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 ^-..^^ 
 
 
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VISIT TO PARIS 
 
 m 1814; 
 
 BEING A REVIEW OF THE 
 
 SIORAL, POLITICAL, INTELLECTUAL, 
 
 AND 
 
 SOCIAL CONDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FRENCH CAPITAL. 
 
 BF JOHX SCOTT, 
 
 y 
 EDITOR OF THE CHAMPION, A WEEKLY POLITICAL 
 AND LITERARY JOURNAL. 
 
 — « now I would pray our Monsieurs, 
 
 To think an English Courtier may be wise. 
 And never see the Louvre." 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 PHILADELPUM: 
 
 PUBUSHED BY EDWARD PARKER, 178 MARKET-STREET. 
 
 1815. 
 
Ti<S.Ti\ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 oINCE this work was completed for pub^ 
 licatioii; a change of the political situation of 
 France has occurred^ which has confirmed 
 many of its statements, but which has also 
 rendered a good deal of what was written ob- 
 solete and inapplicable. The volume, there- 
 fore, has been kept back from tlie public ge- 
 nerally, for a w^eek or two, in order that the 
 passages in question might be expunged. As 
 it now appears, it must be understood as a 
 lleview of the State of France, up to the ex- 
 traordinary return of Bonaparte to that coun- 
 try. The statements of fact in the following 
 pages, and the reasonings deduced from them, 
 cannot, on the whole, but derive an increased 
 interest from the event in question. If it shall 
 again shut up internal France from our view, 
 records of the condition and character of that 
 country, up to this new period of debarment, 
 
iV PREFACE. 
 
 will become peculiarly desirable^ — and if the 
 present French government shall be estab- 
 lished^ and pursue, either its former course, 
 or the new one on which it professes to be en- 
 tering, it will always be curious to compare 
 France as it was, with what it may in future 
 become. 
 
 The probable influence of the Bourbon gov- 
 ernment on France, the conduct of the King 
 and the Princes of that family, and the state 
 of parties in Parisj with reference to the res- 
 tored Rulers, are the subjects of remark which 
 have been withdrawn from this work. Some 
 pains, and considerable room, had been devo- 
 ted to their discussion, and, indeed, under the 
 late circumstances of that country, they natu- 
 rally formed principal themes of observation : 
 but the events that have recently happened, 
 though in no measure proving the incorrect- 
 ness of what had been prepared for publica- 
 tion under these heads, have disinclined me 
 towards sending it out in the shape in which 
 it exists. The character of the Bourbon gov- 
 ernment forms, indeed, a fair and important 
 subject for examination, in connection ^vith 
 the revolution bv which it has been subvert- 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 ed^ — bat it will easily be conceived that 
 tbere may be safficient reasons for not now 
 publishing what was written in regard to it^ 
 w hen it seemed the established influence, un- 
 der which France w as to reform her society 
 and her institntions. 
 
 Some general observations on the proba« 
 bility of the duration of the King*s govern- 
 ment^ and on the tendency of Buonaparte^'s 
 measures during liis Imp^^rial despotism^ will 
 be found in the ensuing pages^ mingled up 
 with remarks on other matters. These are 
 entirely supported by what has since happen- 
 ed. 
 
 The return of that ]}erson to w4eld the 
 means^ and avail himself of the dispositions of 
 present France, will appear no slight calami- 
 ty, nor immaterial portent, to tliose who look 
 rather to facts than to fancies, and consider 
 character as essential in itself, and not to be 
 varied like the outside colour of objects, or the 
 words that flow from the mouth. This is a sub- 
 ject to which one or two introductory pages 
 to the following chapters may be with proprie- 
 ty devoted^ and, as I have already been led to 
 express ray sentiments upon it^ in a "work 
 
 a^ 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 which may not go into the hands of the majo- 
 rity of the readers of this, I am tempted to 
 make the following extracts serve the pur- 
 pose, and save the trouble, of fresh writing. 
 
 '^ Lit'le as we are inclined to praise what 
 may be termed the system of the Allied Priu- 
 ces, we must retain, in all its original force, 
 our conviction, that the prospects of the world 
 have been injured by the restoration of the 
 power of Buonaparte. The former withholds 
 what is desirable, — the latter disgraces its re- 
 putation, and poisons its essence. The for- 
 mer then stimulates to exertion, w hile the lat- 
 ter weakens the principle of action, and cor- 
 rupts the source of virtue. The old govern- 
 ments display the connection between profli- 
 gacy of conduct and imbecility of mind,— 
 which is one of the most salutary exposures 
 that can be made : but Buonaparte has all 
 along opposed intellect to principle, which is 
 the most horrible disunion that society can 
 possibly witness. His system, in a greater de- 
 gree than any other, leads to a disregard of 
 personal honor, by making it an avou ed rule 
 to reward accomplishment, iudepenclently of 
 any reference to the means employed. It sub 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 stitutes destructive errors^ which are adapted 
 to the complexion of the times^ for those which 
 were decaying of themselves^ or which the 
 advancing tide of public opinion was about to 
 wash away for ever. The whole course of 
 Buonaparte^s history^ should surely be suiEci- 
 ent to convince^ that people might as wisely 
 expect kon to sparlde like a diamond, or emit 
 odour like a flower^ as that he siiould take a 
 generous view of the interests of mankind, or 
 be touched with kindness towards them as in- 
 dividuals. His ends are essentially inconsis- 
 tent with human happiness and the dignity of 
 the human character; and the best proof of 
 this is, that his invariafjle instruments are false- 
 hood and cozenage. Under his influence a 
 language of affectation, bombast, and duplici- 
 ty, was introduced into addresses from public 
 bodies, more sycophantic andtavvdry than had 
 been offered to the oldest despotisms. Under 
 his influence books were sifted, not to detect 
 passages hostile to his government, or censur- 
 ing his conduct, but that no generous senti- 
 ments or vigorous principles might find their 
 way to his people, to render their hearts too 
 good or too disdainful for his purposes. In 
 
Vlll PRErACE. 
 
 the coldness of his craft he set about a design 
 the most nefarious which human villaiuv ever 
 attempted : it w as. by a regular system of train- 
 ingj to depreciate the character of a \^ hole 
 people, forming a very considerable propor- 
 tion of -the present generation of manldnd. to 
 the fittest level for the designs of tyranny and 
 lawless ambition. For this purpose talent 
 was disciplined so as to leave it but its saga- 
 city and dexterity, which miglit be employed 
 in his service, w hile its fine sensibilities, and 
 nice taste for simplicity and truth, were des- 
 troyed as worse than inconvenient. A most 
 extraordinary and deplorable process lias been 
 proceeding under him, with reference to w hat 
 have hitherto presented legitimate objects for 
 admiration. Angels have been by bim con- 
 verted into devils, — that is to say, he has ex- 
 tracted all their excellence and beauty from 
 high pursuits and great acbievements, and 
 while he has seemed to promote and encou- 
 rage them, has been perverting their very na- 
 tures, converting tlieir balm into poison, tbeir 
 fragrance into offensiveness. For example, 
 he has fostertd a military spirit, but he has 
 robbed the military character of all its virtues. 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 —his soldiers break their parole of houor^ his 
 Generals perjure tliemsehes as a clever man- 
 oeuver^ and to steal a King in this school of 
 new nobility is thousjht as iionorable as to van- 
 qiiish one. He has patronised the arts^ — 
 which being interpreted, means he has plun- 
 dered their seats. Wliich of his artists^, or 
 spavansj joins sensibility with skill ? They 
 are all cant, and cold vanity, and mere mecha- 
 nical dexterity. They will talk in raptures 
 of anantient statue of Brutus, and then remove 
 it from its ordained place, where it has rested 
 for ages, to grace a trumpery theatre for a 
 night, where a Roman story is performed by 
 bad actors to their savage soldiery. The first 
 thing they do with one of RaphaeFs pictures 
 is to repaint it, — the first sensation they have 
 v^^hen they come upon a time hallowed relic of 
 departed excellence, is to remove it within a 
 short walk of the gambling-houses and toy- 
 shops of the Palais-Royal. All this is accord- 
 ing to the system of Buonaparte, who feels 
 nothing, and uses every thing. The world is 
 positively thrown back further than a state of 
 ignorance by this system, for it is one by which 
 knowledge loses all its beneficial tendencies,- 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 and great powers which dazzle the observa- 
 tion^ are stripped of all their reconiBienda- 
 tions to the heart. Yet some have, in our hear- 
 ing, called this the triumph of intellect : if it 
 be so, it is like Agamemnon^s triumph on his 
 way to Troy, when he oifered up the fruit of 
 his loins to ensure the success of his arms, — it 
 is gained to the disgrace and detriment of hu- 
 man nature, by trampling on virtues and af* 
 fections that are far more valuable and honor- 
 able without talent, than talent is without 
 them. We had better be contented with the 
 natural though scanty growth of our time, and 
 to labour hard for an increase hereafter, than 
 thus receive all the finest fruits of the earthy 
 with their flavours destroyed and their rich^ 
 ness drained by an unnatural forcing. 
 
 '7f\ "^ ^v ^r^ "pfs ^fr 
 
 ^* Unbounded concession is most cheap to 
 this Emperor, for in the first place, he never 
 feels a promise to be binding, and in the se- 
 cond, the terror he inspires by his known dis- 
 positions, will effectually counteract the lenity 
 of his laws. In this lies the diflference be- 
 tween him as a ruler, and others, — that where- 
 as they limit themselves in some measure by 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 their engagements^ his engagements are nei- 
 ther limitations nor intimations : — what his 
 civil courts cannot do, his military commissi- 
 ons can, — -and what these dare not perpe- 
 trate by day, they can perform in the dark- 
 ness of the night. He will readily swear to 
 respect any thing you point out to him, and 
 after this there is nothing that he will not vio- 
 late, if it stands in his way. This being prov- 
 ed by his whole history, is it not idle now to 
 indulge credulous anticipations of his good 
 intentions, because he heads his proclamations 
 to his soldiery with a declaration of the invio- 
 lability of civil rights, and because such men 
 as Davoust and Fouche, called to his minis- 
 try, speak of the paternal and moderate inten- 
 tions of the Emperor ? Are there persons yet 
 to learn, that Buonaparte always speaks to his 
 hearer, according to what he wishes to make 
 of him, — -never from himself according to 
 what he thinks and feels ? He now praises Li- 
 berty and Peace, as he praised Jacobinism to 
 the Revolutionists, Mahomet to the Turks, 
 and the English nation to our countrymen^ 
 that visited him in Elba. Is it worthy of phi- 
 losophical patriotism^ in its anxiety to see the 
 
Xil PREFACE. 
 
 eondition of society improved^ to turn with 
 hope- towards the liberality and integrity of a. 
 man^ who^ when he kidnapped Ferdinand^ 
 told him that the feelings and interests of the 
 people and their rulers must always be at va- 
 riance; — who has broken every pledge he has 
 made, not excepting his abdication for him- 
 self and his heirs, — who comes back through 
 a purely military movement, and aided not 
 merely by broken oaths, but by the meanest 
 personal duplicity, — who is still keeping up 
 the farce in our faces, by returning to the old 
 false jargon, about his '^ torn heart^^^ smd " his 
 truly great loeopleJ^ — and who is now sur- 
 rounded by persons, all, like himself at this 
 moment, full of zeal for the rights of man, who 
 have been the most cruel instruments, alter- 
 nately of Jacobinism and of military despo- 
 tism. The most hideous feature of France, 
 which she has acquired under the influence of 
 this regenerator, is the utter looseness of her 
 principles, evinced in the conduct of her con- 
 spicuous characters. Thus Ney kissed the 
 king's hand, swore fidelity to the Royal cause, 
 and then went and joined the Emperor ; — 
 Soult accepted the office of Minister of War 
 
PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 under Louis^ took oaths of fidelity ;, issued a 
 proclamatiou against Buonaparte^ and^ as it 
 is now strongly suspected^ had been prepar- 
 ing every thing for his return when acting as 
 the sworm servant of the Bourbons ; — seve- 
 ral of the other Marshals,, apparently pene- 
 trated with devotion to their unfortunate^ in- 
 firm^ and well-intentioned Monarchy attended 
 him on his retirement from Paris^ merely^ it 
 seems^ to cajole him out of the French terri- 
 tory^ and to take care that his cause should 
 not be supported ! These men now return 
 laughing to the Tuilleries^ to sport the deco- 
 ration of the Legion of Honour^ to join their 
 Chief in some new piece of baseness^ and look 
 in his face to receive his smiles^ in the consci- 
 ousness of reciprocal villainy. This is the 
 New School of Nobility of which Buona- 
 parte is the Parent^ and from which is to pro- 
 ceed the regeneration of the world ! We are 
 called upon to rejoice in the predominance of 
 this, because it will put down Feudal bondage 
 and superstition : — we can only reply, that we 
 see no cause for congratulation in the substi- 
 tution of a young, sturdy, and desperate cut- 
 throat, for a hoary-headed knave^ fast drop- 
 
 b^- 
 
XIV PREFACt:. 
 
 ping to liis dissolution^ and able to commit only 
 petty depredations. But we shall take our 
 stand on another ground, and affirm^ that the 
 system of the Old Rulers, with all its faults, 
 will admit of more favourable views to be ta- 
 ken of it, than this which the Regenerator has 
 introduced. It gives more room and encou- 
 ragement for personal honor amidst political 
 profligacy ; its offences partake more of the 
 nature of habits, and less of dispositions : — 
 it has grown up with us, it has not been forc- 
 ed upon us ; — it is not so directly aimed at all 
 that gives confidence to our firesides, peace to 
 our hearts, security to society.'^ Champion^ 
 No. 117, April 2d, 1815. 
 
 To these observations, I have nothing to 
 add : — Since they were written, Buonaparte 
 has yet more unequivocally surrounded him- 
 self with the enemies of despotism, but I much 
 doubt whether they are those most likely to 
 cure the French mind of its unsoundness, or 
 place, on the most substantial basis, the liber- 
 ty, happiness, and peace of France. 
 
 The original articles in the Appendix to 
 this Volume, are the contributions of a very 
 intelligent friend, who during a short stay in 
 
PREFACE. XV 
 
 Paris^ employed the attainments which he em- 
 inently possesses^ in an investigation of the 
 character and possessions of the scientific and 
 other institutions of that capital, — conducted 
 with an industry and accuracy that do him 
 the greatest credit, and the total results of 
 which if laid before the public, would, I am 
 ^ure be deemed highly interesting. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Introduction: the propensity of the English to travel : 
 this traced to their national character; the French 
 ill-able to appreciate such a disposition: not so much 
 public curiosity in France as in England : an Eng- 
 lish Newspaper: its effect on the public mind 
 
 Page 1—12 
 
 CHAP. n. 
 
 First view of Dieppe : its effect on the mind of one 
 v/ho has for the first time quitted England : the en- 
 trance of the packet within the pier : the fishwomen, 
 their dress and appearance : the French ladies on 
 the pier: the military aspect of the crowd: differ- 
 ence between a French and English crowd : anec- 
 dote of the people : description of the hotel : appear- 
 ance of Dieppe : the barrier and guard-room : reflec- 
 tion on these indications • . . 13 — 23 
 
 CHAP. m. 
 
 Reflections suggested by the roads of France : a French 
 Diligence considered as a trait of national character : 
 French ingenuity compared with English prepara- 
 tion : the French horses : conductor of the Diligence: 
 
XVm CONTENTS. 
 
 appearance of the country-people, their similarity tc 
 the Scotch rustics: numerous beggars : appearance 
 of the houses by the road side : improvement of 
 French agriculture by the revolution : dance of Rus- 
 tics : French character: appearance of the country- 
 towns : approach to Rouen : its appearance : anec- 
 dote of a bookseller . . . Page 24—38 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 An English shopkeeper travelling in France : his meet- 
 * ing with a French officer attached to Buonaparte in 
 the Diligence : the Englishman's resistance to the 
 novelties of French cookery : description of a French 
 Family -^ approach to Paris, and the feeling excited 
 by this approach . ... 39 — 46 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The interest which Paris excites derivable from its 
 public events : its display of character : object of the 
 work: first impressions made by Paris: recollec- 
 tions of slaughter and feeling of insecurity which it 
 suggests : destruction of the Abbey of St. Denis: be- 
 haviour of the rabble : the barriers of Paris, and their 
 suggestions: — the Porte St. Denis, its architecture, 
 the changes of its inscriptions, illustrative of the fic- 
 kleness of the French character : recommendation to 
 the French. 47—57 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Quotation from an English Comedy : the general sce- 
 nery of Paris : the grandeur of the Boulevarde : the 
 
CONTENTS. XIX 
 
 wildness of the streets, and the irregular appear- 
 ances of the houses : the Place Vendome, its v/ant 
 of pavement, its houses let out to rich and poor : 
 the pillar in its centre — characteristic of Paris : anec- 
 dote of Louis the Fourteenth, his vanity, defeat, and 
 death : — the substitution of his dynasty for that of 
 Napoleon : the statue of Buonaparte surmounting 
 the pillar to his Victories : its removal by the Aus- 
 trians : description of the pillar, and of the Columna 
 Trajana: remarks on the conduct of the French to- 
 wards works of Fine Art . . Page 58 — 67 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Superb Coup d'oeil of the Place Louis Quinze : de- 
 scription of the views from it : the Garden of the 
 Tuilleries : the Champs Elysee : the Pont Louis 
 Sieze : the Palais Bourbon : the winged horses by 
 Coizevoix, and the group of horses by Couston : the 
 effect of these fine works on the mind : Buonaparte's 
 triumphal arch : further description of the view from 
 the Place Louis Quinze : the gilt dome of the In- 
 valids : anecdote of Buonaparte : the statue of Louis 
 Quinze : its removal, and the erection of the Guil- 
 lotine in its place : the murder of the King and 
 Queen of France, and the Countess Du Barri: re- 
 flections on the French character, suggested by 
 these events . . . . 68 — 77 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Interesting appearances of Paris from the Quays: line 
 ^f the Tuilleries and the Louvre : the Palais des 
 
XX CONTENTS. 
 
 Arts, and the Mint: the Fauxbourg St. Germaia : 
 the dome of the Pantheon : the towers of Notre Dame: 
 the clearness of the air of Paris, and its effect on the 
 views : picturesque and lively appearances in the 
 streets : the washerwomen's rafts : no b.oats on the 
 Seine: the public baths: singular contrasts of 
 Paris : sketches of the manners of the people : Salon 
 de Litterature : low Cafe, the manners of its mis- 
 tressj &c. : vanity of a hair-dresser, Sec. ; reflec- 
 tions on the French character : the stalls &c. in the 
 streets : the numerous amusements, grimaciers, jug- 
 glers, and fortune-tellers which they contain : dress 
 of the french females : its origin, the manners of the 
 ladies, and remarks on the French character : the 
 effect of the example of Englishwomen in Paris : the 
 contrast between English and French ladies in the 
 theatres : anecdote of the court of Louis the Four- 
 teenth : dress of the French females of the lower 
 order : the French beggars, and an anecdote of a 
 boy : the low streets of Paris, and reflections on the 
 people : the fickleness of their character indicated 
 by the fronts of their public and private buildings 
 
 Page 78—103 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Amusements, and shops, and places of refreshment in 
 Paris : the Palais Royal : its general character : its 
 assemblages during the French Revolution : anec- 
 dote of the Revolutionists : conduct of the Duke of 
 Orleans: the behaviour of the mob towards him 
 when on his way to the place of his execution : de- 
 
CONTENTS. XXI 
 
 , scription of the morning of the Palais Royal: the 
 shops of toys and jewellery : the profligacy of the 
 books and prints exposed to sale : French art dis- 
 gracefully dissolute : excellent books on the stalls : 
 Restorateurs, their various prices for Dinners, and 
 the crowds that fill them : the superior Restorateurs : 
 the number and richness of the dishes : French eat- 
 ing : the presence of women at these places of enter- 
 tainment: description of the Palais Royal in the even- 
 ing : the cellars, the cafe's, the gaming-houses, S^vC: 
 general reflections on the Palais Royal 
 
 Page 104—124 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Irregularity of appearances in Paris : manners of the 
 Parisians : reflections on their character : a French 
 family taking an Hotel for the purpose of marrying 
 their daughter : the economy of their habitations : 
 descriptions of their rooms: families not domestic in 
 their habits : a French dinner party : influence of the 
 revolution, and the destruction of Buonaparte's go- 
 vernment, on the society of Paris : the measures of 
 the Bourbons : general infidelity in Paris : further 
 remarks on the French character: French politeness: 
 its nature investigated : comparison between French 
 and English politeness : the afl'ronts ofl^ered by the 
 French to human experience : anecdotes of a French 
 woman : the behaviour of the French artists to the 
 pictures they have pillaged: reflections on the 
 French character . . . 125 — 148 
 
XXU CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 The French palaces and monuments considered with 
 reference to the French character : dialogue between 
 a Frenchman and an Englishman on the. splendours 
 of Versailles ; general reflections on the state of so- 
 ciety and public feeling so indicated : dirtiness of the 
 Parisian streets and want of pavement : influence of 
 Buonaparte's government on the French character: 
 the French disposition in favour of Buonaparte : con- 
 versation of the lower orders : their ignorance con- 
 trasted with their polished manners : quotations from 
 the Champion. Page 149 — 174 
 
 CHAP. xn. 
 
 The appearance and character of the French females : 
 the system oi educating and training young women 
 in France : behaviour of married women : their dis- 
 regard to the nuptial obligations : parents' conduct 
 relative to marrying their children : the boudoir : 
 reflections on the importance of keeping vice and 
 virtue distinct in their features : the French women 
 universal solicitors and intriguers : an anecdote : fe- 
 male manners generally : anecdote of an old French 
 clergyman .... 175 — 188 
 
 CHAP. XHI. 
 
 Anecdotes, of the Cossacks, of Buonaparte, of Jose- 
 phine, and Talleyrand . . . 189— 19S 
 
CONTENTS. XXlll 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 The French a dramatic people ; their superior taste in 
 some respects to the English : remarks on Talma : 
 Mademoiselle Roucour, Monsieur Saint Pris, Made- 
 moiselle Mars : the French opera, the comic opera : 
 the Vaudeville : Brunet, Poitier, Joly, &c. : speci- 
 mens of their Bon-mots . . Page 199— 206 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 The state of education in France : Buonaparte's attack 
 on literature : establishments for education in the 
 sciences : medical schools : other public schools, and 
 private establishments : printing of books, newspa- 
 pers, Sec. : public libraries : description of the na- 
 tional library. .... 207 — 216 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 The first visit to the Louvre : its effects on the mind : 
 reflections on the destruction of states : the unfeel- 
 ingness of the French s^avans : view from the win- 
 dows of the Louvre : remarks on the system of pil- 
 lage by which the French museums have been en- 
 riched : the antique marbles : the gallery of paint- 
 ings : extracts from the Common Place book of an 
 English artist, on Raphael, Corregio, Titian, and 
 Reubens : advice to students : remarks on the na- 
 tional encouragement of art: review of the influ- 
 ence of the public institutions and collections of 
 Paris on the French mind and literature ; estimate 
 
XXIV CONTENTS. 
 
 of the present state of French attainments in litera- 
 ture, art, and science : — Conclusion 
 
 Page 217 — 245 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A sketch of the progressive improvement of the French 
 capital, compiled from the History of Paris, by Le 
 Grand and Laudon . . . 247 — 254 
 The palaces of Paris traced to the national character 
 and government, by Le Grand and Laudon 254 — 256 
 An original description of the Jardin des Plantes, and 
 its collections , . . . 256 — 274 
 An original description of the Conservatoire des Arts 
 et Metiers . . . . . 274 — 288 
 An account of Parisian fetes . . 288 — 298 
 An account of the reception of the Bourbons at the 
 Opera . .... 298 — 299 
 A description of the Place du Combat . 300 — 302 
 Original description of the Catacombs . 302 — 507 
 Letter from Paris published in the English News- 
 papers 308—310 
 
VISIT TO PARIS 
 
 IN 1814. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Xr ARIS, which lately was the safest of all subjects 
 for a writer to select, is now, or at least will be, by 
 the time this work can make its appearance, one of 
 the most dangerous. Where is the family that hais 
 not sent out its traveller, or travellers, to the capital 
 of France ? Minute oral accounts of its wonders have 
 been rendered at every tea-table. Criticisms on its 
 arts, and manners, have found their way, in soft whis* 
 pers, across shop-counters ; and sleep has been ex- 
 pelled from the insides of stage-coaches by anecdotes 
 of its events and its inhabitants. How many letters 
 have been dispatched, from the very spot of observa- 
 tion, to '' dear papas," and " dear mammas," and 
 other dears, not likely to feel less interested in the 
 communications of the writers I Where is the news- 
 paper, weekly or daily, that has not to boast of its 
 special series of articles on Paris ? What review has 
 
 A 
 
not been crowded with criticisms, on the many pam- 
 phlets, and volumes, that have had this city for their 
 theme ? A style of information, adapted to the par- 
 ticular taste of every class of inquirers, has surely, 
 then, by this time, been furnished ; and as to facts^ 
 perhaps it would be more serviceable to take from, 
 than add to, the number that have already been re- 
 corded. 
 
 It must be confessed that the visitation of another, 
 and a sizeable book, on this explored subject, runs a 
 great risk of being regarded as intrusive, and expect- 
 ed to prove tiresome : but, with very common self- 
 complacency, the writer has satisfied himself, and 
 trusts to be able to satisfy his readers, that, in his case, 
 it is "better late than never." To tell the truth, he 
 is inclined to think it, on the w^hole, in favour of his 
 work, that so many persons already know so much 
 about the various objects in Paris; for, as those who 
 accompany this Visit will be asked to reflect a little 
 on w^hat is to be seen, the previous loss of the sharp 
 edge of their curiosity seems absolutely necessary to 
 dispose them to attend to him with patience, and 
 well calculated to enable them to follow him with 
 advantage. He hopes, to be sure, not to prove obscure 
 or uninteresting to any one ; but he chiefly calculates 
 on their strong sympathy with his remarks, who have 
 seen, or heard, a good deal of the outward aspect of 
 this remarkable capital ; and who may either be in« 
 clined, for the first time, to look a little beyond ap- 
 pearances into qualities, or be willing to give hin* 
 
the benefit of their recollections, and compare his 
 conclusions with their own. With these he will ram- 
 ble through Paris as a companion, and he is therefore 
 happy, that so many have gone before him as guides. 
 
 I believe foreigners have generally been the best 
 scientific travellers, Germany and France probably 
 beat us in journeys undertaken to extend the limits of 
 natural history, or ascertain doubtful points in the 
 knowledge of physics : — but the literature of Britain 
 is richer than that of ail other nations put together, 
 in the narratives of those excursions, that have had 
 no other object but to gratify an elastic spirit, anxious 
 to overleap distance, interested in the general con- 
 cerns of mankind, curious after novelties cf habit, 
 and eager to bring its possessors better acquainted 
 with their fellow-creatures. Our book-shelves groan 
 with the travels of persons who have suddenly arisen 
 from almost every class and profession of life, to go 
 their ways into almost every other country on the face 
 of the globe, as well as into every parish of their 
 own. These usually have had no other design than 
 to look about them in a general way, and no othef 
 preparation for publishing their adventures than a ca- 
 sual education and a common understanding. There 
 is scarcely any thing that may not be put with a ridi- 
 culous aspect before us, and the national curiosity* 
 certainly admits of this ; but its source can easily be 
 traced to certain sterling qualities of character, while 
 the easiness of its gratification testifies to several en- 
 
viable circumstances of condition, and its fruits are 
 by DO means disreputable to the talent and informa- 
 tion of our people. We may have among us nume- 
 rous flimsy works of this description, but where is 
 the other country that could furnish so many indivi= 
 duals, from such a variety of situations in society, 
 competent, either to observe so keenly, or deliver 
 themselves so clearly, as the majority of our writers 
 of sketches, journals, tours, &c. manage to do. 
 
 It is the impulse, however, that sends such a host 
 of travellers away from it, that is chiefly creditable to 
 our nation. It shews a freedom and custom, as well 
 as a power to think ; — a bold and independent dispo- 
 sition, careless of trifling embarrassments, and feel- 
 ing certain of every where commanding respect ; — a 
 constant and complete circulation of intelligence ; — 
 an active temper ; — and lastly, a very general com- 
 mand, not only of comforts, but of superfluities. 
 
