plateau, covered with miserable corn, or worse 
 fallows, and having an aspect of sterility very 
 different from what we were accustomed to in 
 the rich provinces of France. In the midst of 
 this dreary country, we beheld with delight se- 
 veral deep ravines, formed by streams which fall 
 into the Aisne, sheltered from the chilling blasts 
 that sweep along the high plains by which they 
 are surrounded, the steep sides of which were 
 clothed with luxuriant woods, and in the bot- 
 tom of which are placed many little farms and 
 cottages, which exhibited a perfect picture of 
 rural beauty. Even here, however, the terrible 
 effects of war were clearly visible ; these seques- 
 tered spots had been ravaged by the hostile 
 armies; and the ruined walls of the. peasants 
 dwellings presented a melancholy spectacle in 
 the midst of the profusion of beauty with which 
 they were surroimded. 
 
 / 
 
518 
 
 Half way between Soissons and Laon, is 
 placed a solitary inn, at which Bonaparte stopt 
 six hours, after the disastrous termination of the 
 battle of Laon. The people informed us, that 
 during this time, he was in a state of great 
 agitation, wrote many different orders, which he 
 destroyed as fast as they were done, and cover- 
 ed the floor with the fragments of his writing. 
 JMany Cossacks and Bashkirs had been quartered 
 in this inn ; the people, as usual, would not 
 allow them any good quahties, but often repeat- 
 ed, with evident chagrin — " lis mangent comme 
 " des diables; ils ont mange tons les poulets." 
 
 The features of the country continue with 
 little variety, till you begin to descend from the 
 high plateau, over which the road has passed 
 into the wooded valley, in the centre of which 
 the hill and town of Laon are placed. The 
 dreary aspect of this plateau, which, though 
 cultivated in every part, exhibited few traces of 
 human habitation, was enlivened occasionally 
 by herds of pigs, of a lean and meagre breed, 
 (followed by shepherds of the most grotesque 
 appearance,) wandering over the bare fallows, 
 and seemingly reduced to the necessity of feed- 
 ing on their mother earth. 
 
 At the distance of six miles from Laon, the 
 descent begins to the plain below, down the 
 
m 
 
 side of a deep ravine, beautifully clothed with 
 woods and vineyards. On the other side of this 
 ravine lies the plateau on which the battle of 
 Craon was fought, whose level desolate surface 
 seemed a fit theatre for the struggle that was 
 there maintained. At the bottom of the ravine 
 the road passes a long line of villages, surround- 
 ed with wood and gardens, which had been 
 wholly ruined by the operations of the armies; 
 and among the neighbouring woods we were 
 shewn numerous graves both of French and 
 Russian soldiers. 
 
 The approach to Laon hes through a great 
 morass, covered in different places with low 
 brushwood, and intersected only by the narrow 
 chauss^e on which the road is laid. The ap- 
 pearance of the town is ^ ery striking ; standing 
 on a hill in the centre of a plain of 10 or 12 miles 
 in diameter, bounded on all sides by steep and 
 wooded ridges. It is surrounded by an old 
 wall, and some decayed towers, and is adorned 
 by some fine Gothic spires, whose apparent mag- 
 nitude is much increased by the elevated station 
 on which they are placed. 
 
 In crossing this chaussee, we were immediately 
 struck with the extraordinary policy of Bona- 
 parte, in attacking the Russian army posted on 
 the heights of Laon, where his only retreat was 
 
5:20 
 
 by the narrow road we were traversing, wliicli, 
 for several miles, ran through a morass, impas- 
 sable for carriages or artillery* This appeared 
 the more wonderful, as the army he was attack- 
 ing was more numerous than his own, com- 
 posed of admirable troops, and posted in a posi- 
 tion where little hopes of success could be 
 entertained. It was an error of the same kind 
 as he committed at Leipsic, when he gave 
 battle to the allied armies with a single bridge 
 and a long defile in his rear. It is laid down as 
 one of the first maxims of war, by Frederic the 
 Great, " never to fight an enemy with a bridge 
 " or defile in your rear ; as, if you are defeated, 
 " the ruin of the army must ensue in the con- 
 " fusion which the narrowness of the retreat 
 " creates." We cannot suppose so great a 
 general as Bonaparte to have been ignorant of 
 so established a principle, or a rule which com- 
 mon sense appears so obviously to dictate ; it is 
 more probable, that in the confidence which 
 the long habit of success had occasioned, he 
 never contemplated the possibihty of a defeat, 
 nor took any measures whatever for ensuring 
 the safety of his army in the event of a retreat. 
 Be this as it may, it is certain that he fought at, 
 Laon with a morass, crossed by a single chaussee, 
 in his rear, and that if he had been totally de- 
 
521 
 
 featted, instead of being repulsed in the action 
 which then took place, his army must have 
 bee;n irretrievably ruined, in the narrow line 
 over which their retreat was of necessity con- 
 ducted. 
 
 At the foot of the hill of Laon is placed a 
 small village named Semilly, in which a despe- 
 rate conflict had evidently been maintained. The 
 trees were riddled with the cannon-shot; the walls 
 were pierced for the fire of infantrj^ and the 
 houses all in ruins, from the showers of balls to 
 which they had been exposed. The steep de- 
 clivity of the hill itself was covered with gar- 
 dens and vineyards, in which the aUied army 
 had heen posted during the continuance of the 
 conflict; but though three months had not 
 elapsed since the period when they were filled 
 with hostile troops, no traces of desolation were 
 to be seen, nor any thing which could indicate 
 the occurrence of any extraordinary events. The 
 vines grew in the utmost luxuriance on the spot 
 where columns of infantry had so recently stood, 
 and the garden cultivation appeared in all its 
 neatness, on the very ground which had been 
 lately traversed by all the apparatus of modern 
 Avaifare. It would have been impossible for 
 any one to have conceived, that the destruction 
 they occasioned could so soon have been repair- 
 
ed ; or that the powers of IS'ature, in that genial 
 climate, could so rapidly have effaced all traces 
 of the desolation wliich marked the track of hu- 
 man ambition. 
 
 The town of Laon itself contains httle wor- 
 thy of note ; but the view from its ramparts, 
 though not extensive, was one of the most pleas- 
 ing which we had seen in France. The little 
 plain with which the to^vn is surrounded, is 
 varied with woods, corn fields, and vineyards ; 
 the view is closed on every side by a ridge of 
 hills, which form a circular boundaiy round its 
 farthest extremity, while the foreground is 
 finely marked by the decaying towers of the 
 fortress, or the dark foliage which shades its 
 ramparts. 
 
 We walked over the field of battle with a de- 
 gree of interest, which nothing but the me- 
 morable operations of which it had formerly 
 been the theatre, could possibly have excited. 
 The accounts of the action, which we received 
 from the inhabitants of the town, and peasantry 
 in its vicinity, agreed perfectly with the offi- 
 cial details which we had previously read ; and 
 although we could not give an opinion with 
 confidence on a mihtary question, it certainly 
 appeared to us, that the operations of the French 
 army had been ill combined. Indeed, some 
 
325 
 
 French officers with whom we conversed on the 
 next day, allowed that the battle had been ill 
 fought, but, as usual, laid all the blame upon 
 Marmont. The main body of the French 
 army, advancing by the road from Soissons, at- 
 tacked the villages of Ardon and Semilly in 
 front of the town, on the centre of Marshal 
 Blucher's position, and his right wing, which 
 was posted in the intersected ground to the 
 west of the town, on the morning of the 9th 
 of March. These parts of the position were 
 occupied chiefly by the corps of Woronzoff and 
 Buloff, and as they were very strong, no im- 
 pression was made on them, and the troops who 
 defended them maintained themselves, without 
 support from the reserves, during the whole day. 
 Late in the evening, the corps of Marmont, 
 with a body of cavalry under Arrighi, appeared 
 on the road from Rheims, advancing apparently 
 without any communication or concert with the 
 troops under Napoleon in person, (who were 
 drawn up, for the most part, in heavy columns, 
 in the immediate vicinity of the Soissons road), 
 and made a furious attack on the extreme left 
 of Marshal Blucher's position. The Marslial 
 being satisfied by this time, that the troops in 
 position about the town were adequate to the 
 defence of it against Napoleon's force, was ena- 
 
 X 2 
 
bled to detach the whole corps of York, Kleist, 
 and Sacken, with the greater part of his cavalry, 
 to oppose Marmont, who was instantly over- 
 thrown, cut off from all communication with 
 Napoleon, and driven across the Aisne, with 
 the loss of four or five thousand prisoners, and 
 forty pieces of cannon. The only assistance 
 which Napoleon could give him in his retreat, 
 was by renewing the attack on Ardon and 
 Semilly, which he did next morning, and main- 
 tained the action during the whole of the 10th, 
 with no other effect, than preventing the pur- 
 suit of Marmont from being followed up by the 
 vigour which might otherwise have been dis- 
 played by the Silesian army, notwithstanding 
 the fatigvies which they had undergone at that 
 time, during six weeks of continued marching 
 and fighting. 
 
 The village of Athies, where the contest with 
 Marmont's corps was decided, containing about 
 SOO houses, had been completely burnt in the 
 time of the action ; and, when we were there, 
 httle progress had been made in rebuilding it, 
 but the inhabitants, then Hving in temporarj^ 
 sheds, displayed tlieir usual cheerfulness and 
 equanimity ; they were very loud in reproba- 
 tion of the military conduct of Marmont, and 
 very anxious to convince us, that the French 
 
525 
 
 fiad been overwhelmed only by great superiority 
 of numbers, and that the allies might have com- 
 pletely cut off the retrea.t of Marmont towards 
 Rheims, if they had kmown how to profit by 
 their success. 
 
 June 8th, we left Laon at sunrise, and took 
 the road to St Quentin. For a few miles the 
 road passes through the plain in which the town 
 is placed, after which it enters a pass, formed 
 between the sloping hills, by which its boundary 
 is marked. These hills are, for the most part, 
 soft and green, hke those on the banks of the 
 Yarrow in Scotland, but varied, in some places, 
 by woods and orchards; and their lower de- 
 clivities are every where covered by vineyards 
 and garden cultivation. Near their foot is 
 placed the village of Cressy, which struck us as 
 the most comfortable we had seen in France. 
 The houses are all neat and substantial, covered 
 with excellent slated roofs, and hghted by large 
 windows, each surrounded by a Httle garden, 
 and exhibiting a degree of comfort rarely to be 
 met with among the dwellings of the French 
 peasantry. On inquiry, we found that these 
 peasants had long been proprietors of their 
 houses, with the gardens attached, and had 
 each a vineyard on the adjoining heights. The 
 effects of long established property were here 
 
 u 3 
 
326 
 
 very apparent in the habits of conffort and in- 
 dustry, which, in process of ti^n?, it had in- 
 grafted upon the dispositions andwiislies of the 
 people. 
 
 After passing the ridge of littleMlls, through 
 banks clothed with hanging wods, the road 
 descends into a little circular vallty, siirrounded 
 on all sides by rising grounds, wlich presented 
 a scene of the most perfect rural beauty. The 
 upper part of the hills were covered with luxu- 
 riant woods, whose flowing outLne suited the 
 expression of softness and repose by which the 
 scene was distinguished ; on the dechvities be- 
 low the wood, the vineyards, gardens, and fruit- 
 trees, covered the sunny banks which descended 
 into the plain, while the lower part of the valley 
 Avas filled with a village, embosomed in fruit- 
 trees, ornamented only by a siraple spire. It 
 is impossible for language to convey an adequate 
 idea of the beauty of this exquisite scene ; it 
 united the interest of romantic scenery with 
 the charm of cultivated nature, and seemed 
 placed in this sequestered valley, to combine 
 aU that was delightful in rural life. When we 
 first beheld it, the sun was newly risen ; his in- 
 creasing rays threw a soft light over the wooded 
 hills, and illuminated the summit of the village 
 spire ; the grass and the vines were still glitter- 
 
327 
 
 ing in the morming dew, and the songs of the 
 peasants were Iheard on all sides, cheering the 
 beginning of tliieir early labour. The marks of 
 cultivation harimonized with the expression by 
 which the scenie was characterised ; they were 
 emblematic only of human happiness, and had 
 a tendency to induce the momentary belief, that 
 in this sequesteired spot the human species shared 
 in the fulness 0)f universal joy. 
 
 As we descended into the valley, we perceived 
 a great chateaiu near the western extremity of 
 the village of E'oudrain, which appeared still to 
 be inhabited, amd had none of the appearance of 
 decay by whiclh all that we had hitherto seen 
 were distinguis^hed. It belongs to the Chevalier 
 Brancas, who iis proprietor of this and seven or 
 eight of the adjjoining villages, and whose estates 
 extend over ai great part of the surrounding 
 country. On (enquiry, we found that this great 
 proprietor had„ long before the revolution, pur- 
 sued a most eriilightened and indulgent conduct 
 towards his pteasantry, giving them leases of 
 their houses amd gardens of 20 or 30 years, and 
 never removing any even at the expiration of 
 that period, if their conduct had been indus- 
 trious during its continuance. The good effects 
 of this liberal policy have appeared in the most 
 striking manner, not only in the increased 
 
 X 4 
 
328 
 
 industry and enlarged weaHh of the tenants ; 
 but in the moderate, loyal conduct which they 
 pursued, during the eventful period of the re- 
 volution. The farmers on this estate are some 
 of the richest in France ; many being possessed 
 of a capital of 15,000 or 16,000 francs, (from 
 £. 750 to £. 800 Sterhng,) a very large sum in 
 that country, and amply sufficient for the 
 management of the farms which they possessed. 
 Their houses are neat and comfortable in the 
 most remarkable degree, and the farm-steadings 
 Sis extensive and substantial as in the most im- 
 proved districts of England. The ground is 
 cultivated with the utmost care, and the in- 
 dustry of the peasants is conspicuous in every 
 part of agricultural management. It was im- 
 possible, in comparing these prosperous dwell- 
 ings with the decayed villages in most other 
 parts of the country, not to discern, in the 
 clearest manner, the salutary influence of indi- 
 vidual security upon the labouring classes ; and 
 the tendency which the certainty of enjoying 
 the fruits of their labour has, not merely in in- 
 creasing their present industry, but awakening 
 those wishes of improvement, and engendering 
 those habits of comfort, which are the only true 
 foundation of public happiness. 
 