 So little are foreigners enabled to share with us in 
 a propensity so arising, that nothing appears to them 
 so unaccountable as the swarm of British emigrants 
 who put themselves to the trouble and expense of 
 travelling, for no definite, nor even divinable purpose. 
 At first it was imagined that our countrymen had some 
 interested motives, wiiich they concealed under an air 
 of carelessness and extravagance. The Turks, who 
 are masters of Greece, when they are interrogated by 
 the lovers of art, where statues are likely to be con- 
 cealed, suspect, with the acuteness of ignorance, that 
 gold is the true object of the strangers' search, and 
 
that it is in the hopes of finding hidden stores of this 
 precious metal, they take such pains with their pick- 
 axes and shovels to remove the earth and rubbish. 
 At length, however, the folks on the continent seem 
 convinced, that the English who visit it have really no 
 object but to regard and examine their persons, build- 
 ings, and various possessions ; and the consequence 
 of this conviction is, that they now consider us great- 
 er fools than they were at first willing to believe we 
 were. Not having that turn, or those qualities of 
 mind, which would carry them from the theatres, 
 walks, and gardens of Paris, to encounter strange 
 faces, strange manners, and a doubtful reception,-«» 
 the probability of inconvenience, and the possibility of 
 outrage, — the French are of opinion that the impetus 
 which drives us over to them, in crowds of all descrip- 
 tions, arises from a species of derangement ; nor are 
 they singular in taking the standard of their own fa- 
 culties and conduct as the test of reason in others* 
 That artists by profession, and sgavans by profession^ 
 should flock to the finest, and wisest, city in the world 
 for instruction, would not strike them as strange ; but 
 the motley groupes of British that fill the streets of 
 their capital, — loitering, gaping, and inquiiung, but 
 never faultering, or seeming embarrassed, or appear- 
 ing to feel that they are not at home, — completely be- 
 wilder a Frenchman's conclusions, and as he has no 
 clue within his breast to the meaning of this, he takes 
 the usual short and simple course of deeming that to 
 be very absurd which he cannot understand* 
 
 A 2 
 
6 
 
 That violence of public curiosity and interest whicli 
 is here oftentimes felt, and which drives the whole 
 force of the nation's thought and action before it, in 
 one stormy stream, towards the one point of tempo- 
 rary attraction, is now unknown in Paris^ The best 
 proof of this is, that the most extraordinary event of 
 modern times, the scene of which was their own city, 
 which in its effect was most showy, and in its conse- 
 quences most important, is already out of the mouths, 
 and appears never to have been deeply in the hearts, 
 of the Parisians. Let any one who recollects the agi- 
 tation which the murders of the Marr and the Wil- 
 liams families caused all over the United Kingdom ; 
 how long they formed the exclusive topic of conversa- 
 tion with all persons, old and young, rich and poor, 
 fancy to himself at what rate our tongues would have 
 run for years, relative to the capture of London, the 
 subversion of the government, and, what is more in- 
 teresting still, the bivouacking of thousands of Cos- 
 sacks in Hyde Park, and the adjacent fields ! It may 
 fairly be asserted, that the one-bearded hero, by whose 
 appearance in London, a worthy seller of prints, in 
 the Strand, has contrived to render his name coeval, 
 and closely connected, with the glories of the Allied 
 Monarchs, has left a far stronger and more permanent 
 impression on our recollections, than that which the 
 grand events of the months of last March and April 
 have made on the memories and feelings of the inha- 
 bitants of the French capital. When you question 
 them concerning what then took place, they tell you 
 
feicts that set English curiosity in a blaze ; but, from 
 their manner, it is easy to see, that the ladiesi past 
 whose windows the small number of shells flew that 
 fell in the city, forgot the circumstance the next week, 
 and that it had slumbered in oblivion until it was rous- 
 ed by the interrogations of strangers, that felt more 
 interested than themselves in the occurrence. 
 
 This indifference as to the past, chiefly arises out 
 of a morbidly quick sensibility to the present. It is 
 this that renders a common Parisian as thoughtless 
 of travelling beyond the Champs Elysee^ as a planet 
 is of departing for the next system. It is this that 
 makes the events of the moment fill their minds with 
 a dazzling sort of efl'ulgence, to the obliteration of all 
 the shadowy impressions of experience. It is this 
 that renders them what is called versatile ; which 
 quality, with them, arises out of an engagement with 
 what is doi?igj so excessive as to make them totally 
 forget what has been done, A Parisian lady, who 
 laughs at the costume of our countrywomen, laughs 
 at what she was herself a few years ago; but she 
 will not believe you if you tell her that she lately 
 wore the little bonnet which now she ridicules. Shew 
 her the engraved fashions for 1806, that prove the 
 fact, and she simpers in your face with an expres- 
 sion of increased poignancy, inasmuch as she has just 
 been convicted of an error. 
 
 This carelessness of the Parisians, as to all that is out 
 of their personal and momentary sphere, is also to be 
 traced, in a great measure, to the want of a general- 
 
diffusion of intelligence relative to what happens 
 among themselves. Their newspapers are very im- 
 perfect organs of communication compared with ours. 
 A tradesman may have his pocket picked, or the car- 
 riage of a lady of consequence may be overturned, or 
 a marriage between a marshal and a court beauty 
 may be in progress, and the people of Paris know no- 
 thing of these momentous matters. Look at the 
 poverty of their parliamentary and police reports ! 
 Would our newsmongers be satisfied with such mea- 
 gre details of such interesting affairs ? Observe and 
 pity the total absence of miscellaneous paragraphs 1 
 those that introduce us into the very heart of the 
 times. The persons in power say that they chiefly 
 dread the uncontrouled liberty of the press, because 
 among a people so lively, and even licentious, as the 
 French, it would become the instrument of pasqui- 
 nades, and libels against individuals. To me it seems, 
 from what I could observe, that society in Paris, how- 
 ever different fifty years ago, is at present too de- 
 ranged, too unmarked with conspicuous characters, 
 too undiscoverable, as it were, for this evil to prevail 
 to any great extent. I rather suspect that the fear 
 really entertained, is of personal attacks on the mem- 
 bers of the government. 
 
 It has already been observed, that it is easy to re- 
 present almost any thing in a ridiculous or contemp- 
 tible light. The fibres and vessels, for instance, that 
 connect the parts of the human body, and discharge 
 Uie vuiious o%ces necessary to the support of life^ are 
 
in themselves mean and even nauseous. In like man- 
 ner, our strong anxiety to learn domestic news, and 
 violent propensity to detail it, may be open to a sneer ; 
 but,' if I mistake not, tliey form important links to 
 unite British society closely together, which make 
 each individual feel himself but as a part of one, and 
 give to the body politic the full strength of all its com- 
 ponent members. We are all here actively employed 
 in thinking of and about one another ; in France they 
 know comparatively nothing of one another : it is 
 needless to say in which country public spirit is most 
 likely to abound. That th« frame-work of a nation 
 may be strong, each of its divisions must be let close- 
 ly into others, — for then a blow, on whatever spot it 
 may fall, is sustained with the united strength of the 
 whole. A huge British newspaper,— its pages closely 
 filled with commercial wants and supplies, with the 
 arrangements of private convenience, the solicitations 
 of distress, the acts of public societies, the declara- 
 tions of popular meetings, — the marriages and deaths, 
 and accidents, and offences, that happen in the com- 
 munity,^ — the jokes of the day that are current, the 
 arrival and departure of our fleets, the debates of our 
 houses of parliament, the announcements of our nu- 
 merous literary works, and ample intelligence from 
 the four quarters of the globe,^ — is perhaps the finest 
 thing vve have to shew, as a proof of our national great- 
 ness, and the most trustworthy means of rendering it 
 xlurable. What an immense mass of interests and 
 connecting communications is here apparent, knittinp^ 
 
10 
 
 the superstructure of our society together, and by its 
 publication diffusing throughout the whole a spirit of 
 general sympathy, as an animating mind to the clench- 
 ed union of a commonwealth of rights and posses- 
 sions ! Each provincial town of any magnitude has 
 one or more of these circulators of public sentiment, 
 and diffusers of neighbourly feeling. The farmer, 
 the tradesman, the labourer, the learned, the igno- 
 rant, the rich, the poor, are by this means brought 
 together; — they become familiar with each other's 
 names, occupations, and concerns ;— the cement of 
 acquaintanceship binds them together; — differences 
 of opinion are daily encountered, and thus lose their 
 tendency to produce rancour, while they give keen- 
 ness and independence to thought;— national warmth 
 is cherished; — the national name is endeared ; the na- 
 tional character is felt ; — all concealed inflammables 
 are discovered and removed; suspicion is prevented 
 by knowledge, and fear by confidence ; — and when 
 public emergencies occur, the public resources are 
 soon marshalled to meet them, for the people previ- 
 ously know whom they ought to regard as leaders, 
 where their means are to be found, and, (what is more 
 important still,) each one has made up his mind as to 
 the principles by which his exertions should be regu- 
 lated. Steadiness, unanimity, and comparative pro- 
 priety, must necessarily distinguish the measures of 
 the country that is so intimately and firmly bound to- 
 gether, and in which the impulse that originates with 
 its noblest and most central organs, diffuses itself, 
 
11 
 
 without interruption, to the smallest parts and reme- 
 test extremities of the frame. 
 
 To shew how cold and languid public sympathy is 
 in the breast of the French, compared with its state 
 in England, it need only be mentioned, that none of 
 their periodical works give a regular announcement 
 of births, marriages, and deaths. If any very conspi- 
 cuous character has been affected by one or other of 
 these casualties, a paragraph in some of the journals 
 will state the fact ; but this is but one among many 
 other proofs of the poverty and dependence of their 
 feeling. They are perpetually looking above them- 
 selves with awe and admiration, or with anger, — and 
 never among themselves with frankness, self-respect, 
 and good-humour. They take off their hats frequent- 
 ly, but they seldom shake hands. They cherish no- 
 thing of that personal consciousness which here causes 
 John to send intimation of his wedding with Mary, to 
 the Morning Chronicle, that Thomas may know of it ; 
 — their Thomases know nothing, and therefore care 
 nothing about their Johns. It follows that they never 
 join hands in any public cause, the strength of which 
 must arise out of private confidence ; they never unite 
 cordially and confidently against one overgrown and 
 ill-disposed personage, whose mischievous designs 
 against them their mutual strength might successfully 
 oppose, but whose power is too much for any of them 
 singly. Their social spirit is not more deep or kindly 
 than that which prompts an interchange of remarks 
 and civilities at a place of public amusement, where 
 
12 
 
 individuals, who have no concert with each other in 
 serious affairs, exchange simpers and nods under the 
 excitement of trifles. 
 
 I have thus early gone at some length into these 
 very important national peculiarities, as they distin- 
 guish the French from the English, because the ge- 
 nerally felt travelling fir ofiensity of the latter, which 
 is deemed so wild and unaccountable by their foreign 
 neighbours, is fairly to be traced to the activity, in- 
 formation, and earnestness of their public mind. In 
 paying a visit to Paris, it surely is but proper to take 
 some notice of our numerous fellow-countrymen on 
 the road, and to endeavour to vindicate their respect- 
 ability as far as it happens to be called in question. 
 The crowding to France from this country has been 
 attributed to a mania, and the people of Japan and 
 China, who never stir from home, would be particu- 
 larly severe on this efflux from our shores. Long, 
 however, may it be the reproach of our nation, that its 
 sons go about, while others sit still, — and that its in- 
 stitutions advance, while others remain stationar}\ 
 
13 
 
 CHx\PTER II. 
 
 A LARGE crucifix on the pier of Dieppe, seen 
 from the deck of the packet, first caused me to feel 
 that I was about to land on foreign ground, and min- 
 gle v/ith manners, and looks, and language, to which 
 I had been unaccustomed. This feeling, when ex- 
 perienced for the first time, is a strong and touching 
 one. I am not ashamed to confess, that I looked ear- 
 nestly at the hills which rose before me, to discover 
 something -Frewc/t about them; they seemed, how- 
 ever, to be round and green, very much like those I 
 had left behind. My eye earnestly sought out the 
 clusters of farm-houses ; they indicated life and intel« 
 ligence, that formed part of a different system of senti- 
 ments, manners and expressions, from that to which I 
 belonged. The sensation that is caused by this convic- 
 tion is not easily described ; — you seem to be going, 
 as it were, beyond yourself,— -and you are surprised 
 to find that your experience does not furnish you 
 with a single anticipation of any of the appearances 
 that are about to present themselves. This is a no- 
 velty, indeed, after a certain age, and revives again^ 
 in the exhausted and torpid breast, that activity of 
 observation, quickness of feeling, and fruitfulness of 
 idea, that give to the moments of childhood as much 
 of the essence of enjoyment as is contained in years 
 
 B 
 
11 
 
 oT after-life. While a traveller keeps within his own 
 country, he expects that, with something new, he 
 will meet with more that is common ; he knows how 
 he will be received at the inns ; he is conversant with 
 the aspect of the towns : and the very features of the 
 earth regard him, as he passes, with an air of old 
 acquaintanceship. But when, for the first time, he 
 quits his own country, he is prepared for nothing ; 
 every thing comes upon him with the force of a first 
 impression ; and nothing startles him more than the 
 numerous resemblances to those objects and habits 
 with which he is familiar. These he least expects to 
 encounter, and at these, therefore, he is most sur- 
 prised. The reported discovery of roads in the moon, 
 excited more popular admiration than the account 
 ©f any monstrous prodigy on its surface would have 
 done,. 
 
 As die packet entered within the pier, the interest 
 became stronger, for we were advancing within 
 crowds of men and women, and into the bosom of 
 the strange place. We could already hear the young- 
 est children, and the most miserable of the poor, 
 talking a language which we had been accustomed 
 to consider as the proof of a liberal education. It 
 was Sunday, and the beach and quay were thronged 
 with persons waiting to see us land. <' For the love 
 of Heaven," cried an English admiral's lady, " look 
 at that creature in the red petticoat!" She was a 
 fishwoman, and certainly presented a figure very gro- 
 tesque to an English eye. The grey woven jackets 
 
15 
 
 of these women are tight around the waist ; the ex- 
 pansion where the petticoat begins is immense, but 
 the petticoat itself is short. Both their hands are 
 usually in their pockets; they walk along with a 
 careless air, stooping forward their bodies ; their 
 physiognomies are sharp, but do not indicate rude= 
 ness; and from their ears, huge golden drops and 
 rings are suspended, which are bequeathed from mo- 
 ther to daughter with pride, and preserved in the fa- 
 mily with care. Let me do them the justice to praise 
 their cleanliness ; their dress is remarkably complete 
 and trim ; — their raised caps, with long loose flaps 
 hanging over their shoulders, are white as snow; 
 and I had an opportunity of confirming this observa- 
 tion in other towns of the coast, and on other days of 
 the week besides Sunday. 
 
 We could also discern some ladies on the pier, and 
 their flowing shawls, high bonnets, and tricksome 
 gait, bid our young gentlemen prepare their compli- 
 ments in a new language and in a new style. I had 
 been told not to expect much female beauty in France ; 
 but the first face I could distinctly perceive, was that 
 of a very beautiful French girl, v/ho leaned, with an 
 air of triumphant weakness, on the arm of her beau, 
 a fierce fellow, with a cocked hat and cockade, while 
 she regarded us with a look which cannot be descri- 
 bed otherwise than by saying that it conveyed, with 
 a marked intention, the quintessence of feminine ex- 
 pression. Her companions (for she was surrounded 
 by several of her own sex) were excited into smiles 
 
16 
 
 by the view of our party, whose appearance sea-sick- 
 ness, and a night spent on board the packet, had 
 rendered very squalid ; and, as the vessel advanced-, 
 they advanced also, to be close to the landing of so 
 singular a set. Each had her protector, by whose 
 side she tripped with a conscious shortness of step, a 
 soliciting bend of her form, balanced by a lively con- 
 fidence in her eyes and smiles. 
 
 But the most impressive feature of the crowd be- 
 fore us, and that which most struck us with a sense of 
 novelty and of interest, was its military aspect. Al- 
 most every man had some indication of the military 
 profession about his person, sufficient to denote that 
 he had been engaged in war ; at the same time, there 
 was a self-willed variety in the dress of each, which 
 had a very unpleasant effect, inasmuch as it prevent- 
 ed us from recognizing that stamfied assura?ice of le- 
 gitimacy as an armed force^ which is impressed on the 
 aspect of British troops. We could scarcely imagine, 
 that the dark-visaged beings, some in long, loose 
 great coats, some in jackets, some in cocked hats, 
 some in round ones, some in caps, who darted at us 
 keen looks of a very over-clouded cast, had ever be- 
 longed to regiments, steady, controlled, and lawful ; 
 — they seemed, rather, the fragments of broken-up 
 gangs, brave, dextrous, and fierce, but unprincipled, 
 and unrestrained. Much of this irregularity and an- 
 griness of appearance was doubtless occasioned by 
 the great disbandment of the army that had just taken 
 place. The disbanded had no call to observe the 
 
17 
 
 niceties of military discipline, although they still re- 
 tained such parts of their military uniform as they 
 found convenient. They had not then either pur- 
 suits to occupy their time, or even prospects to keep 
 up their hopes ; they still lounged about in idleness, 
 although their pay had been stopped ; and disappoint- 
 ment and necessity threw into their faces an expres- 
 sion deeper than that of irritation, — approaching, in 
 fact, to the indications of indiscriminate and invete- 
 rate hatred. They carried about with them in their 
 air, the branded characteristics of forlorn men, whose 
 interests and habits opposed them to the peace of 
 mankind ; — men who would cry with the desperate 
 Constance, 
 
 ** War I war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war !" 
 
 King John. 
 
 When a Margate hoy evacuates her cargo, the 
 crowd on the pier is usually considerable, but how 
 different in its general aspect from that which now 
 presented itself ! At the English watering-place, the 
 arriving passengers find collected to receive them, 
 snug mercantile physiognomies, countenances indi- 
 cating a settled and comfortable mode of living, 
 unmarked by irritation or alarm, — and a kind of la- 
 zy independence of manner, which by those who do 
 not possess a good deal of knowledge of the nicer 
 traits of character, is likely to be taken for insolence. 
 In the French crowd, on the contrary, vivacity is 
 
 every where apparent: — the soldiers are vivaciously ^ 
 
 b2 
 
18 
 
 suriy; the ladies vivaciously charming; the atten- 
 dant-porters and masters of hotels vivaciously solici- 
 tous ; the common people vivaciously observant and 
 assiduous. " Permit me to have the honour to carry 
 little My Lord up the ladder,'* said a fellow with a 
 a nightcap on his head, and a ragged jacket on his 
 back, at the same time snatching up a little boy who 
 stood timidly in his mother's hand on the deck. He, 
 and three others, followed the party to the hotel, and 
 stood silently in the room. An English gentleman, 
 anxious to make his essay, and thinking that on these 
 persons he might safely try his skill, addressed them 
 in terms of obsequiousness, which he intended to ri- 
 val the French" in their own country. '* To what were 
 he and his friends indebted for the favour of the pre- 
 sent visit?" The spokesman of the set replied, that 
 Messieurs, pointing to the three behind, and him- 
 self, had been so fortunate as to assist the landing 
 of the bountiful English, and they craved the 
 honour of being remembered for their services. 
 '^ But why," rejoined the Englishman, " follow us 
 all the way here ; why not demand your recompense 
 at the vessel ?" — " It would have been most impolite 
 in poor people like us to have forced ourselves on 
 your notice in the street," was the cunning answer, 
 which could only be handsomely rewarded by a do- 
 nation of several francs. 
 
 We entered the hotel with our eyes springing out 
 before our steps, on the alert to detect curiosities. 
 The host led the way, talking such English, that we 
 
19 
 
 were obliged to beg he would be intelligible to Eng- 
 lishmeiTi by speaking French. A hasty glance, as we 
 passed the kitchen, gave us a glimpse of a man-cook, 
 who gratified us excessively, being exactly what 
 Hogarth has represented, as a specimen of the tribe, 
 in the famous picture of the Gates of Calais : — indi- 
 cations of soups and stews were abundant ; and the 
 female servants, in " fancifully wild costume," took 
 their stations within view, their faces all sparkling 
 and ufi^ as we say of spruce beer. 
 
 The room into which we were shewn, gave strong 
 evidence that we were not in England. It would have 
 been fine and elegant, if it had not been out of repair, 
 and dirty. Glasses of a size which we never see in 
 our country, but in the houses of persons of fortune, 
 hung on the cheerless white walls, in frames, the 
 gilding of which was mostly worn off. A magnificent 
 marble chimney-piece, and a superb hearth of the 
 same, were by no means in harmony with a naked 
 brick-floor. Wash-hand basins stood on tables that 
 had been superb in gold, and were still curious in 
 carving. After our voyage, several operations con- 
 ducive to personal comfort were necessary ; these, 
 such as washing, shaving, combing, 8cc. were all to be 
 performed, by all the party, in the room devoted to 
 breakfast. But the breakfast afterwards was good, 
 the host and the waiters were civil ; and their gu€sts, 
 in the heartiness and freshness of their feelings, found 
 every thing, however strange and even incommodious, 
 a source of amusement and pleasure. 
 
20 
 
 The house itself, to which we were led, deserves 
 remark, as affording a characteristic trait of the coun- 
 try, which stands promin&ntly out in the view of the 
 English as something to which they have not been 
 accustomed. It was very large, and its size had an 
 air as if it were useless. It seemed as if it could 
 extend accommodation far beyond the wants of its pre- 
 sent possessors, and they, on the other hand, evidently 
 were inclined to pay it no attention beyond what these 
 wants demanded. Much of it, in consequence, looked 
 ruinous and deserted, and, as no care is ever bestowed 
 in France to preserve what, in England, is called tidi- 
 ness, the external aspect was loose and repelling. The 
 roof seemed solid and strong, but its strength only 
 emboldened the owner to neglect it; long grass sprung 
 up between the slates, that were covered with a sort 
 of grey coat ; — ^here and there holes were seen, that 
 went through to the inside, admitting the weather, 
 with all its accidents. As there was room enough in 
 the hotel for the inmates, and all their purposes, 
 without using the apartments so uncovered, why 
 should these holes be mended ? This is the general 
 character of the common buildings in all the French 
 towns I have seen. They are usually larger and 
 stronger than is necessary for the uses of the persons 
 who inhabit them; the consequence is, not that this 
 overplus of good qualities elevates the condition and 
 adorns the appearance of the people, but that an ac- 
 curately proportioned degree of neglect brings them 
 down, by means of filth, dilapidation, and desertion, 
 
21 
 
 to the level of humble life. But on this subject I shall 
 have more to say when I get to Paris. In the mean 
 time I must remark, that in England a spirited and 
 steady demand for materials of every kind, renders it 
 absolutely necessary that nothing shall be wasted, 
 either to give a privilege to idleness, or from a foolish 
 fondness for displaying qualities not required for the 
 particular purposes in view. I am aware, however, 
 that political events must not be left out of considera- 
 tion here; these have made strange changes in 
 France, and many of its habitations are now occu- 
 pied by a description of persons very different from 
 those for whom they were originally designed. 
 
 It oftentimes happens that circumstances, which 
 run most counter to our notions of comfort and pro- 
 priety, and excite the dislike and ridicule of mef6 
 common sense, shed a most picturesque effect, and 
 interesting air, over the appearance of objects. It is 
 unquestionably true, that the forms and properties 
 that are most available to poets and artists, generally 
 include much of moral evil and social inconvenience; 
 — the improvements of society will be found to lessen 
 their number. In fact, the labours of the philanthro- 
 pist, let us confess at once, are inimical to some of the 
 finest celebrations of poetry and painting, being cal- 
 culated to smooth the elevations of romantic heroism, 
 and the depths of romantic pathos, into a very conve- 
 nient level, admirably fitted for the transaction of bu- 
 siness and the general accommodation, but monoton- 
 ous in its character, and uninspiring in its tendency. 
 
22 
 
 Numerous proofs of this will rush at once on the rea- 
 der's mind, and one maybe derived from the interest- 
 ing and striking appearance which the great, dirtvj 
 and uncomfortable houses of the continent, confer on 
 its large towns. Dieppe is, on this account, a very 
 pleasing object of view to an English stranger, who 
 has a relish for the picturesque. Modern improve- 
 ment has not here stepped in as the foe to fine effect. 
 The streets are narrow, dark, and winding ; the lofty 
 houses overhang them with projecting spouts, curi- 
 ous signs, and elegant cornices ; — they break into all 
 sorts of shapes, — ends and fronts, pointed roofs, bal- 
 conies, and clustering chimnies. The ancient slating 
 reposes in venerable grey amongst moss and grass. 
 The Scotchman who first touches the continent at 
 DieppCj \¥in not be so much affected by its aspect, 
 inasmuch as Edinburgh, and other towns of Scotland, 
 have many of these features ; but they are considera- 
 bly more marked in the former place. 
 
 It was Sunday, as I have already said, when I land- 
 ed in France. No bells were heard, they had been 
 melted down during the revolution ; but old women 
 and children, with strings of beads and prayer-books 
 in their hands, were seen coming from church. The 
 signs of devotion, however, were very scantily strew- 
 ed over the surface of the town ; the shops were 
 open, and business was evidently going forward. 
 
 At the extremity of the town stand a barrier and 
 guard-room, at which a body of troops is stationed to 
 take cognizance of incomers and outgoers. It was 
 
S3 
 
 here I first saw French soldiers under arms, and the 
 sight suggested the vast events in which they had 
 been concerned. An Englishman's mind is peculiarly 
 open to these impressions from his intimacy with the 
 facts of his period ; and one like myself, who has been 
 for years engaged in speculating on the progress of 
 the French power, and the course and tendency of 
 French ambition, if he have really been smitten with 
 the force of his themes, will feel, as I did, more than 
 he can well express, when he first comes into the 
 real presence of those objects with which his imagi- 
 nation has been so long filled, and that have so actively 
 exercised his understanding- 
 
 These military posts at the entrances of the French 
 towns intimate very plainly, to the British traveller, 
 that he is in a country, where authority has been ac- 
 customed to stand out in a less disguised form, and 
 with a more absolute spirit, than belong to it in that 
 which he has quitted ; and they further declare to 
 him, that the public character of France has been 
 formed under different influences, and her public man- 
 ners modelled according to a very different training, 
 from those that have given to his native land her ad- 
 niired <' form and pressure." 
 
24 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 IN journeying along the excellent roads, and 
 through the delightful villages of Xormandj', the Eng- 
 lishman, who finds hinaself in the midst of persons 
 and things, of which he has scarcely yet learned to 
 think but as surrounded with hostile images, will, if 
 I may judge of others by myself, be struck with sur- 
 prise, that, from these people, and from these scenes, 
 he has been so long forbidden by mutual hatred, and 
 act«ial violence. While the novelties that meet his 
 view are sufficient to keep his faculties in a state of 
 exercise, he is saluted with numerous similarities to 
 hb oldest and dearest acquaintanceships, that com- 
 pletely establish the doubted affinity of brotherhood, 
 and set a stirring the kindred sympathies of his heart. 
 He catches a glance of the domestic occupations of 
 a peasant family as he rapidly passes a cottage win- 
 dow ; the aged labourer looks upward to his carriage 
 with that rustic hardness of expression which is so 
 well known to him ; the rivulet glides as pleasantly 
 through that valley as it does in England ; the skies 
 look cheerfully down upon him with their English 
 faces ; the servants come with an air of frankness to 
 assist him to alight ; he sees in the country towns the 
 common occupations of trade all in motion, and pre- 
 senting aspects with which he is very familiar. He 
 
25 
 
 says tohimself, — can it be these people whose throats 
 I have been wishing to cut, and who have been endea- 
 vouring to cut mine for the last twenty years ? What 
 has kept me from coming among them during all that 
 time ? Here are the roads, here are the accommoda- 
 tions, here are services for money, and smiles for no- 
 thing. This feeling, if I mistake not, cannot be call- 
 ed silly : it shews, in fact, how unnatural is the state 
 of war ; how little the people have to do with it : — 
 that it is the work of an interested few to the misery 
 and destruction of the many ; that its objects are in 
 general so vague and trifling, that they do not pre- 
 sent themselves as substantial realities, involving true 
 interests, but hide themselves in the obscurity of 
 state mystery, or stand exposed, when closely looked 
 at, as the mere delusions of state craft. I could 
 scarcely help imagining, when enjoying myself in a 
 country, with which England had so lately, and for so 
 long a time, been in rancorous hostility, that it had 
 been, during that time, enshrouded and rendered for- 
 midable by the vapours and storms of some surly en- 
 chanter, which being suddenly cleared away by " soft 
 influences," a fair and serene face uncovered itself 
 where we had before contemplated only darkness and 
 mischief. This is among the first impressions caused 
 by landmg in France : but I do not say that some of a 
 less agreeable kind may not result from further ob- 
 servation. 
 