 During the revolution, when the peasants of 
 
all- the adjoining estates violently dispossessed 
 their landlords of their property ; when every 
 adjoining chateau exhibited a scene of desola- 
 tion and ruin ; the peasants of this estate were 
 remarkable for their moderate and steady con- 
 duct; so far from themselves pillaging their 
 seigneur, they formed a league for his defence 
 " —lis I'ont soutenus," as they themselves ex- 
 pressed it — and he continued tkroug/wut, and is 
 now in the quiet possession of his great estate. 
 It is not perhaps going too far to say, that had 
 the peasants throughout the country been 
 treated with the same indulgence, and suffered 
 to enjoy the same property, as in this delightful 
 disitrict, France would have been spared from 
 all the horrors and all the sufferings of her revo- 
 lution. 
 
 ' From Foudrain to La Fere, the country is, 
 for the most part, flat ; and the road, which is 
 shaded by lofty trees, skirts the edge of a great 
 forest, which stretches as far as the eye can 
 j-each to the left, and joins with the forest of 
 Villars Coterets. For many miles the road is 
 bordered by fruit-trees, and the cottages have a 
 most comfortable thriving appearance. To St 
 Quentin the face of the country is flat, though 
 the ridge over which you pass is high ; the vil- 
 lages have an appearance of progress and opu- 
 
330 
 
 knee about them, which is rarely to be met 
 with in other parts of France. All the pea- 
 santry carry on manufactures in their own 
 houses ; and probably their gains are very con- 
 siderable, as their houses are much more neat 
 and comfortable than in districts which are 
 solely agricultural, and their dress bears the ap- 
 pearance of considerable wealth. The cultiva- 
 tion in the open country still continues, in ge- 
 neral, to be wheat, barley, clover, and fallow ; 
 but the approach to French Flanders is very 
 obvious, both from the increased quantity of 
 rye under cultivation, from the occasional fields 
 of beans which are to be met Avith, and from 
 the numbers of potatoes and other vegetables 
 which are to be discerned round the immediate 
 vicinity of the villages. In these villages the 
 houses are whitewashed, surrounded by gardens, 
 and have a smiling aspect. 
 
 La Fere is a small town, surrounded with 
 trifling fortifications, containing a considerable 
 arsenal of artillery. We were much amused, 
 while there, with the spectacle which the market 
 exhibited. A great concourse of people had 
 been collected from all quarters, to purchase a 
 number of artillery horses which the govern- 
 ment had exposed at a low price, to indemnify 
 the people for the losses they had sustained 
 
531 
 
 during the continuance of the war. The crowds 
 of grotesque figures which thronged the streets, 
 the picturesque appearance of the horses that 
 were exposed to sale, and the fierce martial as- 
 pect of the grenadiers of the old guard, a de- 
 tachment of whom were quartered in the town, 
 rendered this scene truly characteristic of the 
 French people. 
 
 St Quentin is a neat, clean, and thriving 
 town, resembling, both in the forms of the 
 houses, and the opulence of the middUng classes, 
 the better sort of the country towns in Eng- 
 land. It is the seat of considerable manufac- 
 tures, which throve amazingly under the impe- 
 rial government, in consequence of the exclu- 
 sion of the English commodities during the re- 
 volutionary wars. The linen manufacture is 
 the staple branch of industry, and affords em- 
 ployment to the peasantry in their own houses^ 
 in every direction in the surrounding country, 
 which is probably the cause of the thriving 
 prosperous appearance by which they are dis- 
 tinguished. The great church of St Quentin, 
 though not built in fine proportions, is striking, 
 from the coloured glass of its windows, and its 
 great dimensions. 
 
 The French cultivation continues without 
 any other change than the increased quantity 
 
55.2 
 
 of rye in the fields, and vegetables round the 
 cottages, to the frontier of Frencli Flanders. 
 Still the country exhibits one unbroken sheet of 
 corn and fallow ; no inclosures are to be seen, 
 and little wood varies the uniformity of the 
 prospect. In crossing a high ridge which sepa- 
 rates St Quentin from Cambray, the road passes 
 over the great canal from Antwerp to Paris, 
 which is here carried for many miles through 
 a tunnel under ground. This great work was 
 commenced under the administration of M. 
 Tyrgot, but it was not completed till the time of 
 Bonaparte, who employed in it great numbers of 
 the prisoners whom he had taken in Spain. The 
 magnitude of the undertaking may be judged 
 of from the immense depth of the hollow 
 which was cut for it previous to the commence- 
 ment of the tunnel, which is so great, that the 
 canal, when seen from the top, has the appear- 
 ance of a little stream. The course of the tun- 
 nel is marked on the surface of the ground by 
 a Une of chalky soil, which is spread above its 
 centre, and which can be seen as far as the eye 
 can reach, stretching over the vast ridge by 
 which the country is traversed. 
 
 At the distance of three miles from the town 
 of Cambray, the road crosses the ancient frontiers 
 of French Flanders. We had long been looking 
 
333- 
 
 for this transition, to discover if it still exhibited 
 the striking change described by Arthur Young, 
 " between the effects of the despotism of old 
 " France, which depressed agriculture, and the 
 " free spirit of the Burgundian provinces, which 
 " cherished and protected it." No sooner had 
 we crossed the old line of demarcation between 
 the French and Flemish provinces, than we 
 were immediately struck with the difference, 
 both in the aspect of the country, the mode of 
 cultivation, and the condition of the people. The 
 features of the landscape assume a totally dif- 
 ferent aspect ; the straight roads, the dipt elms, 
 the boundless plains of France are no longer to 
 be seen ; and in their place succeeds a thickly 
 %vooded soil and cultivated country. The 
 number of villages is infinitely increased ; the 
 village spires rise above the woods in every 
 direction, to mark the antiquity and the extent 
 of the population : the houses of the peasants 
 are detached from each other, and surrounded 
 with fruit trees, or gardens kept in the neatest 
 order, and all the features of the landscape in- 
 dicate the long established prosperity by which 
 the country has been distinguished. 
 
 Nor is the difference less striking in the mode 
 of cultivation which is pursued. Fallows, so 
 common in France, almost universally disap- 
 
534 
 
 pear; and in their place, numerous crops of 
 beans, pease, potatoes, carrots and endive, are to 
 be met with. In the cultivation of these crops 
 manual labour is universally employed ; and the 
 mode of cultivation is precisely that which is 
 carried on in garden husbandry. The crops are 
 uniformly laid out in small patches of an acre 
 or thereby to each species of vegetable ; which, 
 combined with the extreme minuteness of the 
 cultivation, gives the country under tillage the 
 appearance of a great kitchen garden. This sin- 
 gular practice, which is universal in Flanders, is 
 probably owing to the great use of the manual la- 
 bour in the operations of agriculture. Rye is 
 very much cultivated, and forms the staple food 
 of the peasantry. The crops of wheat, barley, 
 oats, rye, and clover, struck us as exceedingly 
 heavy, but not nearly so clean as those of a si- 
 milar description in the best agricultural districts 
 of our own country. 
 
 But it is principally in the condition, manners, 
 and comfort of the people, that the differcnce 
 between the French and Flemish provinces con- 
 sists. Every thing connected with the lower 
 orders, indicates the influence of long-estabhshed 
 prosperity, and the prevalence of habits pro- 
 duced by the uninterrupted enjoyment of in- 
 dividual opulence. The population of Flanders, 
 
535 
 
 both French and Austrian, is perfectly astonish- 
 ing ; the villages form an almost uninterrupted 
 line through the country ; the small towns are 
 as numerous as villages in other parts of the 
 world, and seem to contain an extensive and 
 comfortable population. These small towns are 
 particularly remarkable for the number and 
 opulence of the middling classes, resembling in 
 this, as well as other respects, the flourishing 
 boroughs of Yorkshire and Kent, and affordino- 
 a most striking contrast to those of a very oppo- 
 site description, which we had recently passed 
 through in France. 
 
 The cottages of the peasantry, both in the 
 villages and the open country, are in the highest 
 degree, neat, clean, and comfortable ; built for 
 the most part of brick, and slated in the roof ; 
 nowhere exhibiting the slightest symptoms of 
 dilapidation. These houses have almost all a 
 garden attached to them, in the cultivation of 
 which the poor people display, not only ex- 
 treme industry, but a degree of taste superior to 
 what might be expected from their condition in 
 hfe : The inside bore the marks of great comfort, 
 both from the cleanness which every where pre- 
 vailed, and the costly nature of the furniture 
 with which they were filled. Nothing could be 
 more pleasing than the appearance of the win- 
 
336 
 
 dows, every where in the best repair, large and 
 capacious, and furnished with shutters on the 
 outside, painted green, which, together with the 
 bright whiteness of the walls, gave the whole the 
 appearance of buildings destined for ornamental 
 purposes, rather than the abode of the lower or- 
 ders of the people. 
 
 Cambray is a neat comfortable town, contain- 
 ino- 15,000 inhabitants, and surrounded by for- 
 tifications in tolerable repair, but which, when 
 we passed them, were not armed. It was once 
 celebrated for its magnificent cathedral, reckoned 
 the finest in France ; but a few^ ruins of this 
 great building alone have escaped the fury of 
 the people, during the commencement of the 
 revolution. These trifling remains, however, 
 were sufficient to convey some idea of the beau- 
 tiful proportions in which the whole had been 
 constructed; they resembled much the finest 
 part of Dryburgh Abbey, in Scotland. The 
 modern cathedral, built near the site of the old 
 one, has a mean exterior, but possesses consi- 
 derable splendour in the inside. 
 
 From Cambray to Valenciennes, the features 
 of the country continue the same as those 
 we have just described. The surface of the 
 ground is still flat, and cultivated in every part 
 with the utmost care, in the garden style of 
 husbandry. We were particularly struck, in 
 
53T 
 
 this district, by the quantity of drilled crops, 
 the admirable order in which they are kept, 
 and the vast numbers of people, both meii^ 
 women, and children, who appeared engaged in 
 their cultivation. Nothings indeed, but the 
 great demand for labour, occasioned by the use 
 of manual labour in husbandry, could hav^ 
 produced, or could support, the great popula- 
 tion by which Flanders has always been distin- 
 guished. 
 
 Valenciennes, situated in one of the finest 
 districts of Flanders, is likewise a well built, 
 comfortable town, built entirely of brick, and 
 surrounded by magnificent fortifications, in ad- 
 mirable repair. As this was the first well forti- 
 fied town which we had seen, it was to us a 
 matter of no ordinary interest, which was en- 
 creased by the remembrance of the celebrated 
 siege which it had undergone from the English 
 army at the commencement of the revolutionary 
 war. We were shewn the point at which the En- 
 glish forced their entrance ; and the numberless 
 marks of cannon-balls which their artillery had 
 occasioned during the siege were still uneffaced. 
 Though the modern fortifications, built after the 
 model of Vauban, have not the romantic or pictu. 
 resque aspect which belongs to the aged towers 
 of Montreuil, Abbeville, or Laon, or the more 
 VOL. r. V 
 
 # 
 
538 
 
 ruinous walls of the town of Conway in Wales, 
 yet they present a pleasing spectacle, arising 
 partly from the regularity of the forms them- 
 selves, and partly from the association with 
 which they are connected. 
 
 From Valenciennes to Mons, the country is 
 still flat, though the cultivation and the aspect 
 of the scene is somewhat varied from what 
 had been exhibited by the districts of French 
 Flanders, through which we had previously 
 passed. It hes lower, and appears more subject 
 to inundation : Ditches appear at intervals, filled 
 with water, and extensive meadows are to be 
 seen, covered with rank and luxuriant grass. 
 The cultivation of grain and green crops is less 
 frequent, and in their stead, vast tracks of rich 
 pasture cover the face of the country. Much 
 wood is to be seen on all sides, often of great 
 dimensions ; and the population appears still as 
 great as before. The villages succeed one 
 another so fast, as almost to form a continued 
 street; and the numberless spires which rise 
 over the woods in every direction, prove that 
 this number of inhabitants extends over the 
 whole country. The cottages still continue 
 neat and comfortable; not picturesque to a 
 painter's eye, but exhibiting the more deUghtful 
 appearance of individual prosperity. Their beau* 
 
 • 
 
m9 
 
 tj is much increased by the quantity of wood, or 
 the variety of fruit-trees, with which the viUages 
 are interspersed. There are many coal-pits in 
 this country, and a great deal of carriage of 
 this valuable mineral on the principal roads. 
 They present a scene of infinitely more bustle 
 and activity than the richest parts of France. 
 We met a great number of waggons, harnessed 
 and equipped hke those in England ; and the 
 numbers of carriages reminded us, in some degree, 
 of the extraordinary appearance, in this respect, 
 which the approach to our own capital presents ; 
 a state of things widely different from the deso- 
 late chaussees which the interior of France ex- 
 hibits. Every thing in the small towns and vil- 
 lages bore the marks of activity, industry, and 
 increasing prosperity. We passed with much 
 interest over the celebrated field of battle of Je- 
 mappe, where the remains of Austrian redoubts 
 are still visible. 
 