 A French Diligence merits particular notice as a 
 c 
 
26 
 
 trait of character, as well as a novelty. As a carriage, 
 its external appearance indicates it to be a mixed spe- 
 cies, formed by the union of a waggon with a stage- 
 coach ; but let me confess that, however unprepos- 
 sessing its look may be, its qualities realize many of 
 those advantages which are found to result from 
 crossing breeds. It certainly is not so strong as a 
 %vaggon, nor so lightsome, or swift, as one of our 
 Highfliers ; but to much of the security and roomi- 
 ness of the former, it adds a very considerable pro- 
 portion of the celerity of the latter. There is, to be 
 sure, a great want of arrangement, of suitableness, 
 completeness, and nicety, visible about itself and all 
 its appurtenances ; but this, after the first disgust it 
 occasions is over, excites admiration of the dexterity 
 of the people who contrive to get on, in every thmg. 
 with the most awkward and insufficient means in the 
 world, very nearly as well as they do who are the 
 most exact and scrupulous in their preparations. Bu- 
 siness in England is conducted on a system, formed 
 ©f a regular division of labour, and an accurate cal- 
 culation of what means are required to produce cer- 
 tain ends : in France much is left to individual adroit- 
 pess, to shifts, to accident, and to putting the best 
 face on whatever may happen. Care is taken in Eng- 
 land to prepare well ; the French think little of this, 
 trusting to their quickness and cleverness when 
 emergencies occur. An English coachman consi- 
 ders himself as a part of a regular establishment, 
 called upon to fill only his own place, and discharge 
 
S7 
 
 iiis own duties. He accordingly conducts himself 
 with appropriate precision and self-consequence : he 
 arranges his great coat, and handles his handsome 
 whip, with the air of an official person, v/ho has cer- 
 tain ways of doing certain things, which he deems 
 as important as the things themselves; and if any 
 serious accident happens to his harness or horses, he 
 curses those of his brother functionaries in whose de- 
 partment the neglect has been committed. A French 
 postilion is more universal in his capacities, in pro- 
 portion as his administration is less denned, and his 
 means less complete. He is off and on his horse's 
 back twenty times in the course of one stage, with- 
 out ever stopping the vehicle. As ropes are likely to 
 break, he is not surprised or dismayed, if called upon 
 to mend those by which his horses are tied rather than 
 harnessed; and this he does with packthread, if he 
 happen to have any in his pocket, and with his garters 
 if he have not. If a passenger call, he dismounts, and 
 pops his head into the window as he runs by its side, 
 leaving the animals that draw the coach to their own 
 guidance ; a freedom which they are accustomed tOj 
 and therefore seldom abuse. You scarcely ever look 
 at him but you find him repairing an accident,^ — knot- 
 ting his whip, or mending his saddle, or joining a bri- 
 dle, or knocking some part of the machinery with a 
 stone picked up from the road. The progress of the 
 travellers does not stop while these repairs are mak- 
 ing ; — no embarrassment is discoverable; neither dis- 
 concertion nor anger takes place. The horses are ar- 
 
S8 
 
 ranged in a strange order : a few ropes loosely bind 
 three of them abreast as leaders, — one behind runs 
 between heavy shafts, and carries the postilion, and a 
 fifth is attached to the side of the latter, by the same 
 insufficient and coarse sort of tackle. The whole set, 
 except the one within the shafts, are thus free to cur- 
 vet, and prance, and zig-zag ; and they make a great 
 show of availing themselves of this liberty. In truth, 
 however, they are very tractable ; they get along at a 
 good pace, and readily obey the driver's whip (which 
 he employs more than his reins), notwithstanding the 
 impatience they pretend to shew by rampant pawings, 
 vehement snortings, and deviating plunges. The 
 horse in France generally displays the native and na- 
 tural appearance of that fine animal, which is seldom 
 seen in England. The particular breed of each pro- 
 vince is kept distinct, and in its pure state, and it ac- 
 cordingly evinces that original spirit and peculiarity 
 of disposition which constitute what is called charac- 
 ter, and which, putting utility out of the question, is 
 infinitely more interesting than combined qualitieo, 
 and made-up perfections. 
 
 A conductor is attached to each Diligence, whose 
 duties, if they were properly laid down, would an- 
 swer to those of our guards ; but his chi^f business, 
 according to his practice, is to sleep, closely shut up 
 in the Cabriolet (which is a covered seat in front), and 
 to take his place at the head of the table, with the 
 passengers, at their meals. This used to be custom- 
 ary in England : the stage-coachmen in our country, 
 
2d 
 
 Fifty years ago, wore large laced cocked hats, and held 
 it their province to carve for their living charge. 
 Probably they considered themselves as standing in a 
 sort of paternal relationship towards those who were 
 entrusted to their superin tendance for the journey,— 
 which, if it happened to be one of any great length, was 
 then a very serious matter. There is something ve- 
 ry primitive and simple in this custom : it proves 
 that people were not then so much in the habit, as^ 
 they are no v/, of regarding every thing as trifling, and 
 of looking with indifference at the skill which they> 
 do not possess. What is now called a trip from Lon- 
 don to Edinburgh, was then an occurrence that gave 
 interest and dignity to the remainder of a man's ex- 
 istence ; arid the personage who conducted this im- 
 portant movement, was looked up to as one w^hose re= 
 sponsible situation, and eminent attainm.ents, were 
 more than sufficient to make up for any inequality of 
 rank. England has now advanced beyond this feel- 
 ing ; her experience is so extensive, and her instru* 
 ments so complete, that almost all events and under- 
 takings have become to her common-place and easy. 
 She is no longer awe-struck by distance, and conse- 
 qviently has lost much of her respect for stage-coach- 
 men, whom she has sent from the parlour of the inn 
 to the kitchen. 
 
 France is still in a much earlier state : and hence 
 there is a raciness about the manners in her provinces^ 
 as well as a marked distinction between her classes, 
 "which cause her peasantry, and the inhabitants of her 
 
 c 2 
 
30 
 
 country towns, to bear a much nearer resemblance to 
 those of Scotland, than to those of England. This 
 resemblance in other respects struck me very forci- 
 bly ; it exists strongly in point of dress, and the dishes 
 which are presented at the inns have a very near re- 
 lationship to Scotch cookery. In these instances the 
 coincidence must be traced to the early connexion 
 between the two countries, of which every reader of 
 history knows. But their is also a Scotch air about 
 the inhabitants and country of Normandy. The fea- 
 tures of the former have much of the Scotch cast; 
 and the short-coated, bare-headed girls, the thin- 
 faced, rigid nerved men, the slovenly cottages, the 
 irregularities of cultivation, the non-descript appear- 
 ance of the people and animals that collect round the 
 Diligences at the post-houses, all concurred to bring 
 Scotland to my recollection. The beggars assisted 
 ;o do this : many of them were idiots : many paraly- 
 tics ;^-€very variety of human infirmity and distortion 
 made its appeal to compassion. ^Nlost of these in 
 England would have been confined in the parochial 
 receptacles for such sufferers, — but in Scothnd, as in 
 Trance, we perpetually meet with them in the roads 
 and streets. I do not mean to say, that mendicity is 
 not to be found Ln the southern division of the United 
 Kingdom ; — it is shamefully common, and the beg- 
 gars there are of the worst class, being the idle ra- 
 ther than the incapacitated, the profligate young, 
 leather than the exhausted old. Disease in England, 
 however, is seldom seen soliciting relief; it speedily 
 
31 
 
 becomes the object of regular provision ; whereas in 
 in Scotland you are not often importuned but by bodily 
 or mental derangement. The spectacle is, conse- 
 quently, more shocking, but the national character 
 suffers less in consequence. 
 
 The general aspect of the country between the 
 coast and the capital of France, especially that part 
 of it nearest the former, gives the idea of a kingdom 
 that has suffered ; that has been reduced from what 
 it was to what it is. It is apparent that something 
 has happened to it, which has not only stopped im- 
 provement, but actually removed its condition down- 
 wards. Many of the Chateaus are in ruins ; others 
 are inhabited by the poor, whose children were to be 
 seen playing in roofless and windowless summer- 
 houses, standing in desolate gardens, which give an 
 affecting token that calamity has befallen the original 
 possessors. There is something infinitely more me*- 
 lancholy in the appearance of that land, the capacities 
 of which are superior to the state of its inhabitants, 
 than of that Where the people are evidently cramped 
 and depressed by the deficiencies of nature, and in 
 the general absence of means. It is more pitiable to 
 see the human body falling away from its coverings, 
 than incommoded by overgrowing them. France, in 
 that part of it through which I travelled, is full of 
 signs that disorganization and destruction have been 
 at work. Neglected avenues, unemployed outhouses, 
 unappropriated means of various kinds, all tend to 
 shew that the population has been reduced in circum« 
 
33 
 
 stances as v/ell as in numbers. Large houses by the 
 road side are almost aeserted ; and their fev.' occu- 
 piers are of so mean and miserable a description, that 
 it is evident they must have been thrown into their 
 present places by some violence, that has removed 
 the natural owners from their proper spheres, and 
 filled their situations with those who are incompetent 
 to discharge their functions towards society. The 
 consequence is, a general appearance of impoverish- 
 ment and unsuitableness. To judge from such hasty 
 observation, as passincr along the roads and through 
 the towns vroulci permit, I should certainly say that 
 men were few in this part of the country of France ; 
 but although the fact is probable in itself, and affirmed 
 on better authority than I can offer in its support, I 
 do not wish to press ray testimony as adding any thing 
 to the evidence. 
 
 It is affirmed, indeed, and by those vrho may be 
 deemed good autb.orities, that the agricultural condi- 
 tion of France is much improved since the Revolu- 
 tion ; — in no less a ratio, it is said, than one-fifth. 
 The fact is certainly not improbable, nor at all incon- 
 sistent with what has been stated. In the first place, 
 agricultural science has made a considerable progress 
 in Europe generally within that period, and this must 
 have affected a considerable change for the better in 
 agricultui^al practice in France, as well as elsewhere, 
 had the old system continued : in the second, it is not 
 to be doubted that the breaking up of the large es- 
 tates, consequent on the destruction of the nobility. 
 
33 
 
 and the throwing of the land of France, in smaller 
 distributions, into the hands of persons of active ha- 
 bits, interested to render it as profitable as possible, 
 would be followed by an improvement of cultivation. 
 The question is, whether this increased production 
 of the earth, which certainly is in itself calculated to 
 be a source of increased national prosperity and indi- 
 vidual happiness, has in reality been so to this king- 
 dom ? It does not follow as a matter of course, that 
 the growth of grain, &:c. must render a people afPiuent 
 in their general condition ; for on this principle the 
 Indians, whose country produces gold and precious 
 stones, should be esteemed wealthier than the mer- 
 chants of Leadenhall-street. It does appear to me 
 that, as" yet, France has not reaped much benefit 
 from the alteration : there seem to have been coun- 
 teracting causes hitherto at work, thwarting the best 
 tendencies of what has resulted from her political 
 changes, — but these changes have certainly laid the 
 foundation for much future good, and under a wise 
 superintendance it cannot be long of appearing. 
 
 I ought to mention, that these observations chiefly 
 apply to the country between Dieppe and Rouen ; less 
 of the character in question is noticeable between 
 Rouen and Paris, — that is to say, it is less marked, 
 but the general cast of feature is the same. Yet, al- 
 though the condition of the people seemed lo^y5 I had 
 soon occasion to observe, that their spirits and man- 
 ners are of a lighter, and, according to first appear- 
 ances, of a more cordial quality than those of Eng- 
 
land. I had not travelled far before I was presented 
 with the sight of one of those rustic dances, which 
 almost inseparably connect themselves with our piea- 
 santest ideas of continental scenery, inasmuch as they 
 are a very favourite topic of description in the most 
 graceful fables, and most interesting narratives, that 
 have touched on continental customs. Perhaps the 
 reality did not appear quite so swimmingly elegant, 
 and elasticly joyous, as the fancy of the thing had 
 been. In Sterne's account of the dancing grace after 
 supper, the young men, if I recollect rightly, changed 
 their sabots, or wooden shoes, for others more neat 
 in their look, and more adapted to lively motion ; — but 
 on the road to Rouen they retained them. These gave 
 a heavy prancing air to the steps of the l^s ; nor 
 were the girls exactly the " creatures of the element ;'* 
 which in imagination trip on velvet verdure, with a 
 gaiety that has nothing of the coarseness of mirth, 
 and a tenderness that is purified from the grossness 
 of sense. It was evident enough that the gallantry of 
 these rural dancers was not a whit more sentimental 
 than we find it in the inn-yards of our great North- 
 road, when the passing coachmen pay their devoirs 
 to the expectant chambermaids. Nevertheless the 
 village dance of France is a very agreeable addition to 
 the other rural objects that salute the travelling stran- 
 ger. The old folks sitting with an air of ruminating 
 complacency by the side of the merry whirl, give a 
 family look to the group; and the youthful couples, all 
 animation, notwithstanding the utter absence of eata- 
 
35 
 
 bles and drinkables — (which are absolutely necessary 
 to even tolerable good humour when people meet in 
 England) — and all activity, notwithstanding the hea- 
 viness of their wooden shoes, afford a very striking 
 specimen of a nation, where the current of existence 
 glides lightly on, — taking a brisker turn from its im- 
 pediments, catching sparkles from its shallowness, 
 and throwing a dazzling effect around its deepest falls, 
 at the bottom of which it collects again to rush on- 
 ward in an undiminished, and even more ardent 
 stream. Personal deprivations, of most kinds, are, 
 probably, more numerous in France than in England ; 
 but it is certain that sorrow and suffering do not pre- 
 sent themselves so frequently to casual observation in 
 the former country as in the latter. The aggravations 
 of a harsh spirit are more common here than there : 
 the necessitous with us are perpetually quarrelling 
 and tormenting among themselves. The husband 
 spends his pittance in getting drunk, and then tum- 
 bles home to beat his wretched, and not very resigned 
 wife and children : cries and altercation are always 
 heard near the dwellings of our miserable ; but the 
 French poor are of a different temperament. Their 
 minds do not swell and chafe under the influence of 
 severe circumstances. This may be, and in my opi- 
 nion is, because they want depth; the storm that 
 throws the Atlantic into a terrible commotion, only 
 causes a few ripples on the surface of a garden pond; 
 the mere pleasure-boat, of course, rides most safely 
 ^.nd pleasantly on the latter,-— while the ocean, with 
 
.36 
 
 all lis dafigers and defonniues^ is the sphere ibr high 
 enterprize, and aSbrds the means for effecting the 
 noblest purposes. 
 
 As it grew dark we passed through some small 
 towns, in each of which we harried by sereral light- 
 ed-up houses of public reception, where crowds of 
 both sexes were assembledy — apparently adl courteous* 
 ness and de coram j — regaling with such weak beve- 
 rages as a very small beer, and coffee^ — and gratify- 
 ing the jiggish propensities of their nodnds bjr the 
 sound of Eddies. Tue labouring Englishman has but 
 little disposidon to regale himself in the company of 
 women, and is still less inclined to shew to his female 
 equals those forms of deference and gallant attentions, 
 which are parts of the established system of genteel 
 society. It would seem as if he spumed courtesy from 
 him in a bitter sense of its inapplicability to the neces- 
 sary coarseness of his conditioa. The quick feeling 
 of what is ridiculous and unsuitable, which distin- 
 guishes our people, has a tendency to mt^c them de- 
 ride all forms that are strongly contrasted to realities, 
 and to throw away with a desperate disdain, all that 
 finery of manner that is not of a-piece with their cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 As we approached to Rouen the road became a 
 straight avenue with trees on each side, which is ge- 
 nerally the case near the large towns of France. Ttie 
 uniformity of line which this presents to the eye after 
 awhile grows tiresome; but as objects ir. the neigh- 
 bourhood of cities must la some measure be associated 
 
87 
 
 with ideas of art and regularity, the stateliness and 
 preparation of these roads nnay be justified, although 
 certainly not on the principles of rural beauty. When 
 we came within a mile of the capital of Normandy, 
 we found large lamps hung over the centre of the 
 road by ropes passed completely across it, and fasten- 
 ed to the trees on each side. This is a mode of light- 
 ing which is generally adopted in France, and has its 
 origin in the exclusive consideration that was paid to 
 the wishes and interests of the higher classes. The 
 pedestrian must stumble on his way as he can, through 
 darkness and dirt, by the sides of the road or street : 
 neither footpath nor pavement is prepared for his ac- 
 commodation, and the light is thrown where it will be 
 of use to the occupier of the chariot. Even in tolera- 
 bly fine weather, the spectacle afforded by those who 
 ^valk in the country near Paris is pitiable. The wo- 
 men drag their legs, with long intervals between each 
 step, through deep and thick mud, and have often to 
 balance themselves on one, while the other carefully 
 dives into the chasm to slip the foot into a tenacious 
 shoe that has remained behind. Indictments of pa- 
 rishes and presentations by grand juries, are means 
 which we possess, and are not slack to use, for ensur- 
 ing public convenience and right. But they arise out 
 of the equality of our government, and are employed 
 under the influence of an established feeling of per- 
 sonal independence ; — in these we have yet the advan- 
 tage of our continental neighbours. 
 
 D 
 
38 
 
 The streets of Rouen were full of groupes collected 
 round ballad singers ; a crowd was streaming from the 
 theatre as we entered ; the cafes (coffee-houses) ap- 
 peared numerous and all thronged ; music was heard 
 in most of them ; games of chance were playing at 
 some of the tables 4 at others gallantry seemed the 
 order of the evening. I walked into a bookseller's 
 shop shortly after my arrival ; the person who attend- 
 ed, while I was looking at a set of Rousseau's works, 
 before words had been exchanged between us, put 
 into my hands, with a smirk and a bow, a miserable 
 book full of vulgar profligacy. Had he been taught, 
 by experience, that such presentations were likely to 
 be acceptable to the English travellers in his country ? 
 If we so account for his conduct, this anecdote is 
 enough to make us ashamed of ourselves. 
 
39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE chances of travelling th rev/ amongst our part^ 
 a young English shopkeeper, who had taken it into 
 his head to pay a visit to Paris of one week's duration. 
 He must, he said, be back to business by Monday, for 
 the bustling time was coming on. He knew not one 
 word of the French language, nor a single individual 
 in the French capital : his days and nights had been 
 devoted, not to Belles-Lettres, but to the ledger ; yet 
 he was decerminedi to see for himself what was fine in 
 the Louvre. This was the great object of his expedi- 
 tion, and it was disappointed, — for the Louvre was 
 shut against the public when he arrived, and he did 
 not stay long enough to enable us to fulfill our promise 
 of procuring him a permission to be admitted. He 
 was an excellent national specimen,^ of faults as well 
 as of good qualities,— and furnished some amusing 
 contrasts on the road ; so that his introduction here 
 will probably be held very excusable. Never were 
 instinctive cuiuosity, personal confidence, and regard- 
 less intrepidity, more conspicuous than in the travels 
 of this personage. He knew but one side of every 
 question, and he was as positive as if he had spent his 
 life in impartial examination ; he had provided for 
 nothing, but he was quite sure of finding himself com« 
 fortablein everything. He had not procured a pass- 
 
40 
 
 pprtj for he was certain passports were all nonsense j 
 - — they would never dare to stop an Englishman ; one 
 could travel all over England without a passport. He 
 had no letter of credit, or French money of any kind^ 
 but he had plenty of bank-notes, and he would like to 
 fee a Frenchman refuse a Bank of England note ! Of 
 course he was exposed to many difficulties, which, had 
 he been alone, he would have found very serious ; but 
 he treated them all with the utmost carelessness, and 
 attributed them to the awkwardness, and ignorance of 
 the people amongst whom he had come. 
 
 The first occurrence that a little shook his notion 
 that an Englishman might stride, like a superior be* 
 ing over France, just as he pleased, attending to none 
 of its customs or rules, and treated with respectful 
 submission by its inhabitants, — was the entrance of a 
 young French dragoon officer, of a fine commanding 
 figure, and authoritative expression of face, into the 
 Diligence. Our shopkeeper saluted him with just 
 such a look of familiar examination as that with which 
 Sir Joseph Bankes would regard an inhabitant of a 
 South Sea island on his first visit to Soho square : but 
 there was a checking haughtiness in the returned 
 glances that soon had its influence on the spirits and 
 behaviour of our countryman. The soldier, it was 
 easy to see, had no feeling of partiality towards the 
 foreigners he had accidentally joined : and he soon 
 explained the state of his mind in this respecr, by 
 pulling out of his pocket a snuff-box, on the top of 
 which there was a beautiful portrait of Napoleon in 
 
41 
 
 enamel. He carried his devotion so far as to bear about 
 his person another portrait of the same individual 
 suspended by a black ribbon, worn round his neck. 
 He was evidently a gentleman, and was the first we 
 had seen in France v/ho bore that assurance in his 
 external appearance : this circumstance I believe re- 
 pressed our companion far more than the fierce sword 
 and fiercer looks of the stranger. Besides, all that 
 our traveller had read in his country's newspapers of 
 that monster Buonaparte, rushed into his mind, and 
 to have before his eyes, and actually touching his 
 knees, a man who wore the pictures of such a wretch, 
 who clearly regretted his downfall, and who had most 
 probably taken a part in his dreadful deeds, quite be- 
 wildered the comprehension, and overpowered the 
 senses of the Englishman. He probably would not 
 have felt more alarmed or horror-struck if Doctor 
 Fausfcus, immediately after making over his soul to 
 the Devil, had sat down within six inches of him ; or if 
 one of those human beings who float down the Ganges, 
 devouring corpses, had come reeking from such a re- 
 past to breathe in his face, 
 
 ^riie officer resisted conversation with more firm- 
 ness than is usual in France : it generally happens 
 there that sulkiness soon gives way to loquacity, but 
 our military companion cut off the approaches to his 
 sentiments, and shut himself up in almost total incom- 
 municativeness. Once only he made an observation 
 which bore on the state of public afiairs ;• — and it was • 
 perfectly explanatory of the whole system of his think-^. 
 
 D 2 
 
42 
 
 ing — ^its causes as well as its condition. Something 
 was said to convey a civil compliment to France, in 
 an expression of satisfaction that she was now open to 
 the visits of Englishmen, and a hope was added, that 
 this pleasant intercourse might last, anci the tranquil- 
 lity of Europe remain uninterrupted — The remark 
 was not addressed to the officer, but he replied to it, 
 evidently under a strong impulse. "Very good, Gen- 
 tlemen, — this tranquillity of Europe is a fine thing, — 
 but will it not keep me '* ahvays a Cafitain?'^ Toujours 
 Ca/iitainej was the emphatic conclusion of this sudden 
 burst from taciturnity. 
 
 He did not long continue with us, and the traveller 
 of a week looked after him as he descended the steps 
 of the vehicle, as a man looks after the smoke of a 
 piece of artillery, that has suddenly gone off near him, 
 and startled him more through the influence of sur- 
 prise than of fear. Our countryman withdrew his 
 looks slowly from the disappearing object of his asto- 
 nishment, and then fixed his eyes on ours, as if to 
 say—" Well this is somethings, however !^^ To those 
 of us who had spoken to the Frenchman he address- 
 ed himself with that sort of admiring curiosity for 
 information, which the crowd, who visit a menagerie 
 of wild beasts, shew towards the man who dare put 
 his hand into the lion's mouth, and venture within 
 reach of the tiger's paw, " Did he really, then, like 
 Buonaparte?^' — " Had he been at Moscow ?" — " Was 
 he likely to rebel against Louis the Eighteenth ?" 
 
 But this serious surprise over, there was some- 
 
43 
 
 tiling indiscribabiy droll in the easy scorn with which 
 the person in question encountered all the novelties 
 that the roads of France presented, — except indeed 
 the novelties of the table, against which he seriously 
 protested, and for some time maintained a very de- 
 termined resistance, repulsing from him fricaseed 
 pullets and stewed veal, with a haughty disdain, until 
 he was subdued by hunger, as many other indepen- 
 dent spirits have been before him. From the cups, 
 too, in which coffee was served up, he shrunk a lit- 
 tle at first, in as much as they struck him as being 
 very like those that hold pomatum in England : but, 
 with all these prejudices, there was an apparent de- 
 termination about him to see and think for himself, 
 which denoted an active and not a weak mind : it 
 seemed, from his manner, as if he felt it due to his 
 country, while he was absent from her, to laugh at, 
 or abuse every thing that differed from her customs, 
 but that he would after his reiurn, ponder upon what 
 he had seen in a more impartial spirit than that in 
 which he had observed. 
 
 At one oF the stages on tlie road to Paris a friend 
 fell into conversation with a Frenchman advanced be- 
 yond the middle age, who soon discovered that he 
 was, and had been, a faithful adherent to the family 
 of the Bourbons ; nor had the short period of their 
 return yet removed from his manner that air of re- 
 pressed feeling, and concealed opinion,— of trembling 
 suspicion, and shrinking caution, — which arises from 
 a consciousness of belonging to a beaten and anobnox- 
 
44 
 
 ious party. If this bear with it the expression of 
 weakness, the unchanging devotion and resigned en- 
 durance with which it is coupled, cause the general 
 character to take an elevation from its very depression, 
 and a grandeur from its very infirmities. , This relic 
 of a destroyed system, deeming the inn an unfit place 
 for conversation, took the strangers home to his small 
 cottage, to talk fondly of the reviving lilies, and in- 
 quire anxiously whether the sufferings of twenty years 
 were now to be succeeded by ample restoration and 
 special favour. Here they found assembled an inter- 
 esting French family : the grandmother bent with age, 
 sat beside a wood fire ; the wife rose to receive them 
 with a look full of recollections of ^ the past, and 
 a manner uniting ease with reserve and distance 
 with affability. A fine youth, her son, and two 
 little children completed the groupe. Mingled with 
 the politeness of the reception there could be seen an 
 expression of interrogation and surprise, denoting 
 that for a long time they had been unaccustomed to 
 visitings, that the routine of their lives had for years 
 been narrow and unvaried, and had at length produced 
 an effect on their minds, causing them to think much 
 of trifles, and wonder at that which had but little in it 
 of the remarkable. The children came up to the 
 strangers and touched their clothes, as curious per- 
 sons touch a suit of armour in the tower. The heads 
 of this family had lived out all the horrors of the 
 temps de la terreur^ but they had suffered much ; 
 and, as if a fondness for alarm had arisen out of the 
 
45 
 
 troubles they had experienced, they permitted them- 
 selves to be thrown into needless consternation by the 
 advance of the AllieS) — packing up all their little 
 matters to get out of the way, although the armies 
 were by no means near their part of the country. 
 The mentioning the name of Louis XVI. forcibly 
 shot a pang across their frames ; and when Louis 
 XVIIL was spoken of, it seemed to give them but 
 small assurance of better days. They appeared to 
 to feel as if 
 
 " Affliction were enamour'd of their parts, 
 ** And they were wedded to calamity,'* 
 
 The Frenchman, with something of a consequential 
 bustle led the way up stairs to what he called his 
 study ; the room was full of stuffed specimens of all 
 the birds and animals of his neighbourhood, weasels, 
 hawks, pigeons, Sec. — together with shells, stones 
 and grottos, artificial flowers, curious watches and 
 time pieces. He pointed to his treasures with silent 
 looks that rested complacently on them, on his 
 companions, and on himself; and after permitting ad- 
 miration to indulge itself a while, he said, it was thus 
 he amused his leisure hours. It was afterwards 
 found, that he had furnished almost every house in 
 the village in the same way : the villagers were ena- 
 bled to decorate their chimney-pieces as museums by 
 his bounty. On descending again one of the family ask- 
 ed if their guests would like to see one of their own 
 countrywomen w^ho lived in the neighbourhood. She 
 
46 
 
 was sent for immediately, — and the children got close 
 to hear English spoken ; but this female emigrant had 
 almost forgotten her native language, and seemed 
 more embarrassed than pleased by the rencontre. 
 
 Beyond Rouen the road was lined with apple and 
 pear trees ; and as we came nearer to Paris, the vine- 
 yards spread themselves on each side, throwing a fine 
 tint over the face of the country by their broad leaves 
 turned to a- reddish yellow in the decline of the Au- 
 tumn. Many objects gave notice of our approach to 
 the capital; and some of us became restlessly thought- 
 ful in consequence. At last a Frenchman pointed out 
 Montmartre ; taking care to explain to us, as stran- 
 gers, why he requested particular attention to it, by 
 a reference to the battle that placed Paris in the pow- 
 er of the Allies, and caused the overthrow of Buona- 
 parte's government. We replied that we had heard 
 of the circumstances before, — and we felt as if it were 
 pleasanter, for a little while at first, to contemplate 
 what we saw, than to hear it described. 
 