 Mons, the frontier town of Austrian Flan- 
 ders, was once a place of great strength, and 
 underwent a dreadful siege during the wars of 
 the Duke of Marlborough ; but its ramparts are 
 now dismantled, according to the ruinous policy 
 of Joseph II. The square in the town is large, 
 and has a striking appearance, owing to the 
 picturesque and varied forms of the houses and 
 
 Y 2 
 
340 
 
 public buildings of which it is formed. From 
 the summit of the great steeple, to which you 
 are conducted by a stair of 353 steps, there is a 
 magnificent view over the adjacent country to 
 a great distance. It is for the most part green, 
 owing to the immense quantity of land under 
 pasturage, and clothed in every direction with 
 extensive woods. At a considerable distance 
 we were shewn the woods and heights of MaU 
 plaquet, the scene of one of the Duke of Marl- 
 borough's great victories, of which the people 
 still spoke, as if it had been one of the recent 
 occurrences of the war. This town, when we 
 visited it, was completely filled with Prussian 
 and Saxon troops, whose intrepid martial ap- 
 pearance bespoke that undaunted character by 
 which they have been distinguished in the me- 
 morable actions of which this country has since 
 been the theatre. 
 
 On leaving Mons, on the road to Brussels, 
 you quit the low swampy plain in which the 
 town is situated, and ascend a gentle hill, clothed 
 with wood, in the openings of which many 
 beautiful views of the spires of the city are to 
 be seen. The hill itself is composed entirely of 
 sand, and would be reckoned a rising ground 
 in most other countries, but it forms a pleasing 
 variety to the level plains of Flanders. From 
 
341 
 
 thence to Brussels, a distance of 35 miles, the 
 scenery is beautiful in the greatest degree. Un- 
 like the flat surface which prevails over most 
 parts of this country, it is charmingly varied by 
 hills and vallies, adorned by beautiful woods, 
 whose disposition resembles rather that of trees 
 in a gentleman's park, than what usually occurs 
 in an agricultural country. The cottages, over 
 the whole of this district, are particularly pleas- 
 ing ; every where white-washed, clean and com- 
 fortable ; half hid by a profusion of fruit-trees, 
 or the aged stems of elm and ash. 
 
 Erain-le-Compte, Halle, and a number of 
 smaller towns through which the road passes, 
 are distinguished by the neatness of the houses, 
 and the number and opulence of the middling 
 classes of society. The vallies are admirably 
 cultivated in agricultural or garden husbandry, 
 and interspersed with numerous cottages ; the 
 gentle slopes are laid out in grass or pasture, 
 and the uplands clothed with luxuriant woods. 
 Upon the whole, the scenery between Mons 
 and Brussels was the most dehghtful we had 
 ever seen of a similar description, both from 
 the richness and extent of the cultivation ; the 
 appearance of public and private property, which 
 was unceasingly exhibited; the beautiful va- 
 riety of the ground, and the charming disposi- 
 
 Y 3 
 
tion of tlie woods which terminate the view. 
 The village spires, whose summits rise above 
 the distant woods in every direction, increased 
 the effect which the objects of nature were fitted 
 to produce, both from the beauty of their forms 
 themselves, and the pleasing reflections which 
 they awaken in the mind. 
 
 We passed through this beautiful country in 
 a fine summer evening in the middle of June. 
 The heat of the day had passed : The shades of 
 evening were beginning to spread over the low- 
 land country ; the forest of Soignies was still il- 
 luminated by the glow of the setting sun, while 
 his level rays shed a peaceful light over the 
 woods which skirt the field of Waterloo. 
 We little thought that the scene, which was 
 now expressive only of rest and happiness, 
 should hereafter be the theatre of mortal combat: 
 that the same sun which seemed now to set 
 amid the blessings of a grateful world, should 
 so soon illuminate a field of agony and death ; 
 and that the ground which we now trod ^\'ith 
 no other feelings than admiration for the beauty 
 of nature, was destined to become the field of 
 deathless glory to the British name. 
 
 The state of agriculture from Cambray to 
 Brussels, both in French and Austrian Flan- 
 ders, is admirable. No fallows are any where 
 
545 
 
 to be seen, and in their pla6e, green crops, of 
 which beans, peas, carrots, &c. form the princi- 
 pal part. These green crops are kept very 
 clean, and all worked by the spade or hoe, 
 which furnishes employment to the immense 
 population which is diffused over the country. 
 Crops of rye, which, when we passed them in 
 the middle of June, were in full ear, are every 
 where very common ; indeed, rye bread seems 
 to be the staple food of the peasantry. Much 
 wheat, barley, and oats, are also cultivated, with 
 a great deal of sainfoin and clover, which is 
 never pastured, but cut, and carried green into 
 the stalls of the cattle. No inclosures are to be 
 seen, except round the orchards and gardens 
 which SLU-round the villages; and, indeed, fences 
 would be a useless waste of gTound in a country 
 where every corner is valuable, and no cattle 
 are ever to be seen in the open fields. The soil 
 seemed to be excellent throughout the whole 
 country; sometimes sandy, and sometimes a 
 rich loam; and the crop, both of corn, beans, 
 and grass, heavy and luxuriant. With the ex- 
 ception, however, of the grain crops, which are 
 generally drilled, the fields are not nearly so 
 clean as in the best parts of England. 
 
 The farm steadings and implements of hus- 
 bandry in all parts of Flanders, are greatly su- 
 
 Y 4) 
 
perior to those in Franee. The waggons are not 
 only more numerous on the roads, but greatly 
 neater in their construction than in France ; the 
 ploughs are of a better construction, and the 
 farm offices both more extensive, and in better 
 repair. Every thing, in short, indicated a much 
 more improved and opulent class of agricultu- 
 rists, and a country in which the fundamental 
 expenses of cultivation had long been incurred. 
 
 Near Cambray, the wages of labour are one 
 franc a-day. Near Valenciennes, and from that 
 to Mons, they are from 1 franc to 25 sous, that 
 is, from lOd. to 12id. From Mms to Brussels, 
 and round that town, from 1 franc to 30 sous, 
 that is, from lOd. to 15d. The rent of land was 
 stated in French Flanders at 20 francs, and the 
 price 1000 francs per marcoti; and from Valen- 
 ciennes to Mons, from 35 to 50 francs ; but we 
 eould never accurately ascertain what proportion 
 a marcoti bore to the English acre. 
 
 The size of the fe,rms is exceedingly various 
 m th« districts of Flanders which we have visit- 
 ed. Fi-om Cambray to Valenciennes, they 
 were called from 200 to SQO marcotis ; but from 
 Mons to Brussels, an exceedingly well-cultivated 
 district, they seldom exceed from 50 to 100 
 marcotis ; which, as far as we could judge, was 
 not above from 25 to 50 acres. That the size 
 
545 
 
 of the fanns is in general exceedingly small, ap- 
 pears obviously from the immense number of 
 farm-houses which are every where to be seen. 
 The course and mode of cultivation appears 
 to be precisely the same on the great and the 
 small farms. 
 
 The state of the people, both in French and 
 Austrian Flanders, was most exceedingly com- 
 fortable. Not the smallest traces of dirt are to 
 be seen, either in the exterior or the interior 
 the peasants dwellings. Their dress, as in 
 France, is in general neat and substantial, cover- 
 ed with a hght blue smock-frock, and without 
 any appearance of abject want. The women in 
 general appeared handsome, and very well clad. 
 Every thing, in short, bespoke a rich, prospe- 
 rous, and happy population. 
 
 Brussels is a large, populous, and in many 
 respects a handsome town. It stands upon the 
 side of a hill, the lower part being the old town, 
 and the higher the fashionable quarter. Near 
 the centre of the old town is placed a square of 
 considerable size, surrounded by high antiquated 
 buildings of a most remarkable construction ; 
 and the Hotel de Ville, which occupies nearly 
 one of its sides, is ornamented by a high Gothic 
 spire of the lightest form, and the most exqui- 
 
546 
 
 site proportions. The Cathedral is large, and 
 has two massy towers in front ; but the effect of 
 the interior, which would otherwise be very 
 grand, from its immense size, is much injured 
 by statues affixed to the pillars, and an inter- 
 mixture of red and white colours, with which 
 the walls are painted. In this Cathedral, as 
 well as in the churches throughout Flanders 
 which we visited, we were much struck by the 
 numbers of people who attended service, and 
 the earnestness with which they seemed to par- 
 . ticipate in religious duty ; — a spectacle which 
 was the more impressive, from the levity or ne- 
 gligence with which we had been accustomed to 
 see similar services attended in France. 
 
 The Pare, which is an immense square of 
 splendid buildings, inclosing a gi-eat space, co- 
 vered with fine timber, is probably the most 
 magnificent square in Europe. The Royal Pa- 
 lace, and all the houses of the nobility, are here 
 situated. There is nothing of the kind, either 
 in Paris or London, which can be compared 
 with this square, either in extent, the beauty of 
 the private houses, or the richness and variety 
 of the woods. 
 
 At Brussels, we saw 1500 British troops on 
 parade in the great square. W e -were particu- 
 larly struck with the number and brilHant ap- 
 
347 
 
 pearance of the officers. It would be going too 
 far to say, that they understood their duty better 
 than those of the aUied armies ; but they un- 
 questionably have infinitely more of the appear- 
 ance and manners of gentlemen. The propor- 
 tion of officers to privates appeared much greater 
 than in the other European armies; but the 
 common soldiers had not nearly so sun-burnt, 
 weather-beaten an appearance. Among the 
 British troops, the Highlanders resembled most 
 nearly the swarthy aspect of the foreign soldiers. 
 The discipline of these troops was admirable; 
 they were much beloved by the inhabitants, 
 who recounted with dehght numerous instances 
 of their humanity and moderation. In this re- 
 spect they formed a striking contrast to the 
 Prussians, whose abuses and voracity were uni- 
 formly spoken of in terms of severe reprobation. 
 
 The ramparts at Brussels, especially in the 
 upper parts of the town, are planted with trees, 
 and affiDrd a delightful walk, commanding an 
 extensive view over the adjacent country. The 
 favourite promenade at Brussels, however, is 
 the Allee Verte, situated two miles from the 
 town, on the road to Antwerp, which forms a 
 drive of two miles in length, under the shade 
 of lofty trees. It was filled, when we saw it, 
 with numerous parties of officers of all nations. 
 
348 
 
 principally German and British ; and we could 
 not help observing, how much more brilliant 
 the appearance of our own coimtiymen was, than 
 that of their brethren in any other service. Indeed 
 they are taken from a different class of society : 
 in the continental states, men, from inferior si- 
 tuations, enter the army with a view to ob- 
 tain a subsistence ; in the British service alone, 
 men of rank and fortune leave the enjoyment 
 and opulence of peaceful life, to share in the 
 toils and the hardships of war. 
 
 The Chateau of Lacken, now the royal dwell- 
 ing, stands on an eminence in the vicinity of 
 Brussels, commanding a delightful view over 
 the environs of the city. There are few views 
 in Flanders so magnificent as that from the 
 summit of this palace. It is surrounded by 
 beautiful gardens and shrubberies, laid out in 
 the English style, and arranged with much 
 taste. 
 
 The vicinity of Brussels is so much clothed 
 with wood, as to resemble, when seen from the 
 spires of the city, a continued forest. To the 
 south-west, indeed, the whole country is cover- 
 ed with the vast forest of Soignies, clothing a 
 range of gentle hills, which stretch as far as the 
 field of Waterloo. The varieties of wood 
 scenery which it exhibits, are exceedingly 
 
34& 
 
 beautiful; and in many places, the oaks grow 
 to an immense size, and present the most pic- 
 turesque appearance. It was from this forest 
 that Bonaparte obtained the timber for his great 
 naval arsenal at Antwerp. 
 
 To the south of Brussels, in the direction of 
 Liege, and in the environs of that town, the 
 country is covered with innumerable cottages^ 
 in the neatest order, inhabited by manufacturers, 
 who carry on, in their own houses, the fabrics 
 for which that city is so celebrated. These 
 cottagers have all their gardens and houses in 
 property ; and the appearance of prosperity, 
 which their dwellings uniformly exhibit, as 
 well as the neatness of their dress, and the costly 
 nature of their fare, demonstrate the salutary 
 influence, which this intermixture of manu- 
 facturing and agricultural occupation is fitted 
 to have on the character and habits of the lower 
 orders of society. It resembles, in this particu- 
 lar, the state of the people in the West Riding 
 of Yorkshire, and in the beautiful scenes of the 
 vale of Gloucester. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Brussels, the condi- 
 tion of the peasantry appeared exceedingly com- 
 fortable. Their neat gardens, their substantial 
 dweUings, their comfortable dress, indicated 
 here, as elsewhere in Flanders, the effects of long- 
 
550 
 
 Gontinued and general prosperity. Most of 
 these houses and gardens belong in property to 
 the peasants ; others are hired from the proprie- 
 tors of the ground; but when this is the case, 
 they generally have the advantage of a long 
 lease. The peasants complained, in the bitterest 
 terms, of the taxes and contributions of the 
 French, stating that the pubHc burdens had 
 been more than quadrupled since they were se- 
 parated from the Austrian Government, of 
 which they still spoke in terms of affection and 
 regret. The impot fondere, or land-tax, under 
 the French, amounted to one-fifth of the rent, 
 or 20 per cent. The wages of labour were from 
 15 sous to one franc a-day ; but the labourer 
 dined with the farmer, his employer. Most of 
 the land was laid out in garden cultivation, and 
 every where tilled with the utmost care. The 
 soil appeared rich and friable ; and the crops, 
 both of agricidtural and garden produce, w^ere 
 extremely heavy. The rent was stated as vary- 
 ing from 60 to 150 francs ^er journatier, which 
 appeared to be about three-fourths of an acre. 
 
 One thing struck us extremely in the con- 
 dition of the people, both here and in other parts 
 of Flanders— the sumptuous fare on which they 
 live. It is a common thing to see artisans and 
 mechanics sitting^ down to a dinner, at a table 
 
551 
 
 d'hote, of ten or twelve dishes ; such a dinner 
 as would be esteemed excellent living in En- 
 gland. The lower orders of the people, the 
 day labourers and peasants, seemed to live, ge- 
 nerally speaking, in a very comfortable manner. 
 Vegetables form a large portion of their food, 
 and they are raised in large quantities, and 
 great perfection, in all parts of the country. 
 