47 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE great strength of that attraction which has 
 drawn so many thousands from these Islands to the 
 capital of France, is not, I apprehend, so much the 
 influence of what are generally understood by the 
 term curiosities ; — it chiefly arises, if I mistake not, 
 out of the strange events of the times that are just 
 past. These have given to the kingdom in question, 
 a character of the romantic class in our public's esti- 
 mation. They regarded it during the season of their 
 exclusion, with sentiments of wonder, certainly not 
 unmingled with awe ; — they knew it only in tremen- 
 dous results, as a volcano is known : the interior pro- 
 cess, by which these were produced, was hidden from 
 their eyes, and formed the subject of many an anx- 
 ious but uncertain speculation. It was natural, there- 
 fore, that they should rush towards it at the first mo- 
 ment of admission, impelled by that intense feeling 
 which the mind experiences, when the scenes of great 
 agitations, of remarkable occurrences, or the seats of 
 formidable beings, are suddenly rendered accessible, 
 after they have been for a long period watched with 
 ceaseless vigilance, but defended from observation by 
 imminent danger. One would eagerly go to see the 
 l^ir from which the lion had just been driven : his 
 
48 
 
 late presence would be sufficient to direct breathless 
 curiosity to even the commonest weeds and bushes. 
 The blank sand left by a deluge, is calculated to ex- 
 cite the sublimest emotions; and an opening in the 
 earth, filled with stagnant water, which we should 
 pass unnoticed if uninformed of its origin, rivets our 
 steps, and suggests almost endless meditation, when 
 we learn that it is the .effect of an earthquake that 
 has caused the disappearance of cities, and spread 
 terror and destruction through provinces. 
 
 Paris possesses this sort of moral and historical in- 
 terest in the greatest degree : but it is also rich in 
 what is calculated to strike the eye by picturesque 
 and grand effect ; to satisfy the sensualist, by supply- 
 ing various and artful enjoyment; to delight the gay, 
 by dispensing a profusion of captivatiing pleasures ; 
 to gratify the tasteful, by a combination of skill, ele- 
 gance, and feeling ; to suggest reflection, and pleas- 
 ingly employ research, by effigying the events of a 
 far distant date, and picturing manners that have long 
 been obsolete ; to administer to the wants of the scho- 
 lar, by supplying vast collected stores of all the mate- 
 rials of human knowledge ; and, in fine, to afford an 
 unmatchable treat to the student of mankind, by dis- 
 covering and even displaying to immediate observa- 
 tion, all that can give a thorough insight into charac* 
 terand condition. 
 
 This last circumstance forms the most extraordina- 
 ry peculiarity of Paris. Compared with the cities of 
 most other countries, it is like a glass bee-hive com- 
 
19 
 
 pared with those that are made of straw. You sec, 
 without trouble, into all its hoards ;— all its creatures, 
 perform all their operations full in the face of all ; 
 what others consign to secrecy and silence, they throw 
 open to daylight, and surround with the buzzing of flut- 
 tering swarms. Of the French, or, at least, of the 
 French of the capital, it may be said, that the essence of 
 their existence is a consciousness of being observed. Peo- 
 ple, ifl general, permit this only to take its place with 
 various motives and feelings that check each other, 
 and produce a mixed conduct, — in which a person 
 lives a little for his forefathers, a little for himself, a 
 little for his family, a little for his friends, a little for 
 the public, and a little for posterity. But the Pari- 
 sians, (for to them I confine my remarks, as they are 
 the only specimen of the nation with which I am ac- 
 quainted), live only for the bustle and notice of pre- 
 sent society. Hence it is, that they have not a notion 
 of retirement, even where they dress and sleep, but, 
 at the expense of much convenience, receive compa- 
 ny in their bed-rooms, which are furnislied according- 
 ly : hence the cleverest individuals are not happy, un- 
 less they mingle with the silliest in coteries : hence 
 Paris is full of literary societies, libraries, institutes, 
 museums. Sec. : hence every thing choice that it pos- 
 sesses is made a common exhibition of; and the mul- 
 titude are invited to examine that which philosophers 
 only can understand, and admire that the beauties of 
 which can be only appreciated by cultivated intellect^ 
 guided by refined taste. 
 
50 
 
 The effect of all this display is striking in the ex- 
 treme ; and further, it is most advantageous for stran- 
 gers. The value of the character that occasions it is 
 a matter for after consideration. It will occur, howe- 
 ver, to every one, at the instant, that, although it is ve- 
 ry desirable to have living models of female beauty 
 exposed for the use of the artist^ the obliging crea- 
 tures who so expose themselves, do not occupy the 
 highest place in our esteem.^ — It may be asked, — and 
 the Parisians will ask, with much sincerity, — what are 
 graces and charms given for, if they are not to be 
 brought out to notice ? One must be very metaphy- 
 sical to answer this question in form, — and the sound 
 feelings of my readers will sufficiently answer it for 
 themselves in substance. 
 
 The present work isN intended to connect the sepa- 
 rate sources of interest that have been adverted to, 
 more closely than has yet been done ; so that each ob- 
 ject in Paris may bear on the mind with a force, con- 
 centrated from all of them that are in any wise appli- 
 cable to itself The view of external magnificence 
 may be rendered much more touching by a reference 
 to the complications and reverses of human fortune 
 of which the interior has been the scene. A common 
 lamp-post is worth a look, when pointed out as the in- 
 strument of revolutionary execution. A parade in the 
 Place de Carousal may be rendered interesting to 
 more than drill-serjeants, by calling up the recollec- 
 tion, that the men who are now practisinsr the lock- 
 step in front of the window of Louis XVIII. are 
 
51 
 
 those who tiireatened England from the shores of Bou- 
 logne, who blew up the Kremlin, and retired through 
 all the horrors of war and winter, under the stan- 
 dards of Buonaparte ! If a juggler's exhibition on 
 ihe Boulevardc^ can be made to illustrate a character- 
 istic feature of the people among whom it takes 
 place, let us stop with the children to look at the 
 tricks. Even the high and huge bonnets of the French 
 females, I must candidly say, although my country- 
 women may frown, contain matters well worthy of re- 
 gard ; and it is not the legs of the ladies alone that 
 are exposed in Paris by the dirtiness of the streets^ 
 and the want of pavement. 
 
 A living author, speaking of Rome, says, that " he 
 who delights to range in thought over the past, and 
 to converse with the great of ancient times, will here 
 find an inexhaustible fund of information in every 
 street, and the memory of some noble achievement or 
 illustrious person meeting him at every turn." The his- 
 torical associations with the streets and buildings of Pa- 
 ris, in the mind of a stranger, are not of so agreeable a 
 nature. To rake into the ashes of the past, merely to 
 find something offensive, is not either a dignified or a 
 humane occupation ; but we may be permitted to de- 
 scend among the foulest vestiges of disease and death, 
 for the sake of deriving from them useful instruction 
 and striking examples. It is due to truth, — and it seems 
 to me absolutely required by present circumstances,-— 
 to state, t^at the impressions which Paris makes on ths 
 
feelings of him who for the first time approaches iis 
 barriers, do not at all coincide with the favourite boasts 
 of its people, nor support that splendid national cha- 
 r^acter, which, notwithstanding all the acknowledged 
 national faults, they persist in thinking the predomi- 
 nating distinction of France, in the eyes of an admir- 
 ing world. In their capital, it is true, are collected 
 all the trophies and commemorations of their arms, — 
 the glory of which, as they fancy, strikes out with a 
 lustre that obscures every thing but itself. In it are 
 amasssd the choicest treasures of art, that have been 
 taken from their native and natural seals, to excite the 
 wonder of crowds instead of the sensibility of a few, 
 — ^and, like other exotics, to be the objects of formal 
 care and magnificent accommodation that ill repay 
 them for what they have lost :— and in it are Palaces, 
 Pillars, Scavans, Theatres, Gardens, which a Parisian, 
 who carries Lemonade on his back, will tell you ren- 
 ders Paris indisputably the Athens of Europe. But 
 although a stranger knows he is arriving at all this, 
 it is not any of it that is first suggested to him by 
 what he sees and recollects of this famous place. 
 Bloodshed, fickleness, and falsehood, are the over- 
 powering ideas that rise in his mind on this occasion, 
 and, however indisposed he may be to illiberal im- 
 pressions, he feels that he is entering ivhere nothing is 
 secure, or can afford security. This is the most iiorri- 
 ble of all feelings ; and Paris inspires it more than 
 any other habitable spot on the globe. Go where one 
 will elsewhere, there will appear some *ifespected 
 
53 
 
 ground, on which he who gets a foothig will be safe;, 
 there will appear some sheltering, if it even be un- 
 der gross prejudices, or be only derivable fron; the 
 factious spirit of one party eager to disappoint the 
 passions of another. In Turkey the cry of Allah / 
 will ensure good treatment : to be received as a soa 
 by the fiercest x\merican tribe, it is only necessary 
 for a stranger to bear suffocation over kindled straw, 
 and allow his body to be the bed of a chevaux de 
 frize of lighted matches : the Hottentots, though th^y 
 might be tempted to commit outrage by a cordon bleu 
 and gold cross, never forget the respect that is due to 
 a patch of filth stuck upon some conspicuous part of 
 the human figure : even 
 
 " Tbe Cannibals that each other eat, 
 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow heneath their shoulders," 
 
 will in general give protection in return for a confor-' 
 mity to their standards of manners, and codes of mo- 
 rals. But Paris does not present you with one system 
 of opinions, or course of conduct, that has not, — (I do > 
 not mean in the lapse of years, naturally causing a 
 progress, or, if you will, a change of sentiment, — but 
 in the mere freak of the day, lasting but for the day,) 
 betrayed those to destruction who trusted to its popu- 
 larity. 
 
 Just before reaching this Capital, the traveller 
 passes through the town of Saint Denis, which may 
 be almost said to form one of its suburbs. Here 
 
 E 2 
 
54 
 
 stands the 'famous and beautiful Abbey, which had 
 from its foundation in the early a^es been the mauso- 
 leum of the Sovereigns of France, till the 10th of 
 August, 1793^ when the Parisians assembled in the 
 C/iam/is Elisees to celebrate, by what they called a na- 
 tional festival, the Acceptance of one of their new 
 constitutional codes. The arrangement of this civic 
 fete was entrusted to David the Painter, who has not 
 yet got rid of the impressions of that period, but stiii 
 gives us, on his canvasses. Assassins for heroes, and 
 Butchers for patriots It has been described as com- 
 bining all the absurdities of Pagan idolatry with the 
 most ridiculous mummeries of corrupted worship; 
 fraternal kisses were mingled on mouths that had ac- 
 tually drank the blood and gnawed the flesh of their 
 fellow creatures; the Commissioners of the Sections 
 grasped the olive branch in one hand, and the in- 
 crusted pike in the other ; and as a hit of amiable 
 sentiment, which must always be introduced by the 
 French in whi^ever they do, birds were set free, with 
 light collars on their necks, inscribed with the rights* 
 of man, that in their flii^ht they might carry to Hea- 
 ven from the Jacobin club, and the crowd of Septem- 
 ber murderers, " testimonials of the restoration of 
 liberty and happiness on earth 1" It was on this day, 
 that the worshippers of the National Genius, and the 
 invokers of the National Spirit, proceeded to Saint 
 Denis to consummate their national celebration by 
 dismantling its fine and venerable Abbey, destroying 
 the tombs of their kings and heroes, disinterring their 
 
. DO 
 
 ' i 
 
 remains, and administering to the wanton merriment 
 of the rabble by furnishing them with the skull of 
 Henry the IV. to use as a football. These are among 
 the first recollections suggested to the traveller by 
 what he sees in the neighbourhood of Paris ; — and 
 they make him feel, I repeat, that he is going where 
 there is nothing secure, or that can afford security ; 
 for what confidence of any kind can exist among 
 those, who, in the vanity of the present, lose all re- 
 spect, affection, and even tolerance for the past, who 
 reconcile what is most atrocious in practice to the 
 boast of fine principle, who commit the meanest ac- 
 tions in the proudest feeling of vain glory, and the 
 most cruel, without for an instant doubting that they 
 are models and mirrors of polished politeness. 
 
 The traveller, proceeding onward from Saint De- 
 nis, arrives at the barrier of Paris on that side. It is 
 guarded by Douaniers and Military ; the former are 
 provided with steel weapons, very much like small 
 swords, to probe into the loading of waggons, Sec. for 
 contraband goods. The stoppage here, the appear- 
 ance of the instruments of authority, all so much 
 harsher and absolute in their air than those to which 
 he has been accustomed, and the long prospect up the 
 narrow and dirty Rue du Fauxbourg Saint Denis^ 
 crowded with persons of the lower orders in singular 
 costumes, do not remove from the Englishman, arriv- 
 ing in the dusk of the evening, the impressions which ^ 
 the town of Sailit Denis occasioned. The lofty houses, 
 on the contrary, seem to frown blackly on him as he 
 
56 
 
 passes, — and, glancing back his eye at the barrier, he 
 almost shrinks to find that he is within it. He re- 
 members that it used to be shut, to the destruction of 
 numbers, at the sound of the Cannon and the Tocsin, 
 those terrible signals of confusion and slaughter — 
 signals at which the good trembled and retired sadly 
 within their houses, to wait the infliction of some new 
 enormity, — and which called forth the bad' to organize 
 depredation and carnage. 
 
 Still advancing, his carriage passes under the iiorte 
 Saint Denis. This is a fine massive piece of archi- 
 tecture, simply grand, and gives to the English tra- 
 veller the first proof that he is entering a city where 
 much attention has been devoted to external decora- 
 tion, and the magnificence of the buildings has long 
 been considered a favourite object of the government's 
 care, and the nation's pride. It is seventy-two feet 
 high, by seventy-two wide. The bas-reliefs, See. 
 were in part executed by the famous Girardon, who 
 was only prevented from completing them by being 
 called off to achieve the splendid glories of Ver- 
 sailles. This erection, which is more properly a tri- 
 umphal arch than the gate of a town, was built to the 
 honour of the victories of Louis the Fourteenth. The 
 rapidity of this monarch's conquests in 1672, says its 
 historian, — the passage of the Rhine, and forty strong 
 places and three provinces submitting to the laws of 
 the Conqueror in the space of two months, induced 
 the town of Paris to elevate to him a new monument. 
 Like every other monument which Paris contains, it 
 
57 
 
 now principally commemorates the ingratitude and in- 
 consistency of the people. The inscriptions in ho- 
 nour of Louis were destroyed, as a French writer 
 says, " par le delire revoluiionnaire,'' Buonaparte, 
 with his usual feeling for justice, and magnanimous 
 regard for the glory of others, had his own name in- 
 scribed on the entablature ; and, under some of the 
 letters indicating the late existence of his imperial- 
 tyranny, there were still to be seen relics of the reign 
 of terror, in bits of the words Liberie, Egalite. They 
 almost seemed to have been left purposely by those 
 employed to make the last alteration, as a visible re- 
 proach to their countrymen, who, in improving their 
 condition, have never stopped short of the opposite 
 extremes of impropriety, and whose vanity has never 
 been checked from emblazoning their present moods, 
 and their fashionable systems, in all the grandeur of 
 decoration, and the tinsel of language, by the circum- 
 staiice of their all in turn heaping disgrace on their 
 predecessors. The Porta Saint De7iis, when I pass- 
 ed under it, was, in consequence of the restoration of 
 the Bourbons, returning back to its original office of 
 displaying the trophies of Louis the Fourteenth I 
 The better way would be to leave niches in these pub- 
 lic monuments, in which different heads and names 
 might be slid as occasion requires, in the same way as 
 the ever-changing days of the month are slid into the 
 dial-plates of our clocks. 
 
58 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 WE have an English comedy — (not a very good 
 one) — in which a v/orthy London citizen who has been 
 led into Wales, professes the utmost astonishment 
 that any one can see beauty in black and rough-look- 
 ing hills, with torrents impeded by stones, and rushing 
 between irregular banks, falling down their sides. He 
 appeals to the smooth and level mall, and the care- 
 fully preserved canal of St. James's Park, which he 
 says are called fine by good judges, to prove that their 
 immediate opposites must be deformities. My rea- 
 ders, therefore, who are checking this account of 
 Paris by their own notions, formed on the spot of ob- 
 servation, must not even be surprised, far less angry, 
 if they Rnd that I totally dissent from the statements 
 they have been giving to their friends. I met with 
 many English there, who could see nothing but that 
 the streets were narrow and dirty, and that the fronts 
 of the houses wanted white-washing, their stairs scour- 
 ing, and their doors scraping and scrubbing. Agree- 
 ing with all this, and granting the comfort and respec- 
 tability accruing from these observances, I nuist ne- 
 vertheless pronounce Paris to be a most magnificent 
 place. The views which it presents are of the most 
 touching and grand kind ; its appearances are interest- 
 ing beyond any thing I could before have fancied. The 
 
59 
 
 chief reason of this is, that character is indicated by 
 ahuost every surface. A system of things, calculated, 
 with reference to the whole, to produce the greatest 
 aggregate amount of convenience and completeness 
 of every kind, tames down and restrains the manifes- 
 tations of individual peculiarities. This prevails much 
 more in England than in France, — and more in London 
 than in Paris. The consequence is, that, in the Eng- 
 lish capital, your ideas and feelings are less frequent- 
 ly and forcibly excited than in the French. 
 
 The first sally forth of a stranger in Paris, will pro- 
 bably bring him almost immediately on the Boule- 
 varde, and here he will be forcibly struck by a mass of 
 novelty. The Boulevarde goes round Paris, and was 
 originally its boundary, but the extension of the city 
 has, in many places, rendered it central, and it is so 
 in the most fashionable and frequented quarters, 
 namely, those nearest the palaces and the theatres. 
 It is, in fact, now, a superb street of great breadth, 
 lined on each side with trees, between which and the 
 houses, gravelled walks have been made for the foot- 
 passengers. The general effect here is very fine. The 
 eye cannot reach to any termination of the Boulevarde; 
 and in the distance, the trees according to the laws of 
 perspective, appear to unite their branches in anarch, 
 overshadowing with their foliage the hurrying groupes 
 of men, and women, and horses, and carts, and car- 
 riages, that are perpetually streaming to and fro be- 
 neath. By moonlight this forms a very grand picture, 
 
60 
 
 and suggests a confession, that London has nothing so 
 fine in this way. 
 
 The best streets of the English metropolis, owe 
 their beauty, in our estimation, to their possessing 
 those qualities that raise ideas of opulence, comfort, 
 reasonableness and general utility : the Parisian Bou- 
 levarde is interesting in strong contrasts, picturesque 
 in inconsistencies, grand in size, and overpowering 
 through animation. The houses rise to twice tha 
 height of ours; they are of stone, and their architec- 
 ture is generally elaborate. There appear here no 
 signs of building rows by contract with the brick- 
 layers, nor any necessity for prescribing by a law, 
 what shall be the thickness of a party wall. Turn 
 your eyes whichsoever way you will, they are met by 
 broad fronts, decorated with frieses, cornices, pillars, 
 pilasters, and balconies, and rising to a height that to 
 a stranger seems stupendous. The chimneys, as the 
 end of amass of buildings presents itself, seem clus- 
 tered turrets and battlements. The streets that open 
 from the Bouievarde, appear to dart into a peopled 
 and swarming confusion and uncertainty ; they pro- 
 mise, as it were, to lead to something which cannot 
 be foretold from their entrance, instead of being, 
 what all the principal streets are in London, self-inti- 
 mators that they are lines of receptacles for trade and 
 property, and regular domestic life. This character 
 of the French streets arises from their narrowness, as 
 contrasted with the height of the massive houses on 
 
61 
 
 eacii side, and oihcr assemblages together of features, 
 v/hichj in England, arc seldom or never seen near each 
 other. Thus, a grand gateway would prepare the 
 English visitor for the mansion of a family of rank, 
 were it not that the court to which it leads, is filled 
 with litter and dirt, that the doors are open and filthy, 
 and the persons who appear around them, ill-dressed 
 and in every way unsuitable. Has the house, then, 
 been deserted by its original magnificernce, and fallen, 
 in a ruined state, into the possession of the needy, who 
 herd in its dilapidated rooms ? No, not so exactly ; for 
 a carriage waits to receive the inmate of the first 
 floor, — a Marquis in an old coat, silk stockings, and 
 a cross ;— a cabriolet, (or one horse chaise) is in at- 
 tendance for the occupier of the second, — a Colonel in 
 a coloured waistcoat and a regimental coat ; — from 
 the third, a person walks down in non-descript attu'e, 
 which, however, indicates him to belong mostly to 
 the military class, although, perhaps, at that moment? 
 neither his profession nor his rank could be very easily- 
 defined; — a milliner, with a band-box, trips from the 
 fourth, — and some miserable dependant on the chances 
 of the day, descen.ds from the fifth. 
 
 This miscellaneous congregation is at present only 
 alluded to give an idea of that air of uncertainty and 
 inconsistency which strikes the English visitor i:i the 
 aspect of the houses, and of the streets of Paris. He 
 s surprised to find, when he first wishes to caiL on 
 some of the most distinguished personages in fashion- 
 able or political life, that he is taken to a street, which 
 
 F 
 
6^ 
 
 bears, to his eye, every mark of being exclusivei} 
 devoted to the poor and the vulgar, and the contrast 
 ietween this situation, selected for the abode of a 
 member of the higher orders of society in Paris, and 
 the places and squares which they occupy in the Eng- 
 lish metropolis, gives him no favorable impression in 
 behalf of the tasteful feelings, and orderly habits of 
 those among whom he has come. 
 
 Proceeding from the Boulevarde to the Tuilleries, 
 we pass through the Place Vendome. It is to be con- 
 sidered as one of the squares, of which there are very 
 few in Paris in comparison with London ; and it is sadly 
 deficient in that air of decorous elegance and com- 
 pleteness, which is the result of a feeling for respec- 
 tability and propriety of appearance, as well as for 
 mere enjoyment. This feeling might not unfairly be 
 traced to a system of society, settled and refined by 
 public independence and political strength, which 
 confer a sense of individual importance and security. 
 The Place Vendome has no pavement for promena- 
 ders, but the houses around it are uniform and grand 
 in their architecture, while their doors, v/indow 
 frames, and external blinds, are neglected and dirty 
 Instead of being in the entire occupation of wealthy 
 and established families, as in a similar situation they 
 would be in the capital of England, they are each let 
 out in portions, the first floors at the rate of six hun- 
 dred francs per month, (about thirty pounds) the attics 
 at forty francs. Thus, those who can afford to pay 
 three hundred and sixty poimds a year for rent, share 
 
(58 
 
 their stair-cases and entrances with the water carriers., 
 duns, and visitors of those who pay but twenty-five. 
 In the centre of the Place Vendome, there is no en- 
 closed shrubbery, opening into lawns, carefully cut 
 and intersected with gravel walks nicely rolled^ 
 amongst which are to be seen, taking healthful exer- 
 cise, attended by neat looking domestics, the simply 
 drest children of an ancient and undisturbed nobility, 
 and of their neighbours, and equals in public estima- 
 tion, the opulent commercialists and the successful 
 followers of professions. But, in the centre of the 
 Place Vendome there rises, wiiat is as characteristic 
 of Paris as these are of London, the famous pillar 
 erected by Napoleon in honor of his own victories, 
 encased wdth cannon taken from the Austrians ; and, 
 with a due regard to the classical, modelled by Mes- 
 sieurs les Artists^ after the pillar of Trajan at Rome. 
 It was, I believe, on the spot now so occupied, that 
 there formerly stood a statue of Louis the XIV., which 
 is memorable for its inscription viro immortally and its 
 representations of the nations of Europe crouched as 
 timid and subdued suppliants around the pedestaK 
 After this was put up, and the French, as enslaved 
 subjects, had solaced their vanity w^ith their tyrant's 
 gasconade, Eugene and Marlborough raised the na- 
 tions of Europe from the suppliant to the commanding 
 attitude, and exerted themselves with such effect, that 
 the immortal man died wretched, defeated, disgraced, 
 himself trembling under the horroi^s of superstitioD, 
 and his country plunged into calamities through his 
 
61 
 
 inability to repel the consequences of his provoca- 
 tions. 
 
 Louis the XIV., and his statue, as the humbler of 
 Europe, and his descendants as the kmgs of France, 
 were soon all alike removed from tlie scene, and the 
 engraved view, before me while lam writing, of the 
 Place Vendome and the column in its centre, describes 
 the latter as belonging to His Majesty Napoleon, 
 Emperor of the French, and King of Italy, His sta- 
 tue, too, in this engraving, stands proudly on its pin- 
 nacle, grasping the sceptre of Imperial command, 
 overlooking his good and devoted city of Paris, and 
 surmounting the defeated Austrians. But, alas I the 
 Austrians had been in Paris as conquerors, before I 
 paid my visit to that Capital, and I saw nothing of the 
 ::tatue of Napoleon ! A white flag was waving on the 
 top of the column, towards which, no one seeme^d to 
 cast an abashed face, as a signal that he, too, had, in 
 the common course of French affairs, been removed, 
 and that the Bourbons were restored ; — a fine commen- 
 tary on ail we had been hearing, during the last ten 
 years, of "eternal destinies,'* an invincible hero, 
 " commanding fate," SvC. See. 
 
 The colunan in qu:jstion is one hundred and forty 
 feet highj so that it is considerably inferior, in respect 
 of elevation, to the "^Hali bully," which lifts his head to 
 the extent of two hundred and two feet, near London 
 Bridge. Nor do I think the general cfTect of the 
 French trophy, though copied from a Roman monu- 
 ment, grander than that of the English, which v/e owe- 
 
65 
 
 to Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of Saint Paul's; 
 but it may be said to be finer as a work of art, in con- 
 sequence of the admirable figures in relief, which 
 have been cast in brass, and which run upwards to its 
 capital in a spiral line. These are formed of the can- 
 non taken at Ulm and Austerlitz, and express the 
 principal actions of that wonderful though short war. 
 It maybe worth mentioning, that the Emperor thought 
 it proper to immortalize on this monument, a person, 
 called in the printed account, young Dubois^ and de- 
 scribed as the celebrated chrystal flute player : — this 
 musical hero was probably no more than fifer to his 
 regiment, but he is represented at the head of his 
 corps in every engagement, occupied most assiduously 
 with his instrument, although it certainly could not 
 have fair play v/ith an accompaniment of batteries of 
 cannon. This circumstance cannot be considered tri- 
 fling, inasmuch, as it is an indication of a system^ 
 which gave room for the hopes of every individual as 
 to personal distinction, and thus assured to the state^ 
 :he full vigour of the people. Denon superintended 
 the conslructicn of this column, and a long account is 
 given of the difficulties that attended the raising and 
 fixing of the stupendous brass work. 
 