 On leaving Brussels, we took the road to Ma- 
 lines and Antwerp. The surface of the ground 
 the whole way is perfectly flat, and much inter- 
 sected by canals, on whose banks much rich 
 pasture is to be seen. For the first six miles, 
 the road is varied by chateaus and villas, laid 
 out in the stiff antiquated style of French gar- 
 dening. The cultivation between Brussels and 
 Malines is all conducted in the garden style, 
 and with the most incomparable neatness ; but 
 the cottages are formed of wood and mud, and ex- 
 hibited more symptoms of dilapidation, than in 
 any other part of the country which we had 
 seen. Whether this was the consequence of the 
 materials of which they are built, or was the re- 
 sidt of some local institution, w^e were unable to 
 determine. 
 
 We saw a body of 3000 Prussian landwehr 
 enter Brussels, shortly before we left the city. 
 Tlie appearance of these men was very striking. 
 
55^ 
 
 They had just terminated a march of 14 miles, 
 under a burning sun, and were all covered with 
 dust and sweat. Notwithstanding the militaiy 
 service in which they had been engaged, they 
 still bore the appearance of their country occu- 
 pations ; their sun- burnt faces, their rugged fea- 
 tures, and massy limbs, bespoke the life of la- 
 borious industry to which they had been habi- 
 tuated. They wore an uniform coat or frock, a 
 military cap, and their arms and accoutrements 
 were in the most admirable order ; but in other 
 respects, their di-ess was no other than what they 
 had worn at home. I'he sight of these brave 
 men told, in stronger language than words 
 could convey, the grievous oppression to which 
 Prussia had been subjected, and the unexam- 
 pled valour with which her people had risen 
 against the iron yoke of French dominion. 
 They were not regular soldiers, raised for the 
 ordinary service of the state, and arrayed in 
 the costume of military life ; they were not 
 men of a separate profession, maintained by go- 
 vernment for the purposes of defence ; they 
 were the people of the country^ roused from 
 their peaceful employments by the sense of 
 public danger, and animated by the heroic de- 
 termination to avenge the sufferings of their 
 native land. The young were there, whose 
 
555 
 
 Ijijnbs were yet unequal to the weight of the 
 arms wliich they had to bear ; the aged were 
 there, whose strength had been weakened by a 
 life of labour and care ; all, of whatever rank or 
 station, marched alike in the ranks which their 
 valour and their patriotism had formed. Their 
 appearance suited the sacred cause in which 
 they had been engaged, and marked the magni- 
 tude of the elForts which their country had 
 made. They were still, in some measure, in 
 the garb of rural life, but the determination of 
 their step, the soldier-like regularity of their 
 motions, and the enthusiastic expression of their 
 countenances, indicated the unconquerable spirit 
 by which they had been animated, and told the 
 greatness of the sufferings which had at last 
 awakened 
 
 " The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm." 
 
 Tliere is no spectacle in the moral history of 
 mankind more interesting or more subhme, 
 than that which was exhibited by the people of 
 the north of Germany in the last war. During 
 the progress of the disastrous wars which suc- 
 ceeded the French revolution, the states of 
 Gernqany experienced all the miseries of pro- 
 
 VOL. I. z 
 
554 
 
 tracted warfare, and all the degradation of 
 conquered power; but amidst the sufferings 
 and humiliation to which they were subject- 
 ed, the might of Germany was cohcentrating 
 its power; the enthusiasm of her people wUs 
 animating the soldier's courage, and the virtue 
 of her inhabitants was sanctifying the soldier's 
 cause : and when at last the hour of retribution 
 arrived, when the sufferings of twenty years 
 were to be revenged, and the disgrace of twenty 
 years Avas to be effaced ; it was by the energy 
 of her people that these sufferings were revenged, 
 and by the sacrifices of her people, that these 
 victories were obtained. Crushed as they had 
 been beneath the yoke of foreign dominion; 
 shackled as they were by the fetters of foreign 
 powder, and unprotected as they long con- 
 tinued to be from the ravages of hostile re- 
 venge ; the people of Prussia boldly threw off 
 the yoke, and hesitated not to encounter all the 
 fury of imperial ambition, that they might re- 
 deem the glory which their ancestors had ac- 
 quired, and defend the land which their fore- 
 fathers had preserved. While Austria yet hung 
 in doubt between the contending Powers; 
 while the fate of the civilized world was yet 
 pending on the shores of the Vistula, the whole 
 
355 
 
 body of the Pmssian people flew to arms; they 
 left their homes, their families, and aU that was 
 dear to them, without provision, and without 
 defence : they trusted in God alone, and in the 
 justice of their cause. This holy enthusiasm sup- 
 ported them in many an hour of difficulty and 
 of danger, when they were left to its support 
 alone; it animated them in the bloody field of 
 Juterbock, and overthrew their enemies on the 
 banks of the Katzback ; it burned in the sol- 
 dier's breast under the walls of Leipsic, and 
 sustained the soldier's fortitude in the plains of 
 Vauchamp : it terminated not till it had planted 
 the Prussian eagle victorious on the ruins of that 
 power, which had affected to despise the efforts 
 of the Prussian people. 
 
 The town of Malines is exceedingly neat, and 
 ornamented by a great tower, of heavy architec- 
 ture, producing a striking effect from every part 
 of the adjoining country. The interior of the 
 church,likethat of all the other Catliolic churches, 
 IS impressive to an English spectator, from the 
 effect of its vast dimensions. The town was 
 entirely filled by Prussian soldiers, and landv. ehr 
 of the Prussian corps d'armee of Bulow, who 
 went through their evolutions in the exactest 
 discipline. 
 
 z 2 
 
356 
 
 From Malines to Antwerp the country is un- 
 der a higher system of management, than in 
 any other district of Flanders which we had 
 seen. It is thickly planted with trees, inso- 
 much as, from an eminence, to have the ap- 
 pearance of a continued forest. The landscape 
 scenery, seen through the openings of the wood, 
 and generally terminating in a village spire, is 
 exceedingly beautiful, and reminded us of the 
 scenes in Waterloo's engravings. Great quan- 
 tities of potatoes and beans are to be seen in the 
 fields, which are kept in the highest state of cul- 
 tivation. The number of villages is extremely 
 great ; but the people, though so numerous, had 
 aU the appearance of being in a prosperous and 
 happy condition. 
 
 On approaching Antwerp, the trees and 
 houses are aU cut down, to give room for the 
 fire of the cannon-shot from the ramparts of the 
 fortress. We passed over this desolated space 
 in the evening, soon after sunset, when the 
 spires of the city had a beautiful effect on the 
 fadmg colours of the western sky. High over 
 all rose the spire of the cathedral, a most beauti- 
 ful piece of the lightest Gothic, of immense 
 height, and the most exquisite proportions. 
 Though this building has stood for seven cen- 
 
357 
 
 turies, the carving of the pinnacles, and the 
 finishing of the ornaments, are at this moment 
 as perfect as the day they were formed ; and 
 when seen in shadow on an evening sky, present 
 a spectacle which combines all that is majestic 
 and graceful in Gothic architecture. 
 