 The Columna Trajana^ of which that in the Place 
 Vendome is an imitation, is formed of thirty-four 
 blocks of white marble, and its line of sculpture con- 
 tains two thousand five hundred human figures, of 
 two feet average height. The French, when tiiey 
 were masters of Rome, designed to remove this bulky 
 
 r 2 
 
66 
 
 masterpiece to Paris, as they have removed more 
 portable ones. No opportunity should be lost to re» 
 probate the spirit of selfishness thus evinced ;— -a spi- 
 rit which is directly opposed to all those sensibilities, 
 for exciting which fine art is chiefly valuable. What 
 they pretend is admiration of genius, and on the 
 strength of which they vaunt themselves as the most 
 elegant-minded nation of Europe, is, in fact, mere 
 self-admiration, which makes them think that no- 
 thing exquisite can be in its place unless it be in Pa- 
 ris, and that no associations can be so suitable for 
 what is refined and beautiful, as those which are sup- 
 plied by the neighbourhood of the gambling houses, 
 restaurateurs, and bijouterie shops of the Palais 
 Royal ! This national feeling, coupled with inordinate 
 individual vanity, has caused them to be the greatest 
 mutilators and disturbers of fine art, which they pro- 
 fess to have taken under their necessary protection 
 and patronage, that the world has ever seen. The 
 Columna Trajana would have been half destroyed by 
 its removal ; — but what then ? In their estimation, it 
 would have been more honoured as a fragment in Pa- 
 ris, than standing in the completeness of its sublime 
 symmetry in Rome. It would have been put up, (or 
 at least what was left of it,) in some one of the public 
 situations of the French capital, to form a height for 
 some figure to fall from, when the hour for tumbling 
 it down arrived, and to give some confident inhabitant 
 of t\\e Sorbonne an opportunity of exerting his fancied 
 superiority to those who formed the original, by re- 
 
67 
 
 pairing the damages occasioned by the robbery. When 
 Canova, the great living sculptor, was requested by 
 Lord Elgin to supply the destroyed parts of the Greek 
 statues which have been defaced by the Turks, and 
 the remnants of which his Lordship has very properly 
 rescued from their brutality, the consummate artist 
 evinced that lively sense of excellence which is the 
 most convincing sign of taste and talent ; he declined 
 attemping to restore what he regarded as inimitable 
 in its existence, and therefore irreparable in its loss. 
 But Canova is not a Frenchman : — Girordet, the 
 French painter, lately painted over all the heads of 
 one of Corregio's most exquisite pictures, and Denon, 
 when remonstrated with on this piece of profanation, 
 calmly answered, " Corregio's heads, it must be al- 
 lowed, arc not fine 1" 
 
68 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PURSUING our walk to the first object of a stran- 
 ger's interest and curiosity, the palaces of the Louvre 
 
 and the Tuilleries, we arrive, by going along the wall 
 of the latter, at the Place Louis Quinze, to which I 
 would advise every traveller to make his way at once, 
 avoiding any earlier view of the palaces, that he may 
 be struck by a most extraordinary burst of sumptu- 
 ous decoration, combining the beauties and magnifi- 
 cence of architecture, sculpture, and gardening, and 
 forming an almost overpowering couii (TaiL The 
 Place touis Quinze is a large open circular space, 
 paved with great neatness, which interposes between 
 the garden of the Tuilleries, and the plantation of the 
 Champs Elysee. The central avenues of both these 
 run into opposite sides of this place. Its back is form- 
 ed by the dashing colonnade of the Garde Meublc, 
 whose architect, Gabriel, had in view, it is said, to 
 rival Perrault's famous colonnade of the Louvre. 
 In front is the Pont Louis Seize, one of the finest in 
 Paris, with the elegant face of the Palais Bourbon 
 elevated beyond it, and looking towards you in calm 
 grandeur and well-proportioned beauty; its style of 
 architecture being that which is well described by 
 Dry den ;— 
 
 " And all below b strength, and all above is grace.'* 
 
69 
 
 A line of elegant building runs down from this Pa- 
 lace along the river Seine, of which the Hotel de 
 Sahii, lately the Palace de la Legion D^Honneur, is 
 partly seen. The huge guilded doaie of the Invalids 
 rises behind, and on the other side, the clustered 
 houses and towers of the most peopled parts of Parisj 
 form themselves into castellated masses. 
 
 The spectator after the confusion of his first admi- 
 ration is over, will find the spot well calculated for 
 minute examination. A broad gravelled alley leads 
 down to the palace of the Tuilieries, through a large 
 and gorgeous garden, laid out according to the French 
 taste, — full of parterres, and basins, and statues, — 
 bas-reliefs, urns, and whatever is entitled verihy--^ 
 strait walks and tricks in water. The front of this 
 residence of the monarchs of France, which has been 
 the scene of so many interesting events, and which 
 still bears the marks of the cannon balls of the me- 
 morable 10th of August, extends its enormous length 
 completely across the ground, and presents to the eye, 
 through the thin taper trees, a broken mass of small 
 windows, unequal stories, frittered compartments, 
 petty pilasters, and all that may be termed the freaks 
 and nick-nacks of architecture. Flitting forms of gay 
 promenaders, sidle and shift among the branches, and 
 rows of readers of newspapers, seated on hired chairs, 
 keep their places among the marble Atalantas, Apol- 
 los. Daphnes, and Satyrs. 
 
 Two grand winged horses, by Coizevoix, give 
 grace and nobleness to the gate which opens from 
 
70 
 
 this garden into the Place Louis Quinze ; and, immedi- 
 ately opposite, the entrance to the Champs Eiysees is 
 dignified and adorned by two fine groupes ot horses 
 in marble by N. Couston, which were brought here 
 when Marly was dismantled by the Revolutionists. 
 It is now that the Englishman of taste and sensibility 
 begins to feel the impression, novel to him, which 
 the sublime productions of sculpture occasion, when 
 interspersed throughout the public situations of a 
 city, — mingling the enthusiastic admiration excited 
 by fine art, with the sober and common reflections 
 suggested by public views. It is now he begins to 
 have a clearer notion, a more lively sense than he 
 ever before experienced, of the effulgence of those 
 antient days, when the girls of Athens, carrying wa- 
 ter on their heads in elegant vases, from the fountains 
 to their homes, ascended magnificent flights of white 
 marble steps, with the stupendous symmetry of the 
 Parthenon rising before them, and saw there, and on 
 every side, a vast and silent congregation of the forms 
 of colossal and superhuman beauty, fraught with the 
 soul of poetry, Paris is still far from equalling 
 Athens; but it gives an idea of what the glories of 
 the latter were, — and this is more than can be said 
 for London. 
 
 A vast avenue running up amongst slim plantations, 
 on a continued line with the grand alley of the Tuil- 
 leries, leads along a gentle ascent, through all sorts 
 of grotesque fairy-looking houses of entertainment, 
 and exhilarating indications of popular enjoypient, ta 
 
the Barriere de L'Etoile, which is constituted by two 
 stone buildings, erected fur the guard of soldiers 
 placed to examine passports and exact duties. Be- 
 tween them rises an unfinished triumphal arch of 
 very large dimensions, and forming a most imposing 
 object, certainly not less through the recollections it 
 suggests, than the style of its architecture. Buona- 
 parte ordered its erection here, at the principal en- 
 trance to his capital, where the stranger, coming in 
 ibis direction, first catches a sight of the palaces and 
 towers of Py/ris. From it the eye rests on the Tuil- 
 Icries in the distance, and from the Tuilleries its late 
 inhabitant might rest his satisfied looks on this trophy 
 of his success. At his marriage with Louisa of Aus* 
 tria, he had it completed, to appearance, in wood,— - 
 his own statue, in a circular car drawn by six horses, 
 ibrming the summit. Perhaps it would be as well, 
 if ail the commemorations of governments and dynas- 
 Ues were made of wood here. There is seldom time 
 to fiiiish them in stone, before they are put in the si- 
 tuation of a repealed act of parliament, and stone 
 gives great trouble in its removal. The triumphal 
 arch of L'Etoile must remain in its present incom- 
 pleteness, unless Buonaparte should come back to 
 finish his work. 
 
 The observer in the Place Louis Quinze, withdraw-^ 
 .ng his attention from these striking objects, has it 
 attracted by others not less so, when he looks forward 
 across the river Seine. The handsome bridge of 
 Louis the Sixteenth leads directly to the Palais Bour* 
 
72 
 
 bon, where the legislative body, under Buonaparte, 
 held tiK ir sittings, and wliere the chamber of depu- 
 ties now meet. This always struck me as the noblest 
 building in Paris. Its fa9ade has a breadth and sim- 
 plicity about it, which evinces the purest notions of 
 his art, in the architect M. Poyet. A range of Co- 
 rinthian pillars support a chaste entablature, the front 
 of which bore the inscription, A J\^apoleon le Grand, 
 and a bas relief to his honour. Two large allegorical 
 statues stand on each side of the flight of stairs at its 
 commencement, and where it widens ofF at the bottom, 
 four of the great men of France, colossal figures, are 
 seated in fine calm attitudes, and tranquil simple ad- 
 justment of drapery. 
 
 Behind this palace, to the right, looking from the 
 Place Louis Quinze, the gilded dome of the Hotel 
 des Invalids heaves up its gorgeous svvell. Buona- 
 parte committed this piece of atrocious gilding, and 
 it is not one of the weak('st proofs ot several, of his 
 barbarous taste. Glittering, however, in a clear bUie 
 sky, and forming a part in the composition of a most 
 magnificent picture, it is very impressive as an ob- 
 ject; and if we could but fancy it sterling in its dis- 
 play, a magnificent sign of concealed treasures, like 
 the golden domes that saluted the enraptured vision 
 of the Spanish conquerors of Mexico, it would have 
 a sublime effect; but gilding, like rougeing, suggests 
 the very reverse, — intrinsic deformity and poverty. 
 Ttie moral character and influence of the sight do not 
 improve, if we believe the current story, which is^ 
 
73 
 
 .tvdi the Emperor of the French and the King of Italjr, 
 made a snug job of this gilding, by dc ducting from 
 the army so miny days pay to defray the charge of 
 the work, on a calculation which left him a gainer by 
 a considerable sum. 
 
 Such is the burst of spectacle which salutes the Eng- 
 lish visitor to Paris from the Place Louis Quinze. It 
 speaks to him as foreign a language, as that v/hich 
 he hears from the mouths of the persons who pass 
 him in the streets. It speaks the language of a sys- 
 tem which leaves the minute and inward parts of the 
 machinery of society neglected, for the sake of giving 
 aize and splendour to its external ornaments ; accord^ 
 ing to which all that is fine comes down to the people 
 as a dispensation ot authority, instead of growing up 
 silently and naturally from the bosom of ti.e commu- 
 nity, as the fruit of their own independence, spirit, 
 opulence, and ideas of comfort and propriety. 
 
 " The Place Louis Quinze," says its historian, 
 '' formerly contained an elegant equestrian statue of 
 the monarcfi Whose name it bears, cast in bronze, and 
 executed by Bouchardon. This statue and its pedes- 
 tal decorated with four " colossal virtues^^^ from the 
 hand of Pigot, were destroyed at the revolution, and 
 on the spot v^as erected the famous guillotin, by which 
 fell ihe unfortunate Louis the Sixteenth in the front 
 of his own palace. The last wistful looks of his help- 
 less agony were met by these smiling embellishments 
 of this most polished nation. This spot, too, w^as the 
 last which supported the living person of the queen 
 
 a 
 
74 
 
 of France, The Elysian fields were crowded on tlie 
 occasion of her murder, with an infernal mob, yet the 
 Parisians say they were never disgraced ii!I the Cos- 
 sacks bivouacked in them I On this spot, was mur- 
 dered the mistress of the sovereign by whom it was 
 created. The Countess de Barry, having escaped to 
 England, returned to France, in the foolish belief that 
 an unoffending old woman might be pretty safe among 
 the patriots and philanthropists of the age of reason 
 and virtue : but she was discovered, and without one 
 assignable cause, was dragged to the scafTold, where 
 she died, shrieking through fear, and exerting a hor- 
 rible but impotent struggle with the executioner. Oil 
 this spot flowed the blood of France, in a continual 
 and protracted torrent, to refresh the roots of the tree 
 of liberty, the only fruit of which has been a bitter 
 and poisonous Imperial tyranny. Such are the recol- 
 lections of facts suggested by this place, which the 
 French writer describes as environed on all sides by 
 agreeable objects, the glorious proofs of the national 
 genius and taste of the French. 
 
 Thus it is that this singular people mock calcula- 
 tion of every kind, and forbid confidence in every 
 way. It has usually been thought that the state of 
 sentiment affords a pretty good assurance for the te- 
 nor of conduct, that habits have a vein of consisten- 
 cy running through them, and that certain circum- 
 stances are incompatible with certain feelings. But 
 the history of the capital of France totally defies any 
 such deductions. It made the cruellest butcheries 
 
75 
 
 the result of a creed of the purest philanthrophy, and 
 expressed the loudest vauntin,^s of the national glory, 
 when its enemies mounted guard over its palaces, 
 and encanDped in its <^ardens. From the time that its 
 laws became dogmas of philosophical morality, it 
 abandoned itself to the commission of ruffianism of 
 every kind, including carnage, the most favorite ex- 
 ercise of which was the torturing of women, and the 
 insulting of their mangled remains. When its pub- 
 lic maxims became those of freedom from all the re- 
 straints of relationship, government, and religion, it 
 lay down under the iron hoof of the most brutal ty- 
 ranny that ever cursed the human race. The same 
 strange inconsistency distinguishes it in more trifling 
 matters : it unites a foppish feeling with ragged 
 clothes, professions of gallantry with the sex's degra- 
 dation, and a fondness for elegance with filthy habits. 
 What security, then, can exist here, where a general 
 and solemn recognition of the sixth commandment 
 would most likely lead to the commission of murder j 
 and then be pleaded in its justification ? As for sud- 
 den and unqualified changes, they seem always to 
 have marked the French character. L'Hopital, allud- 
 ing to the massacre of St. Bartholomew, says, in a 
 letter written soon after it, " I have lived too long ! I 
 have seen what I could not have believed, a young 
 Prince of an excellent natural character, change in a 
 moment, from a mild King to a ferocious tyrant.'* 
 The truth, I take it, is, that the change is less thaa 
 might be imagined. The French have in a great mea- 
 
76 
 
 sure detached words from ideas andfeeiings; they 
 can in consequence afford to be unusually profuse of 
 the better sort of the first, and they experience as 
 much internal satisfaction and pride when they pro- 
 fess a virtue, as if they had practised one. In this 
 "Way they are exempted from the influence of those 
 great correctors and restrainers of hurhan conduct, 
 shame and remorse ; for what they do is nothing in 
 their own estimation,— what they saij is every thing ; 
 and as they never speak as if they were perfidious, 
 fickle, or rapacious, it follows that they may be, and 
 we have seen that they have been, all these, without 
 reducing their pretensions a jot, or standing an inch 
 lower in their own estimation. When injustice is to 
 be traced to false opinion, and barbarity to ignorance, 
 we know where the remedy is to be found, and on what 
 hope must rest ; but the world docs not afford a more 
 frightful spectacle, than that of a people, wiio repose 
 their self-satisfaction on high talking of virtue, and 
 honor, and accomplishment, while their hearts give 
 no response to their language, and their practice, 
 without alarming their consciousness, is immediately 
 opposed to it. The conversation of Paris is rich, 
 even to surfeiting, in all the choicest and most amia- 
 bly terms; delicacy and sentiment, and love and la- 
 dies, and beauty, and science, and art, are almost the 
 only words you hear, whether you are in a cellar of 
 the Palais Royal, or seated on a chair under one of its 
 trees, or listening to a discourse on some puzzling 
 

 point of the higher mathematics at the Instltut;* yet 
 amon,^ this exquisitely talking set, a woman can sel- 
 dom possess a lover before marriage, and is as sel- 
 dom without a variety of paramours after; they have 
 not one true poet belonging to their literature, and at 
 this moment they suffer David to range his pictures 
 side by side with those of Rubens ! 
 
 " Are you going to the spectacle," cried one of the 
 common-girls who walk in the Rue de Richelieu, to 
 some English gentlemen ? " It is one of Racine's 
 tragedies to-night," said she, " and it is charmante^ 
 €t iileine de sentiment /" " Quel nerf V^ " What 
 nerve 1 what expression, what symmetry 1" exclaim- 
 ed, in my hearing, two females in the dress of nurse- 
 ry-maids, who were walking among the statues in tlie 
 Louvre, with the air of connoissevirs. This chatter* 
 ing without feeling, or even understanding, belongs to 
 the same character, that caused the dispatching of 
 doves to Heaven, by Robespierre and his fellows, to 
 carry there the news of liberty and happiness on earth. 
 
 • I shall afterwards shew, that from the management of 
 ^oang females in Paris, it is almost impossible that a marriage 
 in respectable life, should be the result of mutual affection. 
 
78 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ON a fine morning, nothing can be more interesting 
 than the walk along the quays of Paris,' from the pa- 
 laces towards the cite, which is the oldest part of the 
 capital, and is situated on an island in the Seine, con- 
 nected with the other streets by the often-heard-of 
 Pont Neuf. Issuing from the garden of the Tuilleries, 
 and advancing to the centre of the Pont des Tuille- 
 ries, the view instantly becomes most striking. On 
 one side the superb and immense line of diversified 
 colonnade, skirting the Seine, formed by the united 
 Palaces of the Tuilleries and the Louvre, extends a 
 continuity of elegant architecture, as if there were a 
 vast street entirely constituted of the chef d^oeuvres of 
 this noble art. The fine clean breadth, and (strange 
 to say) tranquil air of the quays, which seem to re- 
 pose in stately whiteness by the side of the river, and 
 the transparent green of the water, constitute a re- 
 freshing foreground to the picture. The large pri- 
 vate houses, running down the opposite side of the 
 Seine, are well in character with the public buildings, 
 and lead the eye a short distance to the Palais des 
 Arts and the Mint; palaces in this quarter, being al- 
 most as common as nuisances. Behind these, the 
 ground on which the capital stands rises steeply, and 
 the fauxbourg St. Germain, presents, in consequence. 
 
79 
 
 ail sorts of picturesque aspects. The dome of the 
 Pantheon towers above all, in light, graceful pride ; 
 it arrests the eye of the spectator by the boldness of 
 its elevation, and detains it by the gracefulness of its 
 construction. The sister, but not similar towers of 
 St, Sulphice, take a lower rank in the view ; and, to- 
 wards the other extremity, amongst the thick and 
 huge clusters of buildings, that indicate the most po- 
 pulous and industrious parts of Paris, the ancient tow- 
 ers of the cathedral of Notre Dame, still continue to 
 connect the present with the past, in a place where the 
 links of this kind are few, and frequently broken* 
 
 Advancing onward from the quarter of the palaces, 
 the appearances become more grotesque, the novel- 
 ties, if not so grand, more amusing, and, perhaps, 
 generally striking. The peculiar clearness of the air 
 of Paris, — at least peculiar as it seems to an English- 
 man, — gives a glancing brilliancy, an almost startling 
 distinctness to every object: distances are lessened 
 by the pellucidness of the medium through which they 
 are seen, and you are, in consequence, more in the 
 heart of all that is going forward. The genera] effect 
 here, on a fine day, is that of a Venetian painting, or 
 what is gained by looking at nature through some sorts 
 of glasses : — and, then, such is the floating and 
 swarming vivacity, variety and gaiety — such the dis- 
 play of character, condition and contrasts,-— of occu- 
 pations and amusements, — of men and women, and 
 animals, and things; — such the. burst, in short, of all 
 the whirl and siiew of French existence, that the 
 
80 
 
 whole scene bears the air of a stupendous exhibi- 
 tion. 
 
 Angular peninsulas of lofty buildings jut out from 
 the opposite side of the PontNeuf; a gigantic facing 
 of stone houses, stained, irregular, and uncertain in 
 their indications, looks from its height on the green 
 chrystal of the river, and is depicted far downward in 
 its depth. Bright colouring, so much wanted in Eng- 
 land, is here plentifully interspersed: if you look 
 along the streets, the red handkerchiefs, that form 
 the head-dress of the peasant and servant girls, shoot 
 about with much sprightliness. It is ten to one but a 
 corps of military are passing, and the soldiers (in the 
 make-shift- way so common here) rather mingle with 
 the crowd, than force their way through it, so that 
 their muskets and uniforms are seen gleaming here 
 and there through the interstices of passengers and 
 carriages. The trades and commodities seem all to 
 have deserted the houses ; not only birds in cages, and 
 flowers and trees in pots, but the choicest prints and 
 books, articles of dress, and furoiture, add their hueif 
 and their interests to the groupes. On the surface of 
 the water, large rafts are extended with pent-house 
 roofs, through the lattice-looking openings of which, 
 start forth the flapping white caps, richly coloured 
 handkerchiefs, and bare fleshy arms of hundreds of 
 washer-women, all dragging and dabbling their linen 
 in the Seine, and casting sparkles of water up in thciF 
 laughing eyes. 
 
81 
 
 It strikes an Englishman as singular, that few or no 
 boats, for pleasure or business, appear on the Seine. 
 The quantity of bridges partly accounts for this, and 
 the taste of the Parisians is by no means aquatic. 
 They are nut conscious, apparently, that water can be 
 made to conduce to pleasure, unless it be in a bath, or 
 squirting jets through pipes : it is, however, but fair 
 to say, that they Inghly appreciate its value as a 
 cleanser and refresher. There is not a street without 
 several public baths, and those on the ri-ver are nu- 
 merous. They are adapted to all classes and degrees 
 of each sex : some " pour les dames^* some pour les 
 femmes ;^ they stretch their long sprawling forms on 
 the water, like so many painted Leviathans, and their 
 decorations (for what is not decorated in Paris?) add 
 to the general Hveliness. The school of swimming is 
 a curiosity : — it is a large floating bath ; the men who 
 use it, are, by an order of the Police, compelled to 
 wear a very moderate covering round their loins, and 
 with this apology for decency, they are to be seen re« 
 ceiving cups of coff*ee from the attendant female,^ — 
 one of the softer sex being always in attendance here, 
 as well as every where else, where men come toge- 
 tlier,- — not excepting the places of accommodation at 
 the back of the Palais Royal, which our private con- 
 veniences in England will not permit us to regard 
 complacently as scenes of public resort. 
 
 The contrasts of Paris, I have said, are very abrupt, 
 and this, of course, adds to the interests of its scenery. 
 From the window of a nobly built house, towering in 
 
83 
 
 ihe dibtance, you may see the corner of a sheet flying ; 
 an elegant carved frame-work, which in England 
 would be carefully kept in repair, is, in Paris, allowed 
 to remain broken for years. The signs of the shops 
 are very elegant; — that is to say, they are elegant 
 for signs, being extremely tolerable as pictures. 
 Every man in France who takes a brush in his hand, 
 is pretty sure to become a tolerable artist, and-the best 
 artist of France is little more than tolerable. The 
 consequence is, a profusion of decoration of conside- 
 rable excellence in the commonest situations, where 
 an English visitor expects to see nothing beyond daub- 
 ing and trumpery; but then, on the other hand, he 
 finds a meanness and slovenliness in what he is inclined 
 to regard as essentials, strangely uniting with the 
 high character of the embellishment. Thus, the shop 
 signs in question, though they might be hung up as 
 pictures in an academy exhibition, often invite you to 
 examine a display of goods, wiiich a tradesman of 
 Bond Street wotild blush to see in his window. The 
 sights you encounter in the streets are all in the same 
 style. " Do me the honour to permit me to pass,'* 
 says a ragged porter, pulling off his cocked-hat, to a 
 female vender of roasted chesnuts. A priest, arrayed 
 in his full canonicals, will stop in the street and chat- 
 ter and laugh for half an hour with a servant girl. 
 Over a miserable door, in a narrow dirty street of the 
 Fauxbourg St. Germain, which is the oldest part of 
 Paris, there is inscribed, *' Salon de Littcrature^^ and 
 we are told that lectures on Botany, Pathology, Phy- 
 
83 
 
 siology, &c. are given within. Those who enter arc 
 non-descripts, — creatures of a mixed breed, half sol- 
 dier, half student, — with keen proud looks, thread^ 
 bare coats, and a rakish dissolute carriage. One of 
 Ihe lowest coffee-houses is distinguished by the sign 
 of the " TFise Athenian,'' On entering, you are saluted 
 with a gracious bend from Madame, who sits in state, 
 to diffuse the consciousness of a female presence, so 
 necessary to the French in all circumstances and of 
 all ranks, whether delicate or gross, or genteel or vul- 
 gar, — and to perform the duties of her husband by a 
 quick and clever superintendance of the business, 
 while he is probably performing her's in the kitchen. 
 Should he venture to shew his white night-cap within 
 the precincts of the lady's sovereignty, she exclaims 
 in a tone of wondering command, which is only not 
 angry, because it is despotic, £/i — mon ami ! Que 
 fuite vous id ? allez, allez — vite — vite I — and he goes. 
 In one corner, an ill drest waiter is pouring out a glass 
 of cherry -brandy under a bust of Socrates, to a worse 
 drest personage, who, from his dangling insignia, may 
 be guessed to be Monsieur le Marquis, In another, 
 a cast from the Venus in the Louvre, is opposed to a 
 Jarge glass which reflects its elegant form, so as to 
 produce a superb effect, as a contrast to dirty walls, a 
 foul fire-place, and various other signs of paltriness. 
 At one of the tables, two men in loose great coats, 
 \vhose garb altogether, would class them in England 
 with the lowest orders of the community, lounge over 
 a game of dominos, with the air of self-possession 
 
84 
 
 and readiness, that good society and knowledge of ih^ 
 world bestow. At another, a positive beau and a smart 
 lady, partake of a bottle of beer together, and read in 
 the journal of the day, the account of last night's 
 spectacle. As you go out from the place, you cotne 
 within half a yard of one who is enterir.rj, and he takes 
 off his hat to the ground, because it was- just possible 
 that you might have run against him, had you been 
 very cai^eless. 
 
 Walking along, through the narrowness, filth, and 
 eonfusion, you observe a shop where they shave and 
 dress hair for half a sou, with an inscription over it, 
 " Art embellishes Nature ;" — ^a little further on, a man 
 of glorious recollections, who now stitches coarse 
 woollen cloth, records his honors on his sign, as Ex» 
 gaitrier to the third regiment of infantry. What a 
 nation of enterprise and eclat must that be, where a 
 shaver for a farthing can enjoy high notions of him- 
 self as an artist, and an old regimental tailor derive 
 an honourable title from his occupation! Among 
 this people an Ex-^aitrier — that is to say, one who 
 once, at one time or other, made gaiters, takes his 
 place in the system to which belong ex-ministers and 
 ex-emperors, who once reigned over Europe, and, in 
 lieu of that are contented to be very imperial over a 
 spot as vast as the Isle of Wight In the Exhibition 
 of Modern Sculpture in the Louvre, a gentleman's 
 bust, which, at first sight, seemed only remarkable 
 for the size of the whiskers on the face, was, on a 
 closer inspection, discovered to be worthy to stand 
 
near the Laocoon and the Phidian Jupiter ;— a little 
 label announced, in very dignified terms, that we had 
 before us the Maitre de Ballet of the Theatre de 
 Gaite,-— a place of amusement corresponding with the 
 Olympic Pavilion in Wych Street. 
 
 These are the people to act ^s the French act, and 
 speak as the French speak : — they draw a lively en- 
 joyment from their own actions, which is perfectly 
 independent of their qualities, and derived simply 
 from the circumstance that they are their own ; they 
 will, therefore, always be doing something on as 
 large a scale as they can, but will never feel morti- 
 fied if that scale is necessarily small, nor abashed if 
 their notoriety arises from ciixumstances chat are 
 usually deemed disreputable. The things which they 
 perform, and amongst which they mingle, take a co« 
 lour and a character exclusively from their own minds? 
 in the same way as objects seen in tinged glass, that 
 reflects in shapes according to its own cut, are disco- 
 loured and distorted. With this people, nothing can 
 be esteemed that is not attended with shew, and no- 
 thing thought little of that is : — it must necessarily 
 with them, be a maiter of great importance what uni- 
 form a senator shall wear who discusses their consti- 
 iiuional charters, or a member of the Institute who 
 makes a speech to an auditory that does not under- 
 stand him ;— a procession introducing a new govern- 
 ment,— or the promise of a grand national celebration 
 under its influence, will at any time reconcile them to 
 a change of dynasty j^ — and so as the spectacle part is 
 
 H 
 
86 
 
 adroitly managed to their minds, they will never con- 
 cern themselves with what it covers. 
 
 But to proceed with the streets of Paris. One of 
 their striking features arises out of the attention that 
 is paid to all the little wants and caprices, in order to 
 convert them into sources of profit by administering 
 to their gratification. This occasions much bustle 
 and vivacity, and materially assists to keep up a liveli- 
 ness of spirits in the passengers. If you have a mind 
 to know your own weight, there are persons and ma- 
 chines stationed here and there, to gratify you to an 
 ounce. Stalls line the Boulevarde, and other princi- 
 pal situations, which add device to accommodation to 
 attract you : thus, at one, every article of an immense 
 variety is sold at thirty sous, select where you please : 
 at another, fifteen is written up in large letters as the 
 universal price. All sorts of operations are perform- 
 ed on animals by women who sit on stools in the 
 streets, and have the description of their profession- 
 al avocations, which are not always within the line of 
 female delicacy, inscribed on a piece of pasteboard. 
 Burmux des ecrivains offer the most pressing invita- 
 tions to the lover, the merchant, the politician, or the 
 man of science, who has by some accident omitted to 
 learn to write, to enter and avail himself of the talents 
 which are in readiness for any employment Roasted 
 chesnuts every where tempt the palate by assailing 
 the nostrils. Nymphs that will take no refusal, push 
 nosef^ays. into your hand. The fruit-women extend 
 towards you delicious bunches of grapes ; the shoe- 
 
87 
 
 bkcks flatter the national prejudices of the English^ 
 by bawling aloud " cirage Anglois'^ A man carries 
 a paipted castle on his back, from which you may- 
 draw such delicious beverage as lemonade, tisane, 
 Sn:c. 8cc. 
 
 All this has a shew of business, though of a light 
 vagabondish kind, and of a nature adapted to a poor, 
 sensual, loose people ;- — but much of the spectacle 
 belongs solely to the class of amusement. One even- 
 ing I cast my eyes down from a window, looking into 
 the Boulevarde des Italiennes : — exactly opposite was 
 an infant, not more than four years old, singing a po- 
 pular song, and beating a tambourine with her little 
 hands ; four candles were placed on the ground near 
 her, and a plate to receive contributions of money. 
 Within fifty yards of this performer was another, 
 less in ^ize, but whose age it was not so easy to ima- 
 gine :— he was a poor little dog, with his fore foot fix* 
 ed on the handle of a small grindstone, which he was 
 compelled to keep continually turning to the sound of 
 an organ played by his master. Within the circle of 
 one's sight there were yet more entertainments : an 
 old man played on the harp, the flute, the drum, and 
 the triangle, at the same time, while with his foot, he 
 gave motion to a small wooden scaramouch that dan- 
 ced well in tune. A well-dressed young woman on 
 the opposite side of the Boulevarde, played delight- 
 fully on the musical glasses ; and in a corner was the 
 most characteristic groupe of the whole, — two female 
 ballad-singers, representing mother and daughter. 
 
88 
 
 ivith long veils down to their feet, as if their timidity 
 and modesty shrunk from the degrading task to which 
 their necessities compelled them. The first contri- 
 vers of this scheme were well rewarded for their in- 
 genuity ; but it had become too stale for the Parisians, 
 though it still continued to have attractions for their 
 stranger visitors. These did not by any means draw 
 such crowds as two philosophical professors, one of 
 face-making and the other of hydrostatics. The Gri- 
 ■macier of Paris is really a most surprising exhibitor ; 
 with a grotesque wig and a pair of caricature specta- 
 cles as accompaniments, he throws his features into 
 the wildest combinations of shapes, and might give 
 hints to any manufacturer of inhabitants for a new 
 world. The natural philosopher, who lectures and 
 displays experiments on the properties of fluids, be- 
 stows particular attention on the nature and uses of 
 the squirt, and illustrates his doctrines in a way to 
 cause many a hearty laugh. Jugglers have also their 
 separate congregations : but this description applies 
 only to ordinary days and places ; near the bridges^ 
 on Sundays, the gaiety is prodigiously increased ; va- 
 rieties of games go forward ; both sexes mingle in 
 the exercise of gallantry and mirth, which is surpris- 
 ingly divested of coarseness of manner, considering 
 the promiscuous nature of the assemblage, — and the 
 value of a centime, or the tenth part of a halfpenny, 
 is proved in an acquisition of actual enjoyment. 
 
 The common appearance of fortune-tellers, con- 
 sulted by the vulp^ar, must not be omitted in this de- 
 
89 
 
 scriplion of the streets of Paris ; they are freq^uently 
 to be seen, adding all the grimace of their nation tQ 
 the tricks and solemn quackery of their profession, 
 in order to impress \Yith credulity and respect the 
 minds of the simple peasants and others who seek 
 their assistance to violate the concealment of futurity. 
 I shall not soon lose the vivid image I have now on 
 my recollection, of a simple looking woman from the 
 country, standing at tbia desk of one of these impos- 
 tors, who, with shrugs and gesticulations, and empha? 
 tic tones, was controlling all the faculties of the poor 
 dupe, in whose face expression had become a mere 
 riveted gaze, as if it were fascinated by the look of 
 fate, while hearing its decisions. If we fancy to our- 
 selves the extreme anxieties of this ignorant crea- 
 ture, embracing the dearest concerns, and probably 
 the threatened welfare of her family, and take into 
 account the awfulness of the test, according to her 
 estimation of it, to which she was exposing her 
 hopes, the spectacle will appear an affecting one. We 
 read still with impressed feelings of the ancient ap- 
 peals to the oracles ; yet no Athenian leader 
 ever submitted his cause to the decision of Delphos, 
 with more unlimited confidence in the truth of the 
 response, or more tremulous expectation of its im- 
 port, than, to judge from appearances, this untaught 
 paysanne was affected by, when I saw her in the mar- 
 ket-place 01 the Innocents, listening to the rhodo^ 
 montade of a roguish sybil. 
 
90 
 
 The costume of the females in the streets of Paris, 
 is not the least striking part of their exhibition to 
 English strangers. Our countrymen who went 
 first over, saw the promenading ladies in a style of 
 dress, which is little, if at all, caricatured, in the 
 following description, which I copy from the Exa- 
 miner : — 
 
 " A lump on two legs seems tumbling' towards you 
 under a hat like a muff-bo;^ with a huge nosegay 
 stuck on one side, as if she had been robbing a lord- 
 mayor's footman, and a petticoat fringed, flounced, 
 and sticking out on all sides like a large bell, of which 
 the two shuffling feet underneath, look like the dou- 
 ble clapper * * * *. Under the poke and the muff- 
 box, the face sometimes entirely disappears: the poet 
 would in vain look for the waist, which he so well 
 described : — 
 
 *• Fine hy degrees, and beautifully less ;'* 
 
 It is tied up under the arms, — perfectly hung in dra* 
 pery ; and the man who would repose his griefs, as 
 formerly, on the bosom that was dearest to him, must 
 first ask permission of the chin." 
 
 This is a picture of the modern female dress of 
 France, in the worst degree of its deformity. Its ori- 
 gin is curious as a trait of national character. A young 
 ^nd modest looking mademoiselle, one of their favour- 
 ite actresses, who has five or six children by five or 
 six fathers, appeared one evening on the stage in a 
 Chinese part, and of course in the Chinese costume. 
 
91 
 
 The lady is pretty, her appearance was fenciful, and 
 above all it was new. The Belles of Paris were all 
 in the course of the week matamorphosed into Chi- 
 nese women; and straightway, according to the usual 
 custom of their country, forgot that they had ever 
 been any thing else, and lost all tolerance for those 
 who continued to be any thing else. A freak of the 
 morning, suggested by the theatrical exhibition of 
 the evening, instantly became a standard by which to 
 judge of the rest of the world. This is in the gene- 
 ral style of their conduct: — it forms a very striking 
 feature of the character of France, that she can do 
 nothing for herself alone. When she took a whim 
 to be free, her own liberty seemed a trifle, unless 
 she could become the instrument Xo liberate all man- 
 kind from the shackles of priests and kings; accord- 
 ingly, Anacharsis Cloots appeared before the national 
 assembly as the representative of the human race, 
 arrayed in a diversity of costumes, corresponding to 
 the various garbs of his constituents, and followed by 
 a crowd of patriots, decorated as Hottentots, Chero- 
 kees, £cc. from the tawdry wardrobes of the thirty 
 theatres, that each evening commenced their gaieties 
 after the daily and more.delightful amusement of the 
 guillotine had ceased for a few hours. When the 
 fashion took another direction, and the red cap was 
 found to have a less becoming air than the imperial 
 crown, the boundless philanthropy of the French, 
 would not let them rest in peace until they had dis- 
 irit)uted widely those exquisite blessings, the de- 
 
93 
 
 struction of trade and the conscription. Because 
 France had altered the mode from a Republic to an 
 Empire, Europe must become the Empire of the west, 
 as a part of France; and because her ruler prohibited 
 the use of sugar and coffee, while he swallowed both 
 to an excess, Germany, and even Russia, forsooth, 
 must dismiss these delicacies. In like manner, the 
 French ladies, when they came forth the first day, 
 with the heads like inverted cones, and the deformed 
 shapes of the Chinese women, were as prepared to 
 laugh loudly and rudely at any instance of an abidance 
 by the Grecian taste in dress, as seen and still ad- 
 mired by them in their museums, as if they had been 
 accustomed to the new fashion for ages, and acknow- 
 ledged no other standard of elegance. The deputa- 
 tion of Parisian females, who received the Duchess 
 D'Angouleme on her arrival from England, first 
 burst into tears at the thought of her misfortunes, 
 and then struck into a titter, at the appearance of her 
 small bonnet.^ — " Mon Dieu, quelle figure 1" I have 
 heard them exclaim, from under the concealment of 
 their head-dresses, as they ambled aiotig, — directing' 
 their exclamation against a charming Englishwoman, 
 walking past them v/ith a frank simplicity of gait, 
 and graceful adaptation of her aitire to her form. 
 Yet the handsome signs of their shops, and the pic- 
 tures which they profess to adore in the Louvre, pre- 
 sent them with the dress which they insult in their 
 visitors. 
 
 This, although an affair of the toilette, is no trifling 
 
93 
 
 illustration of the general looseness of principle, lead- 
 ing to fickleness of practice, that prevails among the 
 people I am describing. They will readily enough 
 acknowledge their approbation of two things, one of 
 which disgraces the other. In like manner their re- 
 publicans did not feel themselves dishonoured when 
 they became the creatures of Buonaparte, for, when 
 they accepted of his acts of grace, they had forgotten 
 not only republican principles, but that there had 
 been times, and not ancient ones, when sixty and 
 eighty individuals v/ere guillotined in a day, as a sa- 
 crifice to freedom and human ity,~v/ hen little guillo- 
 tines were sold in the shops, as toys for children, 
 to teach them the duties of civism, — and when the 
 gaol deliveries were indiscriminate massacres of the 
 innocent and guilty. When I went to their Museum 
 of Art, in the Luxembourg, I found their students, 
 untouched by the sweeping majesty of Reuben's pen- 
 cil, perched upon little tables, assiduously copying 
 the hard attrocities and cold meannesses of their own 
 David. The reverence, and attachment, and sense 
 of convenience, which, with mankind generally, are 
 the slow growth of time and precept, and experience, 
 spring up in an instant in a Frenchman's mind, from 
 the single consideration that a thing is French. Hence 
 it comes, that, with the finest schools in the world, 
 they are the worst scholars, — and that with the most 
 instructive experience, they are the most injudicious 
 in their conduct. 
 
 But good example is not without its effects even in 
 
94 
 
 Paris ; the French ladies were gradually decreasing 
 the- extravagance of their attire, and amending its de- 
 formities : — the English ladies who visited them, and, 
 who, with a proper national spirit, preserved most 
 obstinately, their full, frank, open air and dress, pre- 
 sented a contrast to the poking, bending artificialness 
 among which they had come, that, in spite of its va^ 
 nity, shamed it into a sense of its own comparative 
 littleness and ugliness. The French gentlemen as- 
 sisted their countrywomen to this decision, for the 
 usual efficacy of truth and propriety was not wanting 
 in this instance, and their feelings compelled their 
 acknowledgments. 
 
 It was curious to see the contrast in the theatres t 
 an English party, including several fine women, would 
 burst in, as it were, into one of the open boxes, — 
 with unsophisticated looks of preparation for enjoy- 
 ment, — a regardless carriage derivable from a guile- 
 less consciousness, — and an evident gladness to es- 
 cape from shawls and cloaks, and to sit down, free to 
 breathe and to look about them, unburthened and un- 
 concealed, in the respectability, and attractiveness of 
 their proper selves. The French ladies, on the con- 
 trary, would hesitate at the door, as if they were 
 drawing back from a cold bath, and then step down, 
 as Agag walked to his death, " mincingly ;" they 
 seemed to retire within their own contrivances, that 
 they might take a surer aim ; and, sitting one by 
 one, as they frequently did, within latticed boxes, 
 accompanied by single beaus, the character of their 
 
95 
 
 appearance was the very reverse of that native, as- 
 suring, cordial, and self-respecting manner, which 
 gave pleasure to an Englishman's recognition of his 
 fair countrywomen in this land of strangers. 
 
 The present is not the first time that the French 
 ladies have been recalled from extravagance to na- 
 ture by the example of Englishwomen. At one of 
 the royal suppers at Versailles, the monarch, Louis 
 the Fourteenth, was startled by a sudden titter and 
 tumult that burst forth from the crowd behind his 
 table, assembled to see his majesty eat his jelly and 
 fruit: his dignity was roused to demand the cause of 
 this irruption of natural expression, so opposed to the 
 artificial state of the occasion. He was told that two 
 foreign ladies had made their appearance in the 
 strangest head dresses; they positively had not a bit 
 of plaster or powder on their heads ; their hair v/as 
 not frizzled or pasted up into an edifice of three sto- 
 ries high, in short, they were frights. Louis was of 
 opinion, that, if they were as described to him, they 
 must indeed be frights,— but catching a glimpse of 
 them as they stood back in some confusion, he, who 
 had a quick sense and keen relish of female beauty, 
 saw enough lo induce him to beg that they might 
 come nearer to his royal person : — they advanced, 
 and the king, after a hearty gaze, pardonable only in 
 a king and a clown, pronounced it to be his decided 
 opinion, that if the ladies of his court were reasonable 
 creamres, they would all dress their heads after the 
 manner of the handsome English women. This speech,* 
 
96 
 
 putting the affair on the basis of reason, could not but 
 touch the female philosophers of Versailles to the 
 quick. They sat up all night, that iheir women might 
 lower their cornettes ; and next morning appeared at 
 mass under circumstances of extraordinary reduction. 
 The French account of this important occurrence, de- 
 scinbes with much drollery, the assumed looks of 
 gravity which the ladies put on under this metamor- 
 phosis, while, in truth, they were smothering the 
 feelings of laughter and shame, excited by a consci- 
 ousness of looking for all the world like I don't kiiow 
 ivhat. Louis, however, intimated his warm approba- 
 tion of the change, and it accordingly became the 
 fashion of the day. 
 
 The Parisian modes of female dress, however, as 
 now improved and improving, are certainly far from 
 inconsistent with a species of female witchery ; the 
 large bonnet, in its most graceful shape, and with 
 noble plumes of feathers, has a striking effect, and 
 the tripping step is a piece of pretdness, which indi- 
 cates a creature w^ell trained in all the artificial means 
 of fascination. " Our ladies," said a young French- 
 man to me, " shew more of the manege than your's," 
 — and he was right. Their beauty is not that of an 
 Englishwoman, it consists rather in expression than 
 in feature ; but what with meaningness of look, and 
 vivacity of manner, and fine eyes, and sylphish move- 
 ments, they certainly can, and do, conjure up uiost 
 influencing appearances. As I intend, however, to 
 devote a chapter to the females of Paris, this much 
 
97 
 
 ot them here seems almost too much, yet as forming 
 part of the scenery of the streets, it was necessary to 
 give a sketch of their externals. 
 
 Whatever may be thought of the walking dress of 
 the French ladies, that of the inferior classes of wo- 
 men, must, I think, be admitted to be very picturesque 
 and becoming. It is assisted, no doubt by a jauntiness 
 of carriage and manner, which entirely prevents that 
 look of vulgarity and dowdiness, that we often see in 
 England. A French girl, of whatever rank, always 
 recollects that her sex gives her certain privileges, 
 and requires a certain air, which ought not to be pre- 
 judiced, and, in fact, cannot be prejudiced, by lowU« 
 ness or condition. The paysannes who came into the 
 markets, are in general fine creatures ; their conw 
 plexions of a sparkling brown, their caps white and 
 flowing, their handkerchiefs of rich colours, their 
 boddices contrasted against their petticoats with the 
 judgment of a painter, a life, — an essence, an enjoy- 
 ment, in their motions and looks; all together they 
 irive an assurance of beino: in a situation which in- 
 chides little or nothing of suiiering, and that supplies 
 the pleasures most desired by its possessors, — how- 
 ever poor the enumeration of its general stock of 
 property might be deemed in a country like England, 
 where our wants are on a larger scale. 
 
 In one important respect, sufficient justice has not 
 been done to Frenchwomen, or rather they have suf- 
 fered under injustice. They arc very cleanly in their 
 persons and clothes :— the bath is in common use 
 
 I 
 
9S 
 
 with them; and I hope it will not be deemed pushing 
 a traveller's observations too far, if I bear testimony 
 to their changing the under parts of their dress, 
 which conduce most immediately to the comfortable- 
 ness of their own feelings, not less frequently than 
 those articles of attire that meet the eye of the ob- 
 server. 
 
 The streets of Paris, did not seem to me to present 
 so many spectacles of distress and gross discomfort, 
 as those of London. It may appear a puerile remark, 
 but, as it is supported, by a singular coincidence of 
 thought, I shall venture to mention, that the very 
 3ogs in the French capital, seem to be of a less bois- 
 terous and quarrelsome disposition than their English 
 brethren ;~one evening sitting with a party of per- 
 sons, chiefly from England, within hearing of what 
 took place on the Boulevarde, a noise of the worrying 
 of these animals suddenly broke out, — and a general 
 exclamation from all those who v/ere visitors to Paris, 
 testified to their being struck by the occurrence, as 
 one that was much more unusual where they then 
 were, than from whence they came. The fighting of 
 human beings, and drunkenness, arc exhibitions 
 scarcely ever witnessed in the streets of Paris. The 
 villainous practice of severely chastising cluldren, so 
 prevalent in England with the vulgar and brutal, — 
 which causes our ears to be assailed with screams and 
 scolding, if we go into the lower quarters of our 
 large towns, — is not common in France. Wrangling 
 is to be heard sometimes, but in general a visible po- 
 
99 
 
 iish of courtesy pervades all the surface of society, 
 down to its lowest extremities. The beggars are 
 numerous, but they do not seem smitten by necessity 
 to their hearts. Dispositions in the country of which 
 I am writing, flourish, in the same way as ivy flou- 
 rishes, through walls, along the ground, or, in shorty 
 under any circumstances.-— -' Charite, Monsieur God 
 da7n% si'l vous plait," said a French mendicant to an 
 Englishman, with a look that shewed he meant only 
 to be arch, and knew not that his words could be con- 
 strued into insolence. The beggar children ask for a 
 sou, " en pitie de ma misere,"' — and then they tumble 
 over head and heels. One of them, about twelve 
 years old, having received a trifle from some of the 
 English, begged to have the honour to sing them a 
 song. He sung in a very pretty style, and with all 
 the naivete of his nation, two verses, the substance of 
 which, was that the men were ambitious, fond of war, 
 Sec. Sec. but that ladies were soft, charming, and full 
 of sentiment and love. — He gave with inexpressible 
 significancy the line — les femmes I les fcmmea I 
 Elles son£ delicie^ises /" Some girls walking past, 
 threw a sort of cracker at him, he instantly turned an 
 extempore verse on the incident — its purport was, that 
 when women played naughty tricks in the streets,— 
 " 0, ces fem?nes, ces femmes ! sont des diables /'' 
 
 In the lowest parts of Paris, there is a visible gro- 
 tesqueness which relieves the appearance of squalid- 
 ness and poverty. They chatter, and smile, and bow 
 and curtesy too much to be miserable. To be sure. 
 
100 
 
 the? great houses filled with the poor, have a strange 
 and wild look,— and the blackness, caused by their 
 height and the narrowness of the streets, is in itself 
 gloomy, — but the people throw much of cheerfulness 
 into their condition, to dissipate its melancholy tenden« 
 cies. They seem to act on a principle of selection, 
 like a bird that picks the seeds which serve it for food, 
 from a heap of noxious and nauseous matter : it gets 
 but little sustenance, perhaps, but that little is plea- 
 sant and wholesonie. Thus the French will abstain 
 rather than incommode themselves ; they will only 
 avail themselves of what is agreeable within their 
 reach, even if, by thus selecting, they are compelled 
 to leave the greater part of what naturally comes in 
 contact with them, untouched. What I mean is, that 
 if thinking becomes disagreeable, they do not think, 
 »— if calculating gives unpleasant products, they do 
 •not calculate, — if looking forward is alarming, they do 
 not look forward, — and if looking backward causes re- 
 grets, they do not look backward. Their minds are 
 ■without that singular, but in some countries very com- 
 mon property, of cleaving with most attachment to 
 what is most odious. It is not that they would esti- 
 mate a dance in the evening as a more exquisite plea- 
 sure than the receiving home of a husband or a son, 
 unexpectedly safe after the dangers and horrors of 
 such a campaign as that in Russia, — but if they can 
 manage the dance, and cannot accomplish the return 
 of their relations, there can be no reason, they think, 
 why the want of the greater should deprive thera of 
 
lOi 
 
 the iess gratification. If they are obliged to go with- 
 out a dinner of meat, which they would prefer, there 
 is nothing in their mental constitutions to prevent them 
 from enjoying the apple which they can afford to pur- 
 chase, to the full extent of what an apple can bestow. 
 Instead of thinking the worse of what they have, be- 
 cause it is not so good as something which they> have 
 not, they deem that the circumstance of possessing it 
 places it, in point of excellence, far above any thing 
 that is unattainable. 
 
 These then, I repeat, are the people to be lively ia 
 action, shallow and careless in purpose,— to be ever 
 afloat and loose on the sea of events, to feel nothing 
 inglorious but inactivity, and every thing honourable 
 that is accomplishment. These are the people to 
 make raree shows of the valuables which the feelings 
 of others cause them to preserve in a quiet and sacred 
 seclusion : these, in short, are the people to fancy^ 
 when they are masters of Europe, that there is no 
 greatness but in conquest, and to be equally convincedj 
 after they have been beaten, that true nobleness lies 
 in moderation ; — to vauivt of their despotic Emperor 
 and his grande pensee, one year, and the next to be 
 penetrated with the necessity of a national represen- 
 tation, the liberty of the press, and that there is no= 
 thing truly illustrious but freedom. 
 
 The fronts of all the public buildings, and not a few 
 of the private ones, of Paris give a testimony, partly 
 whimsical and partly melancholy, that governnientSj 
 creeds, and other such serious matters, are here in- 
 
 i2 
 
troduccd, danced for a while before the eyes, aud 
 finally displaced, as if they were so many figures of a 
 magic lanthorn. The palaces having been originally 
 impressed with the symbols of the Bourbons, that 
 were battered down by the cannon of the Jacobins for 
 some time displayed the insignia of the Republic, until 
 they were covered with N'sby the Jacobinical, consu- 
 lar, imperial Napoleon; and during my visits the 
 French artists were racking their ingenuity to disco- 
 ver the neatest methods of turning the letter N into 
 an L for Louis, or an H for Henry the Fourth. The 
 statue of the latter monarch, on the Pont Neuf, hav- 
 ing been thrown down by the revolutionists, the place 
 it occupied was filled by Buonaparte with a represen- 
 tation of his own person, and if France did not feel 
 that the change was unseemly and ungrateful, it was 
 not to be expected that the Emperor should. But the 
 Emperor had in turn vanished when I first crossed the 
 Pont Neuf, and Henry the Fourth was rising again in 
 plaster. One of the first Hotels in Paris was named 
 by its proprietor, Hotel de la Guerre, during the pre- 
 dominance of the good fortunes of Buonaparte ; but 
 scarcely had the eagle given place to the lily, when a 
 re-baptism was celebrated, and Hotel de^ Commerce 
 in large letters now gives an important sanction to the 
 returned family and their system. The Hotel de la 
 Victoire, its dream of glory o'er, has subsided into 
 the Hotel de la Paix. But the most remarkable in- 
 stance of this tergiversation is furnished by the front 
 of the CofTee-house, which as a public proof of the 
 
103 
 
 fervent loyalty of its proprietor to his imperial ruler, 
 the painter was in the act of consecrating with the 
 words De TEmpereur, when it chanced that the Allies 
 entered Paris, and Buonaparte was deposed. As a 
 few hours deliberation sufficed to turn the current of 
 the allegiance of the most devoted of all Senates, a 
 few dashes of the brush converted De TEmpereur 
 into Des Empereurs, and this delicate compliment 
 mine host doubtless expected would be much esteem- 
 ed by the allied monarchs, when they entered, as con- 
 querors, the capital of France. 
 
104 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PARIS seems at first sight a place devoted solely 
 to enjoyment, and it is difficult to devise how every 
 one is so well provided with the means. In the prin- 
 cipal streets, almost every second house has a part of 
 it devoted to amusement, or luxurious gratification of 
 some sort. The shops appear to be almost exclu- 
 sively occupied with embellishments and eatables, 
 and, certainly, wherever superior ingenuity is shewn, 
 on which Paris may fairly plume herself, it is in the 
 manufacture of some decoration, some piece of ver- 
 tu, some elegant trifle. The fashionable Boulevardes 
 are lined with Baths — where you may lie in warm wa- 
 ter, and have the most delicious refreshments floated 
 towards you from an invisible hand — Cafes, where 
 coffee and liqueurs are taken — Restorateurs, where 
 dinners are served — Patissiers, where you may regale 
 on patties and ices, — theatres, and billiard rooms.-— 
 But the Palais Royal, which is justly said by the 
 Parisians to be without its equal in the world, de- 
 mands to be principally noticed, now that I am to touch 
 on these subjects. 
 
 It is a square enclosure, formed of the buildings 
 of the Orleans Palace ; — piazzas make a covered walk 
 along three of its sides, and the centre is an open 
 jgfravelled space, with a few straight lines of slim 
 
105 
 
 trees running along its length. There is a neat com- 
 pact elegance visible in the architecture of what was 
 the palace, — but the building is now insignificant 
 compared with its purposes, and you can no more at- 
 tend to its proportionsj than you could fix your atten- 
 tion on the prospects adorning the banks of a river, 
 if you were hurried down one of its cataracts. 
 
 The climate of France, and the character of the 
 French, conspire to cause them to seek their plea- 
 sures out of doors. Home is the only place they ne- 
 gleet ; it is a place only for their necessities ; they 
 must sleep there, — and the tradesmen must transact 
 their business there : a bed, a table, and a fev/ chairs 
 are therefore wanted, and a small room or two, un- 
 carpeted and bare, must be hired. I speak, of course, 
 of the middle and inferior classes. But all that is in- 
 spiring and comfortable, they seek out of doors,— and 
 all that they pride themselves in being able to pro- 
 cure, is in the shape of decoration and amusement. 
 
 The Palais Royal has grown to be what it is, out 
 of these habits and dispositions, and nov/ presents the 
 most characteristic feature of Paris : — it is dissolute, 
 gay, wretched, elegant, paltry, busy, and idle : — it 
 suggests recollections of atrocity, and supplies sights 
 of fascination ; — it displays virtue and vice living on 
 easy terms, and in immediate neighbourhood with 
 each other. Excitements, indulgencies, and priva- 
 tions, — art and vulgarity, — science and ignorance,—- 
 artful conspiracies, and careless debaucheries, — all 
 mingle here, forming an atmosphere of various exha- 
 
106 
 
 lationsj a whirl of the most lively images, a stimuIaL- 
 ing melange of what is most heating, intoxicating, 
 and subduing. 
 
 The Palais Royal was the focus cf the revolution : 
 its coffee-houses, its theatres, its cellars, its gambling' 
 houses, its bagnios, poured forth their living streams 
 into its central .space, to listen to the invitations of 
 the orators, who incited the people to carry into ef-. 
 feet the tremendous plans organized within its con- 
 cealments. It was here, that a joke, or a nod, ope- 
 rating on a loose, reckless, heartless rabble, was, in 
 general, the mandate of torment and carnage, — and 
 sometimes, by well-timed and fortunately directed ob- 
 scenity and falsehood, the instrument of dissipating 
 the fury of those whom mercy could not soften, and 
 justice could not restrain. A raging, vociferating 
 gang of murderers, men and women, brandished thear 
 pikes to destroy the house and family of an aristo- 
 crat, who had himself escaped from their fury. An 
 appeal to principle and feeling was out of the question 
 at such a time, and to such beings ; but a profligate 
 pleasantry supplied the suitable application. " Why 
 pull down his house r*' — exclaimed the intercessor, 
 mounted on a chair — " it is his landlord's : — why kill 
 his wife ? — she is the public*s : — v/hy massacre his 
 children ? — they are probably some of your own."— 
 A yell of merriment broke out from the congregation 
 of furies, and the laugh of vice proved, in this in- 
 stance, a reprieve for the innocent. 
 
 The infamous Duke of Orleans, to whom the pa- 
 
107 
 
 lace belonged, befe expended his immense wealth in 
 nursing, by means of the most horrible immoralities, 
 the revolution, ot which he himself was the victim. 
 The scenes that were acted here at that time are not 
 susceptible of description : — the almosi unbounded 
 revenues of this weak and wicked prince, were di- 
 rected, at the suggestion of the most abominable 
 wretches, to every purpose of human depravity, in- 
 cluded within the opposite limits of sensual indul- 
 gence, and coid ana cruel ambition. From hence is- 
 sued out the ferocious mobs of prostitutes, poissardeSj 
 and blackguards, whose character and conduct form 
 the history, for several years, of a nation calling itself 
 great. The day at length came, when he who had ne- 
 ver been but the creature of those whom he fancied 
 he guided, was to perish by the storm he had assist- 
 ed to raise. The Duke of Orleans was dragged to 
 his death by the mobs who had been trained in his 
 pay, and his last journey was marked by an incident 
 truly French : — -those v/ho had partaken of the de- 
 baucheries and crimes of the Palais Royal, stopped 
 its owner, opposite to its well known gate, when he 
 was on his way to the fatal machine that was to termi- 
 nate his miseries and crimes ! They wished to read 
 in his haggard countenance the emotions caused by 
 this sight, so pregnant with intolerable recollections; 
 ~they could not deny themselves the indulgence of 
 this extra barbarity; — they v/ould not be deprived of 
 the right of exulting over the fall of guilt, in which 
 they had deeply participated I — Are not these things. 
 