 After passing through the numerous gates, 
 and over the multiplied bridges which surround 
 this fortress, we found ourselves in the interior 
 of Antwerp ; a city of great interest, in conse- 
 quence of the warlike preparations of which it 
 had been the theatre, and the importance which 
 had been attached to it by both parties in the 
 recent contest. It is an extensive old city, 
 evidently formed for a much more extensive 
 commerce than it has now for a long period en- 
 joyed. The form of the houses is singular, gro- 
 tesque and irregular, offering at every turn 
 the most picturesque forms to a painter's eye. 
 We were soon conducted to the famous dock- 
 yard, constructed by Bonaparte, which had been 
 the source of so much uneasiness to this coun- 
 try ; and could not help being surprised at the 
 smallness of the means which he had been able 
 to obtain for the overthrow of our naval power. 
 The docks did not appear to us at all large ; 
 but they are very deep, and during the siege 
 
558 
 
 by the English and Prussian troops, contained 
 20 ships of the Hne, besides 14 frigates. When 
 we saw them they were lying in the Scheldt, 
 and being all within two miles of each other, 
 presented a very magnificent spectacle. 
 
 In the arsenal were 14 ships of the line on the 
 stocks, of which seven were of 120 guns ; but 
 these vessels were all demolished except one, 
 shortly after we left them, in virtue of an arti- 
 cle in the treaty of Paris. Bonaparte had for 
 long been exerting himself to the utmost to 
 form a great naval depot at Antwerp ; he had 
 not only fortified the town in the strongest 
 possible manner, but collected immense quanti- 
 ties of timber and other naval stores for the 
 equipment of a powerful fleet. The ships first 
 built, however, had been formed of wood, which 
 was so ill seasoned, that, ever since their con- 
 struction, above 200 carpenters had been em- 
 ployed annually to repair the beams which were 
 going to decay. 
 
 In the citadel, which is a beautiful fortification 
 in the finest order, we conversed with various 
 English soldiers who had been in the attack on 
 Bergen-op-Zoom, of which they all spoke in 
 terms of the utmost horror. Its failure they 
 ascribed not to any error in the plan of attack. 
 
559 
 
 which they all agreed was most skilfully com- 
 bined, but to a variety of circumstances which 
 thwarted the attack, after its success appeared 
 to have been certain. Our troops, they said, 
 went round the ramparts, and carried every 
 battery ; but neglecting to spike the guns, the 
 French came behind them, and turned the guns 
 they had recently captured against themselves. 
 Much also was attributed to the hesitation 
 occasioned by the death of the principal officers^ 
 and the unfortunate effect of the discovery of 
 some spirit cellars, from which the soldiers 
 could not be restrained. We were much gra- 
 tified, by hearing the warm and enthusiastic 
 manner in which even the private soldiers spoke 
 of their gallant commander. Sir Thomas Graham. • 
 While we admired the frank, open and indepen- 
 dent spirit which these English soldiers in garri- 
 son at Antwerp evinced, we could not help ob- 
 serving, that they did not converse on military 
 matters with nearly the same intelHgence, or 
 evince the same reflection on the manoeuvres of 
 war, as those of the French imperial guard, with 
 whom we had spoken in a former part of our 
 journey. 
 
 Though such extensive naval preparations 
 had been going forward for years at Antwerp, 
 
 ^4 
 
360 
 
 there was not the slightest appearance of bustle or 
 activity in the streets, or on the quays of the city. 
 These were as deserted, as if Antwerp had been 
 reduced to a fishing village, indicating, in the 
 strongest manner, that nothing but the habits 
 of commerce, and the command of the seas, 
 can nurse that body of active seamen, who form 
 the only foundation of naval power. 
 
 There is a fine picture, by Oels, in the church 
 of St Paul's at Antwerp ; but the church itself 
 is built in the most barbarous taste. The cathe- 
 dral is a most magnificent building, both in 
 the outside and inside ; and its spire, which is 
 460 feet in height, is probably the finest speci- 
 men of light Gothic in the world. Its immense 
 aisles were filled at every hour of the day, by 
 numbers of people, who seemed to join in the 
 service with sincere devotion, and exhibited the 
 example of a country, in which religious feeling 
 was generally diffused among the people^ — 
 which formed a striking contrast to the utter 
 indifference to these subjects which universalUy 
 prevails in France. 
 
 It was not a mere vain threat on the part of 
 Napoleon, that he would burn the English 
 manufactures. We were informed at Antwerp 
 by eye-witnesses, that they had seen L. 90,000 
 
561 
 
 worth of English goods burnt at once in ttie 
 great squai'e of that city ; all of which had been 
 bought and- paid for by the Flemish merchants. 
 The people then spoke in terms of great sorrow, 
 of the ruin which this barbarous policy had 
 brought upon the people of the countries in 
 which it was carried into effect. 
 
 In the vicinity of Antwerp, we walked over 
 the Counter Dyke of Couvestein, which was the- 
 scene of such desperate conflicts between the 
 army of the Prince of Parma, and the troops of 
 the United Provinces, who were advancing to 
 the relief of Antwerp, The interest arising from 
 the remembrance of this memorable struggle, was 
 increased by the narrowness of the ground on 
 which the action was maintained, being a long 
 dyke running across the low country which bor-^ 
 ders the banks of the Scheldt near Fort Lillo, 
 and which alone, of all the surrounding countr}% 
 at the time of the action, was not immersed in 
 water. Every, foot, therefore, of the ground 
 of this dyke which we trod, must have been 
 the spot on which a desperate struggle had 
 been maintained. In casting our eyes back" 
 to the distant spires of the city of Antwerp, 
 we could not help entering, for an instant, into 
 the feehngs of the people who were then be- 
 
56% 
 
 sieged; and remembering that these spires, 
 which now rose so beautifully on the distant 
 horizon, were then crowded with people, who 
 awaited with dreadful anxiety, in the issue of 
 the action which was then pending, the future 
 fate of themselves and their children. 
 
 To those who take an interest in the de- 
 lightful study of pohtieal economy, and who 
 have examined the condition of the people 
 in different countries, with a view to dis- 
 cover the causes of their welfare or their suf- 
 fering, there is no spectacle so interesting as 
 that which the situation of the people in Flan- 
 ders affords. The country is uniformly po- 
 pulous in the extreme; go where you will, 
 you every where meet with the marks of a 
 dense population ; yet no where are the symp- 
 toms of general misery to be found ; no where 
 does the principle of population seem to press 
 beyond the Umits assigned for the comfortable 
 maintenance of the human species. Flanders 
 has exhibited, for centuries, the instance of a 
 numerous^ dense, and happy population. It 
 would perhaps not be unreasonable to conclude, 
 from this circumstance, that the doctrines now 
 generally admitted in regard to the increase of 
 the human species, have been received with too 
 
363 
 
 little examination. Man possesses in himself the 
 principles requisite for the regulation of the in- 
 crease of the numbers of mankind ; and where 
 the influence of government does not interfere 
 with their operation, they are sufficient to re- 
 gulate the progress of population according 
 to the interest and welfare of all classes of the 
 people. 
 
 END OF VOLU^IE FIRST, 
 
 Edinburgh: 
 
 Printed by John Pillans, 
 James's Court.