108 
 
 which were not done in a corner, which twenty-siK 
 millions of men saw perpetrated as their public acts, 
 which powerfully influenced the thinking, the habits, 
 and the interests of Europe, — and have, more than 
 any other circumstances, contributed to form the cha- 
 racter of the age, — are they not the public monu- 
 ments of France, as much as the pillars which she 
 has erected, or the pictures which she has stolen? 
 She vaunts of her public places : the question is, 
 what sentiments and recollections do they chiefly ex- 
 cite ? It is these that are to form her glory, — for glo- 
 ry is an estimate of the mind. 
 
 The Palais Royal is still a place v/here news and 
 politics are discussed. There is in Paris, what strikes 
 an Englishman as an unusual number of persons, who 
 seem loose from actual occupation, without indicating 
 that they are above it. The period of my visit to that 
 capital, which was shortly after the destruction of a 
 government, the disbandment of an army, and the re- 
 turn of legions of prisoners of war, was more than 
 commonly calculated to display this appearance, — but 
 I apprehend, from what I could learn, that it always 
 exists. The crowds of the Palais Royal are thus 
 formed, and it puts on its air of bustling dissipation, 
 and lounging sensuality, at an early hour of the morn- 
 ing. The chairs that are placed out under the trees, 
 are to be hired, with a newspaper, for a couple of 
 sous a piece : they are soon occupied : — the crowd of 
 sitters and standers gradually increases, — the buz of 
 ^conversation swells to a noise: — the cafes fill :— the 
 
109 
 
 piazzas become crowded :— the place assumes the 
 look of intense and earnest avocation, — yet the whirl 
 and the rush are of those who float and drift in the 
 vortex of pleasure, dissipation and vice. 
 
 The shops of the Palais Royal are brilliant :•— they 
 are all devoted either to toys, ornaments, or luxuries. 
 Nothing can be imagined more elegant and striking 
 than their numerous collections of ornamental clock- 
 cases : — they are formed of the whitest alabaster, and 
 many of them present very ingenious and fanciful de^- 
 vises. One, for instance, that I saw, was a female 
 figure, in the garb and with the air of Pleasure,—. 
 hiding the hours with a fold of her scanty drapery :— . 
 one hour alone peeped out, and that indicated the 
 time of the day ; — the mechanism of the works caused 
 it to be succeeded by the next in succession. Others 
 were modelled after the most favourite pictures and 
 sculptures : — David's Horatii and Curiatii, had been 
 very frequently copied. The beauty and variety of 
 the snuff-boxes, and the articles in cut-glass, — the 
 ribbons and silks, with their exquisite colours, the 
 art of giving which is not known in England,^-the 
 profusion and seductiveness of the Magazines des 
 Gourmands^ — are matchless. There are also several 
 passages at the back of the place itself, all full of this 
 sort of display, though of an inferior kind, and inclu- 
 ding the features of vice in more distinct deformity. 
 Many of the shops in these, are kept by small book- 
 sellers, who expose their wares beyond their windows 
 on stalls, — and the mentioning of this fact, induces 
 
110 
 
 me to notice here, two circumstances highly charat - 
 teristic of Paris, and indicative of its moral and social 
 state. 
 
 The first is the extreme profligacy and filthiness oi 
 the books and prints that are exposed for sale. The 
 vilest publications lie about every where, throwing in 
 your face a grossness which amounts rather to brutality 
 than mere sensuality. It is a proof how deep and 
 general is the viciousness of manners which causes 
 this, that they run through all the degrees necessary 
 to adapt them to ever}' class of purchasers. Some are 
 as elegant as art can make them, — others mere vil- 
 lainous deformities. There are editions of the w^orks 
 of all the established authors, graduated for every de- 
 scription of taste: — in one the prints are chaste and 
 good, in another licentiousness begins to appear, — 
 in a third it is more apparent, — in a fourth it amounts 
 to obscenity. All these are finely executed, but there 
 are others, regulated according to the same scale of 
 wickedness, which are done in a much inferior way 
 for the Tjants cf the fioor. From the completeness of 
 the supply may be judged the extensiveness and cer- 
 tainty of the demand. But the most horrible circum- 
 stance connected with this branch of Parisian manu- 
 facture remains to be told : it is so much a matter of 
 common trade, that the women in the shops, — and 
 every shop is kept by a woman,— vend these articles 
 with the utmost unconcern. A tradesman's wife will 
 tell her daughter to take down a book for the gentle- 
 man, the interior of which, is a pandemonium of 
 
Ill 
 
 grossness. A respectable bookseller in my presence, 
 insulted a female customer, by putting into her hands 
 an edition of Fontaine, saying, " the prints of this 
 book, Madam, are beautiful, but they would render 
 it improper for the eyes of an unmarried lady." It is 
 in this easy way that they define virtue and vices 
 they know nothing of the difference as a matter of 
 feeling, — it must take the tangible and palpable shape 
 of an action before they can perceive it. 
 
 It is to the disgrace of French art that it is a slave 
 to this dissolute taste. The artists labour to unite 
 the gratification of obscene dispositions with the re- 
 sult of elegant conceptions: — they make the display 
 of nudity their principal object ; — it is evidently not 
 done by them in the natural and necessary course of 
 the subject, but in the depravity of the artist, speak- 
 ing to the depravity of the observer. Venuses are 
 hung out, without the print-shops, for those who 
 know nothing of form but as an object of lascivious- 
 ness ; — the bad intention is, in short, every where ap- 
 parent, and, to judge by the enormous quantity of 
 provision made for this brutal appetite, one would say 
 that it exists in Paris to a degree of coarseness dis- 
 graceful to the people, and utterly contradictory of all 
 their pretensions to refinement. 
 
 United in view to this shameful feature, is one of 
 another kind, and their neighbourhood illustrates the 
 national character. In France you have no security 
 against the existence of an evil, in the possession of 
 What is commonly and naturally opposed to it :— the 
 
lis 
 
 French reconcile fineness with filth, politenes with 
 coarseness, honour with falsehood. In like manner, 
 the shops that present the grossness above alluded to* 
 are crowded with elegant literature, placed out evi- 
 dently for numerous purchasers. The best French 
 classics, histories, poets. Sec. are heaped on every 
 stall, and lie among the trash of political pamphlets, 
 which prove nothing but that there is not a particle of 
 political understanding or principle in all France. 
 The good books must be purchased as well as the bad 
 ones,— and in point of fact, they are purchased. You 
 cannot walk three steps without encountering a stall 
 rich in literature : the bridges and quays are full of 
 them ; the entrances of the palaces are hung round 
 with the wares of these itinerant venders, — for in Paris, 
 their notions of what niay be termed the decorum of 
 elegance are not very troublesome ; — the passages to 
 the courts of justice are markets for these commodi- 
 ties. The French then read a good deal, and evi- 
 dences that they do are every where apparent in Paris. 
 The females in the public situations of trade are all 
 seen reading, — never working with their needles. 
 Even the poor girls, who sit by stalls where toys are 
 sold, are generally occupied with a book when not en- 
 gaged with a customer. I have looked over their 
 shoulders, and seen Madame de Genlis, Madame Se- 
 vigne, Voltaire, Marmontel, in their hands. This is 
 just as if, in London, the applewomen should be ob- 
 served reading the Spectator, or Boswell'slife of John- 
 Spn, or Pope's works, an appearance which would be 
 
113 
 
 deemed a phenomenon. The common classes of the 
 French therefore, are polished and conversable to a 
 degree unknown, in England: — the worst of it Is, that 
 in the country of which I am writing, the people's 
 courtesy and chattering mean nothing ; they do not 
 prove the existence either of knowledge or of feel- 
 ing ; — nay, the truth is, they prove the want of both. 
 Where words and forms are bona fide indicators of 
 their corresponding sentiments, they will ahvays be 
 more sparingly employed than where this connexion 
 has been broken. In like manner, there is a certain 
 point of national character and condition, at which 
 reading will be very generally diffused throughout 
 the community, precisely because it has little or no 
 effect in producing earnestness of thinking on the in- 
 terests and duties of life. 
 
 To return now to the Palais Royal. It may, after 
 this digression, be supposed to be the hour of dinner; 
 and the salons of the restorateurs are all full. In pro- 
 portion as the homes of the Parisians are uncomfort- 
 able in an Englishman's estimation, their places of 
 public resort and refreshment have an air of enjoy- 
 ment, abundance, frankness, and congeniality, to which 
 he has been utterly unaccustomed. From five to half 
 past seven, crowds of both sexes pour into all the nu- 
 merous receptacles of this description, the invitations 
 to which hang forth so thick as to astonish the British 
 stranger. The price charged within for dinner, is 
 specified on many of the signs, and varies from twen- 
 ty-five sous, — about one shilling, to four franks, above 
 
 K 2 
 
114 
 
 three. For these sums four or five dishes a head are 
 promised; half a bottle, or a bottle of wine, a desert 
 of fruit, and bread ''at discretion/' The latter sti- 
 pulation of this engagement is no trifling one, for it is 
 known that a Frenchman's discretion in the article of 
 bread, is not of the soberest kind. 
 
 The superior Restorateurs, however, specify no- 
 thing ; — and here both the supply and the serving-up 
 are of the most elegant description. Casts from the 
 exquisite antiques in the Louvre, stand in the niches, 
 '—lamps, with beautiful shades, throw a noble light 
 on the tables, — the waiters are active, and Madame, 
 the mistress, sits in her splendid recess, as a super- 
 intending divinity, decorated, stately, yet gracious; 
 her looks full of the consciousness of her sex and sta- 
 tion, her manner, welcoming, polished and adroit.-— 
 In the artifices of cookery, and all the seductions of 
 the table, the French are adepts : — nothing can be 
 more unfounded than the common idea in England, 
 that they are comparatively temperate in this respect. 
 Their variety of dishes tempts the appetite, their rich 
 sauces apply themselves iiresistably to the palate: in- 
 stead of eating less meat, because they take more 
 soup than the English, they add the additional soup 
 to a much larger repast of meat than is commonly 
 made in England. A little delicate looking woman, 
 will think it no violation to say—" Oh^ mon Dieu I j'ai 
 mange pour guatrcy — ^and really, both females and men 
 apply themselves with a determination, dexterity, and 
 carelessness of observation, to the contents of thel^ 
 
115 
 
 numerous dishes, which, in a country where the setret 
 is less known how to redeem by manner the essential 
 grossness of things, would constitute downright gor- 
 mandizing. 
 
 The appearance of ladies sitting among crowds of 
 men in these public rooms, startles the English visi- 
 tor, as a custom that trenches on the seclusion that he 
 
 is inclined to think necessary to the preservation of 
 
 * 
 
 the most valuable female qualities, in the tenderness 
 of their beauty. It is, however, in this respect as in 
 many others in Paris; — there is no sensibility for any 
 thing beyond the action itself, — there is an utter igno- 
 rance that the highest sense of value prompts re- 
 straint, concealment, and precaution, — there is a tho- 
 rough indifference for what cannot be sensually en- 
 joyed. Can a woman lose her virtue by dining in this 
 promiscuous assemblage ? — can we better shew our 
 regard for women, than by making them our insepa- 
 rable companions ?— -where would they find a compen- 
 sation for the pleasures of which you would deprive 
 them ?— these would be the questions which a French- 
 man would put, if he heard you object to the practice 
 in question. 
 
 The advance of the evening throws out still more 
 prominently the native and most peculiar features of 
 the Palais Royal. When the numerous windows of 
 its immense mass of building are lighted up, and 
 present to the eye, contemplating them from the dark 
 and deserted ground in the centre, a burning exterior, 
 leading the imagination to the lively scenes within^ 
 
116 
 
 pefhaps a more impressive spectacle is not to be found 
 in the world. From the foundations of the building; 
 floods of light stream up, and illuminate crowds that 
 make their ingress and egress to and from the cellars, 
 that are places both of amusement and refreshment: 
 — here there are dancing dogs, blind men who play 
 on musical instruments, ballad singers, petite plays, 
 and the game of dominos. The tables are crowded 
 with men and women,— wives mingle with prostitutes, 
 tradesmen with sharpers : the refreshments are all of 
 a light nature; nothing like intoxication is seen, and 
 there is no very gross breach of decorum in beha- 
 viour. 
 
 It is very certain, that if there were any similar 
 places of resort in London, such abominable conduct 
 would prevail among them, that they would become 
 insufferable nuisances ; — whereas, in Paris, there is 
 nothing seen painfully to offend the eye, and this is 
 enough to satisfy the Parisians that they ought not 
 to shock the mind. But the truth is, that grossness 
 of conduct is the natural and becoming barrier that 
 stands between virtue and vice, — it proves that the 
 two are kept totally distinct, that the partizans of the 
 latter feel themselves proscribed, rejected, disowned 
 by the respectable. They thus carry with them the 
 brand of their infamy, — ihe good shudder at it and 
 avoid them, — they disgust instead of alluring, — they 
 excite a horror which counteracts the temptations to 
 licentiousness. It is a sigrt that the virtue of a nation 
 is spurious and debased^ not that its vice is scanty and 
 
117 
 
 unaggravated, when its manners fail strongly to mark 
 the distinction between the worthy and the reprobate. 
 Where morals are generally loose, where principles 
 arc unsettled, and duties ill-understood and worse 
 practised, the most vicious will assume a companion- 
 able decorum of behaviour, for they will feel that 
 they are not much out of the common way; and, be- 
 ing on terms of familiarity and communion with all 
 around them, their iniquity will help to form a gene- 
 rally debased standard, instead of remaining distinct 
 and odious, as a contrast to what is pure and valuable. 
 This is the true secret of what is termed the superior 
 decency of Paris in some respects : — it cannot be said 
 to exist in any one instance of superiority in what is 
 good ; — it is not to be found in a closer regard to the 
 nuptial contract, in a higher sense of what is honora- 
 ble in transactions between man and man, or in absti- 
 nence from sensual indulgences. No, in each and all 
 of these respects, the French are notoriously less 
 strict than the English : — but their prostitutes are 
 better behaved, and their public assemblages are not 
 so boisterous, — the causes of which are^ that their 
 women of the town are less a peculiar class than those 
 of England, and that the quiet and comfort of their 
 homes are less sacredly preserved, and fondly esteem- 
 ed. 
 
 Above the cellars and the shops of the Palais Royal, 
 there are the elegant Cafes, the common and licens- 
 ed gambling houses and bagnios, and, still higher, 
 the abodes of the guilty, male and female, of every 
 
118 
 
 Jescription. The first mentioned (the Caf(6s) are in 
 fact brilliant temples of luxury : — on entering them 
 for the first time, one is almost struck back by their 
 glare of decoration and enjoyment. Ladies and gen- 
 tlemen in their colours, and statues in their whiteness, 
 —and busy waiters, and painted wails, and sparkling 
 delicacies of every kind, are mingled, and repeated, 
 and extended in appearance to infinity, by numerous 
 mirrors, which add vastness to elegance, and the 
 effect of a crowd to the experience of accommodation. 
 In one of these, the Cafe des milles colonnes — (so called 
 because its columns are reflected in glasses till they 
 become thousands) — a priestess of the place presides, 
 with even more than the usual pomp of such persons. 
 She is a fine woman, and admits the stare of her visi- 
 tors as a part of the entertainment which they have a 
 ;'|^;ht to expect. For a minute or two she reads, hold- 
 ing the book delicately at arm*s length, and simpering 
 as if to herself at its contents, in the consciousness 
 that she is at least regarded by fifty eyes : — then, with 
 a look of official dignity, she receives a customer's 
 money from one of the waiters, and daintily dips her 
 pen into a burnished ink-stand, — after which she drops 
 the necessary memorandum on the paper, gracefully 
 displaying her finely shaped hand, and exquisitely 
 white kid gloves. Occasionally, one of the gentlemen 
 in the cofi'ee-room sits down by her side, and talks 
 gallantry as they do on the stage, — that is to say, with 
 the air of knowing that he is the object of general re^ 
 mark. 
 
119 
 
 Leaving these scenes where Pleasure puts on her 
 gayest trappings, and appears in all her smiles and 
 fascinations, you may enter others where her attire is 
 coarser, and she has assumed more of the louring, 
 jaded, desperate look of vice. The Cafe Montensier 
 was a theatre during the revolutionary period, and it 
 still continues to be divided into galleries and pit : — 
 the stage is covered with a vast, bouquet of flowers. 
 Here the company is understood to be of a loose de- 
 scription : the men are chiefly military, — the v/omen 
 prostitutes. The former go lounging about, from be- 
 low to above, and from above to below, — and the 
 large proportion which their profession forms of all 
 public assemblages, and their reckless, irregular, 
 profligate carriage, open one's eyes to the blessings 
 of a military population, and to the prudence and pa- 
 triotism of those who would make military badges be 
 regarded as objects of the highest am.bition, by hold- 
 ing them forth as the most honorable indications of 
 desert. 
 
 The gambling rooms constitute spectacles purely 
 shocking. They are licensed and inspected by the 
 government, and therefore they are orderly and regu- 
 lar on the surface of their arrangements and beha- 
 viour, — but they are licensed by the government, and 
 therefore they destroy the foundations of order, mo- 
 rals, honor, and loyalty. If a father debauches his 
 children, is his family likely to be noted for subordi- 
 nation and respectability ? The British lotteries 
 would be equally infamous, if they were equally uni- 
 
\ 120 
 
 versal and constant in their effects,— but they are not 
 so, and the French government supports numerous 
 petty lotteries in addition to the gaming tables. A 
 writer in one of the English prints, who dates his 
 communication from Paris, thus expresses himself on 
 these subjects : — 
 
 " Gaming, in every country sufficiently injurious, 
 in this is rendered doubly destructive from the small 
 sums that may be staked. At the first tables with 
 which the Palais Royal, and indeed almost every dis- 
 trict of Paris, abounds, and to sotne of nvhich females 
 are admitted as well as men^ so small a sum as two 
 francs, or twenty pence, may be staked. The evil of 
 this will easily be seen ; every artisan who can earn, 
 every shopman or apprentice who can purloin that 
 sum, may try his fortune at the gaming table ; and, 
 not content with this encouragement to the spirit of 
 play*, the government provides in the course of every 
 y^ar, not less than about one hundred and eighty lotte* 
 ries^ one of \vhich is drawn nearly every other clay, 
 and in which persons may purchase even for the small 
 sum of six-pence : — the consequence is, that the fa- 
 mily of many a labourer is frequently deprived of its 
 daily food, to indulge this vile spirit of gambling, 
 which the vile policy of the government has created 
 and fostered. All this evil is tolerated in order to 
 raise a revenue which appears almost inconsiderable. 
 The produce of the gaming-houses, and places of de- 
 bauchery, for they are all taxed, do not, according to 
 Monsieur Pichon, amount to more than fourteen mil- 
 
121 
 
 iions of francs, or about 600,000/. per annum. For- 
 merly they were farmed for twelve millions per an- 
 num. The individual who rented them, retired with a 
 fortune of thirty millions, and now resides on a do- 
 main which he has purchased, and which once belong- 
 ed to the Duchess of Bourbon. At present the tables 
 are in the hands of the government, and may equal 
 the whole estimate of Monsieur Pichon ; but whate- 
 ver may be the amount of the profit derived, there is 
 no man who must not see, that when balanced against 
 the loss of national morals, the sum is contemptible 
 indeed." 
 
 On entering these horrid places, you are first start- 
 led by the preparation of taking from you your hat 
 and stick in the anti-chamber : — when you proceed 
 into the rooms where they play, your heart is wither- 
 ed by anxi(ms looks, and a heated stillness, rendered 
 more impressive by the small interruptions given to 
 it by the sudden sharp click of a bit of wood, which 
 intimates that the winner is seizing his money. Of 
 all popular vices, gaming is the most odious and dead- 
 ly : it is opposed to all social feelings, — it renders 
 -even extravagance selfish, and improvidence mean; 
 — it stifles kindness in proportion as it encourages 
 hope ; — it gives to the disposition a sharp, edgy, con- 
 tracted character, and, while it ruins the circum- 
 stances more fatally and surely than any other illicit 
 pursuit, it throws neither pomp nor pathos around 
 the downfall, About these hellish tables, half-pay 
 officers, private soldiers, clerks, and ex-employes, are 
 
 L 
 
13a 
 
 seen in a desperate contention with treacherous for- 
 tune : — the expression of the face, as the trembling 
 hand puts down the piece of money, is awful ; — one 
 piece follows another, — gold is succeeded by silver, 
 and, from five franc coins, the unfortunate wretch is 
 reduced to the risk of a single franc. He loses it, 
 and leaves the room with a face that bespeaks him 
 drained and desperate. For what atrocity is he not 
 now prepared ? The appearance of women at these 
 tables is still more horrible : — their sex, which is so 
 susceptible of lovely appearances, natural and moral, 
 seems equally calculated to display the features of 
 deformity in their most revolting aspects. 
 
 There is yet much more that belongs to the Palais 
 Royal, — but I believe I have described all that will 
 bear description. Prostitution dwells in its splendid 
 apartments, parades its walks, starves in its garrets, 
 and haunts its corners. It is not, certainly, so riot- 
 ous in its manner as in England, — but it is easy to 
 see, that its profligacy is of a deeper, fouler, more 
 nauseous kind. Old men and old women are employ- 
 ed as regular inviters, and they think they consult the 
 interests of those who employ them, by putting their 
 invitations in terms the most offensive to a manly 
 taste. 
 
 Such is the Palais Royal ; — a vanity fair — a mart of 
 sin and seduction I Open, not on one day of festival, 
 or on a few holidays, — but every day of the week. 
 Every day does it present stimulants and opportuni- 
 ties to profligacy and extravagance,— -to waste, and 
 
133 
 
 riot, and idleness. It is there— ►always ready to re- 
 ceive the inclined, to tempt the irresolute, to confirm 
 bad habits, and dispel good resolutions. It is there, 
 as a pestilential focus of what is dangerous and de- 
 praved, — a collection of loose and desperate spirits, 
 in the heart of a luxurious capital, — as a point of 
 union for every thing that is evil, — where Pleasure, 
 in all her worst shapes, exists, in readiness to be 
 adapted to every variety of disposition, and to enslave 
 and corrupt the heart by making the senses despotic. 
 There is but one Palais Royal in the world, say the 
 Parisians, and it is well for the world that there is but 
 one. 
 
 Besides the amusements here alluded to, there are 
 ten theatres in Paris open every night, and every 
 night crowded. The Boulevardes are full of coffee- 
 houses, such as have been described as belonging to 
 the Palais Royal. At several of these petite plays 
 are performed : — there are also public dancing rooms, 
 public gardens, and exhibitions without number. The 
 people increase this enormous amount of amusement 
 for themselves ; — in all the public walks in fine wea- 
 ther, they are to be seen dancing in parties. The 
 waltz is the predominating figure, and the women of 
 Paris of all ranks, grisettes as well as Duchesses, de- 
 light in it to madness, and exercise it with skill and 
 grace. 
 
 The whole neighbourhood of Paris within the cir- 
 cle of six miles, is crowded with similar places of 
 entertainment, adding rural enjoyments to those of the 
 
124 
 
 town : — and all these places in country and in city, are 
 well supported. A more important feature of nation- 
 al character than this excessive fondness for revelry 
 and public entertainment, cannot be imagined. It ne- 
 ver can exist amongst a people who are deeply at- 
 tached to their homes ; and amongst a people who 
 are not deeply attached to their homes, the most il- 
 lustrious public Tirtues will but rarely be found. 
 
125 
 
 CHAPTER Xv 
 
 THERE is, as I have said before, a strange irre- 
 gularity and uncertainty visible to an Englishman's 
 eye in the outward appearances of Paris. The ^ur= 
 faces of things in England, indicate pretty satisfactO' 
 rily in general, their exact rank and office in the sys^ 
 tern of society : — thus, it would not be difficult to tell 
 by a glance at the windows in merely passing out- 
 side a house in London, to what separate purposes 
 the rooms they signify are devoted. One kind of 
 curtain indicates a dining-room, another a drawing- 
 room, another a bed-room, another a nursery, and so 
 on. But in Paris, nothing of that feeling prevails, 
 which renders people uneasy, although their object 
 is accomplished, if it be not accomplished in the re- 
 gular way, and by the prescribed methods. It is the 
 same, in the domestic and social economy of the 
 French, as in their military tactics : little care is 
 given by them to dressing the line, to adjusting size, 
 to preserving a minute exactness of uniform, nor to 
 those movements and evolutions that produce com* 
 pactness, and co-operation, and consistency, with re- 
 ference to the mass, slighting, or subduing to one 
 general average, the peculiarities of individuals. 
 
 Every one in France is at liberty to accomplish 
 what he desires in his own way, according to his own 
 
 L 2 
 
126 
 
 tastes, means, and circumstances. If an individual 
 wishes to keep a cabriolet in Paris, he need not, as 
 in London he naust, live up in every respect to a con- 
 sistency with this one indulgence: he may help lo 
 defray the expense of this equipage of a gentleman, 
 by vrearing a coat that an English journeyman v/ould 
 be ashamed to. put on. You may see people going 
 to the Tuilleries on a court day, who have breakfasted 
 off a bit of dry bread, omitting the bunch of grapes 
 to enable them to buy the yard of red ribbon from 
 which their crosses of St. Louis are suspended. A 
 laced hat, clean shirt, dirty waistcoat, dress breeches, 
 and worsted stockings, often meet on the same body 
 at the same time. I have encountered in the Palais 
 Royal a military officer, with a sword by his side, 
 wearing a military hat, an old black coat, a gorgeous- 
 ly striped waistcoat, black silk breeches, and white 
 cotton stockings. You never, or scarcely ever, see 
 in Paris^ one who carries in his air and general ap- 
 pearance the assurance of what is in England under- 
 stood by the term gentleman, — formed, as he is, out 
 of adequate opulence and elegant society, and habitu- 
 ally exercising an observance of the rules of his rank. 
 There is no feeling for moral symmetry in the French : 
 something unfinished or irregular, or inconsistent, 
 starts forth amongst their finest exhibitions. The 
 nicest of their beaux shall have a bad hat, or mended 
 boots, or his skin peeping through his shirt, or some- 
 thing wild or poor, about him. Prince Tally rand's 
 elegant house, was stuck over with quack doctors' 
 
127 
 
 bills, the bills of the theatres, and the paper hostili- 
 ties of two rivals in trade, manufacturers of Cologne 
 water. This is but a specimen of the common care- 
 lessness as to decorum, and this sort of disfigurement 
 which gives a mean effect to some of the grandest 
 situations of Paris is permitted to extend to the pa- 
 laces. I met, in the immediate neighbourhood of the 
 Tuilleries, a fine Parisian lady, tripping in her gait, 
 conscious in her looks, — claiming admiration and re- 
 cei%^ing it, — who, without any shew of concealment, 
 was holding her nose, as a plain intimation of her 
 being aware of the nuisances that were then commit- 
 ting under the elegant arcades of the new post office. 
 Some placards stuck up to catch the eye, invited 
 the public to '^ line grande salle a Manger^'* which, it 
 was carefully specified, was decorated imth mirrors 
 and statues^ — where a dinner of four dishes, bread 
 " at discretion," half a bottle of wine, and fruit, would 
 be supplied at twenty-five sous fiar tete^ — ^about a shil- 
 ling a head. Properly to appreciate this announce- 
 ment, it must be explained that such a price is thought 
 miserable at Paris ; — it is on a par there with the low- 
 est charges of our worst eating houses in London;— 
 but the frequenters of even these lowest houses of 
 accommodation in the French capital, have a feeling 
 for " statues and mirrors ;" — they must have their 
 four dishes, their wine, and their fruit : — though this 
 ekeing out of the shew is all at the expense of the 
 substance, they have not the slightest conception that 
 
±28 
 
 there is a want of respectability in a sacrifice of this 
 nature. 
 
 With the English, as I have previously observed, 
 there is a sturdy scorn of all courtesies and decora- 
 tions that form strong contrasts to general condition. 
 An English dustman would never think of taking off 
 his hat to an English washerwoman, or of requesting 
 the honour of carrying her bundle. The idea of his 
 own cart and bell, and of her tub, would cause him 
 to regard with a surly mockery any approach even to 
 politeness. He knows and feels the truth, and as he 
 cannot really mend the matter, he will not conde- 
 scend to trick it out. A Frenchman has neither a 
 just sense of that to which he may pretend with pro- 
 priety, nor of that to which he cannot without falling 
 into absurdity. One of the lowest class will ape the 
 etiquette of the higher orders, while he submits to 
 their insults : — the vulgar with us, would resent the 
 latter with promptitude, but they would be the first 
 to laugh at any one of themselves who should shew 
 an ambition to strut about in imitation of the gait and 
 demeanour of his superiors. I have seen a French 
 water-carrier salute a woman, carrying a basket of 
 grapes, with all the scrupulous punctilio that a colo- 
 nel of the Gwards would observe in paying his re- 
 spects to a lady of quality in Bond-street. Two Pa- 
 risian tradesmen, who have breakfasted off the bare 
 boards of their shop tables on a slice of onion and a 
 bit of bread each, and who live without conveniences 
 
139 
 
 of any kind, will exchange, when they meet, the most 
 graceful ceremonials of respect. Our shop-keepers 
 deem a nod, or perhaps a coarse exclamation, quite 
 sufficient for their dignity ; but they would not feel 
 comfortable without table-cloths and well furnished 
 rooms. 
 
 From this kind of desultory sketching I hope the 
 reader will be able to extract the true character of 
 the social system of Paris, and the qualities which it 
 indicates, — for this is not the sort of work that will 
 admit of connecting facts and pursuing causes with 
 philosophical accuracy. The analogies must be traced 
 in a great measure by the sagacity of those to whom 
 the author addresses himself, for he would probably 
 be accused of dryness and tediousness were he to be 
 strictly methodical in his arrangement, and precise 
 and full in his explanation of the first principles of 
 the machinery, the effects of which he describes. 
 
 A very little consideration will shew that this loose- 
 ness of manners is the result of a loose, and in many 
 important respects, a false state of thinking ; — a state 
 favorable to quick, lively, and strenuous action, — =cal- 
 culated to make a nation full of exhibitions, and amuse- 
 ments, and enterprises, but deficient in solid esta- 
 blishments, in fixed monuments of sound principle, 
 in the inheritances that are worth bequeathing, in the 
 productions that speak to " all time," and that address 
 the future more impressively than the present. But 
 those who admire a luxuriant surface, and care not 
 about the depth of roots, — who are pleased to see 
 
130 
 
 every thing made the most of as to present effect,— 
 who are not over scrupulous about either moral ox na= 
 tural completeness and propriety, and think a new 
 gilt counter a finer thing than a discoloured guinea, — 
 are likely to be most gratified where this frame of 
 mind chiefly prevails. It is highly conducive to glit- 
 tering doings, for those whom it distinguishes never 
 delay to begin any thing until they have calculated its 
 practicability, its cost and its consequences. — The 
 time which others spend in reflecting, they employ in 
 acting; they never paralyze exertion by weighing and 
 balancing considerations of propriety, delicacy, and 
 whatnot; they have, in short, nothing \vithin their 
 own breasts that is of so much consequence to them 
 as the eyes that suiTound them without, — and hence 
 they escape all the greatest sources of timidity, irre- 
 solution, and inaction. Hence they collect libraries 
 for the public : Museums for the public, — that public 
 that dances in the Champs Elysee round the trees, 
 and then adjourns to criticize the Laocoon. Hence 
 they have public meetings of the Institute, at which 
 the Scavans compliment each other, and the auditors 
 applaud. Hence in the Chamber ot Deputies the 
 members receive and record the trumpery publica- 
 tions of the day. Hence they perform theatrical 
 scenes at their hospitals for the deaf and dumb. Sec. 
 
 A French family will take a large and elegant ho- 
 tel,* and give dashing entertainments This, most 
 
 * Houses are called hotels in Paris, because they have usually 
 several occupiers. 
 
131 
 
 probably, is not a settling of themselves according to 
 their rank and means, — but merely a measure fiour 
 I'occasion, They have been, hitherto, living in com- 
 parative obscurity and thriftyness, but the daughter 
 has become of a marriageable age, and she must be 
 put out in a marketable manner. Her portion is an- 
 nounced with publicity and precision. When the pur- 
 pose is effected, the hotel is sold or let, and the family 
 retire to a first or second floor according to their in- 
 come. This is done without any disgrace or shame 
 attaching to the declension : no irksomeness arises to 
 fhe parties concerned from the change of habits :— 
 they feel nothing whatever from a circumstance that 
 is in England regarded as the most severe that can 
 befal any one, and to avoid which life itself is often 
 parted with. 
 
 The economy of their habitations is after the same 
 fashion, and belongs to the same system. " Why," 
 they would say, " should a bed-room be held sacred 
 through the day, when it is only required to be kept 
 in quietness through the night?*' So, before the bed 
 is made, and often before the lady is out of it, — visitors 
 are admitted. There is little or no feeling in France 
 for any thing beyond, or on one side of the actual fact. 
 Thus, a lady will dress behind the curtain, while a 
 gentleman, sitting in the room, hears her movements, 
 and is able to guess every action as she performs it : 
 but what then ? She is not exposed to his eyes, and 
 as to his imagination it is quite free for her, — her feel- 
 ings are not affected by any of its liberties. 
 
13S 
 
 There being this insensibility in France about what 
 costs us in England most trouble and anxiety, their 
 attention is wholly devoted to that kind of ingenious 
 contrivance which I have been describing, and which 
 is of the same nature with that of school-boys, who 
 can make any thing answer every purpose. Nothing 
 can be imagined more wretched than tlie arrangement 
 of their rooms, with reference to what we call family 
 comfort and completeness ; but for the make-shift they 
 are admirably contrived. They all run out and into 
 each other, so that you must pass through bed-rooms, 
 and all sorts of rooms, before you can reach youf 
 own ; but then the whole will form a suite for company 
 in the evening : — the beds are overhung with a canopy 
 of silk and lace, for the occasion; and no one sees the 
 discoloured sheets, or the night-cap that is put below 
 the pillow. 
 
 In a house which was let for two hundred and fifty 
 pounds a year, the walls were ornamented with paint- 
 ings on their plaster by tolerable French artists, but 
 the passages and stairs were miserably dirty : — there 
 were casts from the antique statues in the principal 
 rooms, and elegant candelabras, — but the dining table 
 was a deal one, and the legs were rickety : there were 
 large mirrors interspersed through the apartments, 
 but the garden at the back was a neglected heap of 
 decayed vegetable litter: — the furniture was such al- 
 together, as we see here hired by the evening for 
 routes, but then there was a billiard table in the hall. 
 There were no neat spare bed-rooms, — no snug break- 
 
133 
 
 fasting parlours, — three or four miserable holes with 
 truckle beds were the only chambers for repose, after 
 those of the master and mistress, which formed part 
 of the suite of public rooms. The lady's boudoir was 
 the only apartment thwU was carefully and elegantly 
 adapted for its own peculiar uses ; — but this sacred 
 place must not be discussed here. It belongs to the 
 female character and manners in Paris, and is an im- 
 portant feature of them; it will therefore be particu- 
 larly noticed when we pay our respects to the sex. 
 With a great profusion of display and decoration, in 
 short, there was an apparent beggarliness as to real 
 comforts ; and an utter want of those genial attrac- 
 tions that draw the friendly circle close together, — 
 that constitute the essence of home, and what is most 
 sterling, cordial and endearing in life. 
 
 Nevertheless, it must not be understood that there 
 is nothing to interest the eye, and excite pleasant feel- 
 ings in the fitting up of the rooms in Paris :— there 
 is a general taste shewn for the elegancies of art, a 
 deficiency in which reflects discredit on England. 
 The paper hangings are commonly after classical de- 
 signs, and the Burgeois seem to have the same feel- 
 ing for statues and pictures, as the rich and fashiona- 
 ble. Galignani's public library has a fine cast of Cupid 
 and Psyche in the garden : — at Tortoni's you eat your 
 ice under a Grecian groupe ; — in the Palais Royal, the 
 ornaments and nick-nacks of or-molu, and jewelry, 
 shew a general acquaintance with the fine memorials 
 left us of the unrivalled taste of antique times. In the 
 
 M 
 
134 
 
 houses of the great, this turn of the people manifests 
 itself in an elegance demanding and receiving admi- 
 ration. The walls are margined with sweeps of 
 Etruscan bordering ; the tables have their marbled 
 tops surmounted with naked statues, beautifully co- 
 pied from the treasures of their museums ; — the hand 
 of an artist is visible in all the paintings of the rooms : 
 —mirrors multiply and extend every beauty : baths 
 bespeak luxurious habits. 
 
 Even with these higher classes, however, there is a 
 decided and visible want of that perfect furnishing, 
 and opulent regulation that surrounds the gentry of 
 England. The carriage and horses, for instance, of a 
 French family of rank will be such as would not in 
 London be jobbed. The servants have not that dis- 
 ciplined, orderly, neat air, which they carry with them 
 in England, when they marshal themselves along the 
 passage as the company enters the dining-room. 
 
 The domestic economy of the people of all ranks 
 wants that snug cordiality, which, however it may, at 
 first sight, seem to promote only the comfort of one's 
 feelings, has in truth an admirable moral effect. The 
 family, whether it be a tradesman's, or a marshal's, 
 never assemble together in the morning ; — breakfast, 
 which is so enjoyed, I might almost say so a?niable a 
 meal with us, is never in Paris partaken of in a regu- 
 lar way. The father, the mother, and the children, 
 separately eat what they please, when they please, and 
 where they please, before dinner. They do not come 
 together therefore, in the freshness of their early 
 
135 
 
 hearts, before the dissipations and distractions of the 
 day liave disturbed the calm so favorable to a view of 
 duties, and an expansion of the affections. 
 
 The order of a French dinner party has been so 
 often described, that I do not feel inclined to repeat 
 the bill of fare, and the arrangements of the table.— 
 The chief peculiarities are, that the ladies and gen- 
 tlemen do not separate, — that little wine is drank, and 
 that of a light kind, — that the ladies take their share 
 in all the topics of the day, — and as the price of their 
 permission to remain with the gentlemen, countenance 
 and promote an easy licentiousness of conversation, 
 which forms about a medium between the grossness 
 which too often prevails among Englishmen, when 
 the females have quitted them, and the scrupulous de- 
 corum which they preserve before the separation of 
 the sexes. It scarcely admits of doubt, that the 
 French custom indicates a state of society, in which 
 the feelings of delicacy and morals are light and 
 loose. They are not troublesome with reference to 
 any, and therefore one standard of decorum is adopt- 
 ed as sufficient for all : — the yoke of propriety is 
 fashioned so wide in its shape, and trifling in its 
 weight, that no one has a temptation, on any occasion, 
 to throw it entirely off. 
 
 The genteel society of Paris has not been orga- 
 nized since the revolution, and the destruction of 
 Buonaparte's government threw it into fresh disorder 
 and uncertainty : — this event infused afresh into peo- 
 ple's breasts, a spirit of doubt, of suspicion, and of 
 
136 
 
 Jiatred, entirelj inimical to the ease aod pleasantry, 
 and nnresenred commuDication, which used to form 
 the pHde and oraameot of the haut-ton of Paris. 
 Ererj attempt at the process of social refinement, 
 maife since the tremendous rarages <^ all that was 
 graceful and good, that accompanied the downfall of 
 the monarchy, seems to hare been made by coarse 
 hands, in the few and short interrals of the work of 
 plunder and bloodshed. The wars of the period, and 
 the cold Irofn character of Buonaparte's inflooice, re- 
 pressed, to a. most deplorable degree, what is proper? 
 ly understood by g^iod society^ The intellect of 
 France^ under this direction, took a fierce and profii- 
 gate course ; its manners became hard and slorenly ; 
 its dispositions rigOant, keen, and unscrupulous. All 
 this is diametricaOy opposed to the confidence, ele- 
 gance, and studious attentioo to the particulars of ac- 
 commodation, of which the beautiful £d>ric of polite 
 and accomplished society must be composed. A bit- 
 temess of sentiment was cherished by those who 
 had been humbled and reduced from the higher 
 ranks by the rexolotioo, which prerented them from 
 aTaiiing themselres of opportunities to mingle with 
 their substitutes, and assist to restore that polish of 
 surfiice, and genteel turn of thinking, which in some 
 measure redeem the vices and weaknesses of old esta- 
 blishments. Oq the other hand, those who had risen 
 to station and wealth, by means of the changes, enter- 
 tained a contempt for the persons that had been de- 
 graded, and the general qu^^'-'e^ ^f the dps'^^nr.-r 
 
187 
 
 system, that led them to foster their original coarse- 
 ness, as a mark of honorable distinction. 
 
 From the most candid accounts I could procure, it 
 would seem that no royal or imperial influence was 
 ever less calculated to restore the graces, or promote 
 the amiable qualities of society, than Buonaparte's. A 
 kind of wild, energetic point, distinguished his man- 
 ner of behaving, as it did his style of writing and 
 speaking. He was haughty himself, and loved to see 
 those around him haughty to their inferiors : — Jose- 
 phine's affability to those about her always excited 
 his displeasure, — and the reserve and insolence of the 
 Austrian Princess, gave him an assurance of his dig- 
 nity which he seemed to want. The members of his 
 family in Paris did not conduce to throw either re- 
 spectability or ornament around his court : their vices, 
 as well as his own, were understood to be gross, — 
 their dispositions had nothing of a reconciling, vivi- 
 fying, decorating turn. 
 
 The restoration of the Bourbons could not have 
 produced much alteration in these respects for the 
 better, when I was at Paris ; and, in point of fact, this 
 historical event had then rather increased the som- 
 bre uncomfortable aspect of society. Parties, at the 
 houses of the fashionables, were disturbed by the ex- 
 istence of new dissentions, new jealousies, new mo- 
 tives of avoidance, new causes for partiality. Above 
 all, the return of the old gentry from their exile, and 
 the acquisition of importance and hope made by the 
 reduced persons of this class, who had remained in 
 
 M 2 
 
138 
 
 France, produced unpleasantness and promised mis- 
 chief. It brought beggary, burning under a sense of 
 injustice, into immediate hostile contact with power 
 and fortune, alarmed for their possessions, insulting 
 in their spirit, and fierce in their habits. Such a col- 
 lision, it will be supposed, could not take place with- 
 out producing the extremest danger to the very foun- 
 dations on which rested all the establishments of the 
 nation ; and the reputation of the new rulers for pru- 
 dence and talent, depended upon their taking the 
 measures best calculated for subduing or neutralizing 
 the elements of explosion. It is to be doubted 
 whether, notwithstanding the visible testimonies 
 given of the good sense and amiable temper of the 
 King, this was the case. In many important re- 
 spects the system of the restored court seemed to set- 
 tle at that most fatal of all points, where enough is 
 done to alarm, and not enough to intimidate. There 
 was ground given for believing in the existence of an 
 inclination reaching beyond power, and this belief, as 
 it could not be limited relative to the extent of what 
 might in future be inflicted, supplied nothing to deter 
 from a present attempt to avoid the peril. It there- 
 fore included two of the strongest inducements to re- 
 bellion. But probably, the religious measures of the 
 court have done more than any other part of its con- 
 duct, to hurt it in the estimation of the Parisians. 
 These excited their contempt, which is a more fatal 
 and cruel feeling in France than any other. The King 
 altered the constitution, he restrained the liberty of 
 the press.- — these measures scarcely excited notice 
 
139 
 
 and still less reprehension : — but, mon Dieu I he or- 
 dered the shops to be shut up on Sundays, and the 
 spirit of the people was instantly inflamed to exaspe- 
 ration. 
 
 This leads me to remark on another feature of the 
 Society of Paris. The dupery of superstition has been 
 succeeded by the most hardy infidelity of the most 
 chattering species. The ladies assail you in a crowd- 
 ed room, where there is waltzing going on, to put 
 you seriously to your proofs in favour of the existence 
 of a God : — the little boys stop in the streets to laugh 
 at the priests, as mountebanks that are at once disho- 
 nest and ridiculous : — a Madame la Portiere of an ho- 
 tel, threw herself into a convulsion of rage because a 
 priest cam.e to invite her daughter to confession. One 
 day, observing a sentinel standing on guard near a 
 church, the name of which I wished to know, I ad- 
 dressed him for the information I wanted :— the re- 
 ply was — " Monsieur^ I am a soldier^'-^I knoHV nothing' 
 of churches ! — In the tragedy of (Edipus, by Voltaire, 
 Jocaste says to her wretched husband — 
 
 "Nos prctres ne sont point ce qu'an vain peuple pense, 
 " Notre credulite fait toute leur science.*' 
 
 These lines, on the night I saw the piece performed, 
 were scarcely out of the actress's mouth, before the 
 house shook to its foundations with the thunders of 
 applause : it was a tumultuous roar, proceeding from 
 tradesmen, soldiers, men, women, and children, — the 
 thoughtless as well as the thinking, — all uniting to 
 
140 
 
 testify an abhorrence of religion and of its ministers. 
 — The light of philosophy is a fine thing, and the 
 darkness of bigotry is as hateful, — but the illumina- 
 tion of the French is rather too diffused to be pure, — 
 and too fierce to be perfectly safe. 
 
 The society of Paris has an air of being entirely 
 devoted to art and literature. These subjects take 
 the lead every where, to the total exclusion of morals 
 and politics. A light flimsy sort of cleverness is thus 
 shed over the surface of conversation, and, as far as 
 the exhibition goes, it is pleasing enough. It unfor- 
 tunately, however, so happens, that what is most va- 
 luable in these mines of human genius, lies too deep 
 to be got at by such facile means, and too heavy to 
 be raised by such common powers. The consequence 
 is, that, where this current application is most in 
 vogue, the profound treasures will be neglected for 
 the sake of hammering out bits of passable coin, that 
 may glitter and jingle in the communications of the 
 day. 
 
 Of the politeness of manners of which the French 
 boast, I cannot take a very favourable view. I was 
 walking with an English lady, in one of the public 
 streets of Paris, when an old Frenchman came up to 
 us. He wore a cocked hat, and was decorated with 
 an order. His body was bent, more as it appeared, 
 from the effects of indiscriminate and general com- 
 plaisance, than from the influence of age. He ad- 
 dressed us by saying, for our information as stran- 
 gers, that the belis we heard were those of Notre 
 
141 
 
 Dame : — ^he added — ^' I am a Chevalier of St. Louis^ 
 ' — and you Madam, (addressing the lady,) are very 
 eharmbig /" He then walked away. This is proba- 
 bly an instance of French politeness, as it is called, 
 carried to what would be deemed an extreme even 
 in Paris ; — but it is a specimen of the kind. The 
 forms of politeness were originally the indications of 
 the feelings of politeness, as words are the indica- 
 tions of thoughts. That is the most polite nation 
 where still the connection between the form and the 
 feeling is most intimate : — where it is least so, it is 
 very natural that there should be a superabundance 
 of forms,— for what do we squander most freely ? — 
 that to which the smallest value is attached. In the 
 same way, a parrot that means nothing, and a cox- 
 comb that means little, rattle out more w^ords than a 
 man of sense, because it is easier to speak without 
 meaning than with. In England we do not pull off 
 our hats to every one who asks us a question in the 
 street, and to the tradesmen of whom we purchase, 
 because the feeling is not excited which these actions 
 in England indicate ; — but in France they do, because 
 in France these actions indicate no feeling. In Eng- 
 land we do not instantly adopt the manner of friend- 
 ly intimacy towards strangers, because in England 
 chatting and smiling are assurances of regard and 
 kindness, — but in France they do, because in France 
 chatting and smiling might precede cutting your 
 throat. And this is the secret of the manner which 
 they call fascinating. 
 
142 
 
 In real politeness, that is to say, in the display ot 
 attention to the comforts and feelings of others, the 
 French certainly do not excel, nor, in my opinion, 
 equal the English. We are reproached for our rude- 
 ness to strangers, — but no one, I believe, has wit- 
 nessed so general a display of brutality in one of our 
 theatres, as I saw in the theatre Francaise, directed 
 against an unfortunate English gentleman, who enter- 
 ed a box, in company with several of his countrywo- 
 men, forgetting that he had put on a silk handker- 
 chief over his neckcloth. He was removing it as 
 speedily as possible, when he was saluted by three 
 •distinct rounds of hooting, to the great abashment of 
 himself and his female companions. The person who 
 has done much injury to Hamlet by throwing him 
 into French, has deemed it becoming to seize that 
 opportunity of insulting the nation which produced 
 a play that he thought worthy of translating. He 
 puts in the mouth of the Danish Prince the words — 
 " England I fertile only i?i crimes.^* As the theatres, 
 during' my residence in Paris, were generally crowded 
 with English, the Parisians always marked this pas- 
 sage by most emphatic applause. These are not cir- 
 cumstances to excite rancour, nor indeed to deserve 
 notice, but as bearing on the question of comparative 
 politeness. 
 
 The truth, however is, that no nation really polite 
 could boast of themselves and their possessions as 
 they do. . One of the fine relics of ancient art in their 
 possession, had been, in the revolution of ages and 
 
143 
 
 events, removed from Athens to Rome, and from 
 Rome, I believe to Constantinople. The French Ca- 
 talogue noticed this transportation, and added, — " but 
 it has now been brought to Paris, where destiny has 
 for ever fixed it." This remark is very curious as a 
 proof of sottish ignorance causing ridiculous vanity, 
 —-but it is also a piece of gross impoliteness, inas- 
 much as it is an affront offered to what I may term 
 the respectability of past ages, and the venerable cha- 
 racter of human experience. What the intellect and 
 fortune of Athens and of Rome could not secure, the 
 coxcombs of Paris have presumptuously dared to fix 
 for ever in that city of mutabilities ! — I repeat that this 
 excessive vanity is totally inconsistent with real po- 
 liteness. " My landlord," — says an intelligent friend, 
 in his manuscript journal of a residence for a few 
 weeks in Paris, — " dressed himself to day, being the 
 Sunday after the King's ordinance had put a stop to 
 the secular employments, — and went with his femme 
 and petite to walk in the Tuilleries garden. They came 
 back sprightly and chattering. Madame had seen 
 some Englishwomen : " Monsieur^ elles sont tres belles^ 
 tres jolies^ mais elles n^ont pas la tourneur des Fran- 
 caises, — non, sans doute !'' — and then she glanced with 
 much complacency to her own thread-paper figure. 
 
 These are characteristic anecdotes, and will not, if 
 rightly understood, be deemed trifling. Is it not evi- 
 dent that the coarsest rusticity is more -akin to what is 
 properly called politeness, than this pragmatical con- 
 ceitedness, which converts courtesy into insult ? Thus 
 
144 
 
 a Frenchman of rank said to me. — " I assure you. Sir, 
 I should have been sorry if the Emperor had succeed- 
 ed in his design to destroy England." This was in- 
 tended as a stretch of civility towards me as a Briion ; 
 but there are many boors who could have told him, 
 or at least would have felt, that the supposition of the 
 possibility of destroying England, was an oifensive- 
 ness, ill-redeemed by the profession of being, on the 
 whole, glad, that she had been, by great good luck, 
 saved. 
 
 All this is referable to coarseness of feeling ; and 
 it haunts the French throughout all they do. It often 
 renders them objects of avoidance and disgust, when 
 they fancy that they are shining lights, exciting envy 
 and diffusing illumination. It is therefore an incumbent 
 duty on all who wish well to mankind, to endeavour 
 to prevent the injury to taste, knowledge, and morals, 
 which must arise, if their own false estimate of them- 
 selves be accepted as correct. For example, they 
 boast, and many believe, that they are the most ele- 
 gant-minded nation of modern times, as to fine art : — 
 the truth, however, is that they have scarcely ever 
 interfered with it, but to corrupt its principles and 
 degrade its practice. Let us look to their treatment 
 of the great Italian works. They have not brought 
 a single picture from Italy which they have not cru- 
 elly and brutally injured. Instead of feeling the in- 
 estimable beauties of which they had — (no matter 
 how) — possessed themselves, — they straightway set 
 about placing their own monkey-like ingenuity above 
 
145 
 
 the sacred genius of the original artists. Their chief 
 delight has been in mischievous meddling. He that 
 has run the greatest risks of destroying these inesti- 
 mable treasures, and yet has not quite destroyed 
 them, has been deemed the prodigy and pride of 
 France, when in fact he has deserved the pillory for 
 his presumption. Over his sacrilegious lingering 
 they have exclaimed — " c^est superbe — c'eat 7nagni- 
 fique /" — M. Hacquin could not be content only to 
 clean Titian's picture of Pietro Martire, but he must 
 lay it on its face, and plain away the board till he came 
 to the actual colour. He then put down pasted and 
 glued canvass, that stuck to the colour, and thus 
 transferred the picture from wood to canvass. The 
 members of the institute were in an agitation of de- 
 light as this curious trick was in progress. " Sacre 
 Dieu J What an undertaking 1" An eye or a toe, a 
 white cloud, a speck of colour, on which much of the 
 effect of this inestimable performance of the Venetian 
 depended, was as nothing to the dexterity of the 
 French remover. M. Hacquin was made a member of 
 the Legion of Honour, and the whole body of artists 
 and literati ran with wonder,— not to study the pic- 
 ture of Titian, — not to be lost in the depth of the 
 waving forest, — not to shudder as the murdered monk 
 groans forth his spirit,— -not to feel themselves inspir- 
 ed with a noble yet modest emulation to try them- 
 selves against the merits of this terrific production,—- 
 but to chatter, to shrug, to take snuff, and to express 
 admiration of the talents of Monsieur Hacquin! 
 
146 
 
 The whole system of this cleansing and restoring 
 is hateful. The finest specimens of Italian art, since 
 they have unfortunately fallen into the clutches of the 
 French, have been cleansed and repaired till they 
 look like lapis lazuli jars, stained and veiny. An Eng- 
 lish artist told me, that he was within the Louvre, 
 studying the Cartoon of the school of Athens, when 
 from a private door came forth an old Frenchman, who 
 regularly set his palette, and began to work on a large 
 picture, the back of which was towards the English- 
 man. The latter thought it must be the performance 
 of the person who was so busily employed on it, and 
 from curiosity went over to examine it. To his horror 
 he found the Frenchman engaged in regularly paint- 
 ing over an early and curious specimen of Italian art, 
 touch by touch. He had painted the drapery of the 
 Virgin entirely over, a fine staring blue. " Good 
 God !" — said the startled Englishman, — " who is this 
 picture by ?" " Je ne sals pas^ Monsieur,'' was the 
 reply — '* Je 7ie suis pas peintre. — Je suis Restorateur /'* 
 — It afterwards turned out that this painting, so ho- 
 nored by the attentions of Monsieur le Restorateur, 
 was by Cimabue, and a most rare and singular relic. 
 
 It becomes absolutely necessary to expose this un- 
 feeling conduct, — for the French, by the help of their 
 universal language and continental situation, have al- 
 most succeeded in passing themselves on the world 
 as the most refined and intellectual nation of modern 
 times. It is not so much a question of national supe- 
 riority that is involved in the justice of this preten- 
 
147 
 
 sion ; — that, comparatively, is but of small import ; 
 but it is the truth and stability of the first principles 
 on which rest all that is really elegant aad respecta- 
 ble in accomplishment and life, that are at issue. They 
 are a clever people, they are an active people, they 
 are a gay people ; — but they are not deep or sound 
 thinkers ; they do not feel virtuously, or permanently, 
 or kindly, — they have no native relish for the charms 
 of nature, — the shallow sophistications and cold forms 
 of artificial systems are their favorites ;— they can 
 see nothing but simple facts, — they cannot detect 
 causes, consequences, and connections^-— and (what 
 is v/orst of all) their actions are not indexes to their 
 hearts. Hence they must be, and are, smart con- 
 versers, amiable talkers, dexterous workers, — per- 
 sons who pull down pyramids to see what they con- 
 tain, — who make drawings of ruins, exhibitions of 
 statues, and speeches at Institutes : — but hence they 
 cannot be, and are not, either inspired poets, sound 
 moralists, or correct politicians. Look at all the great 
 modern discoverers of concealed truths, that have 
 done honour to human knowledge, and advantage to 
 the human condition ; — scarcely one of them has been 
 made by France: — but France has robbed the disco- 
 verers of their honours, and France has raised many 
 splendid but false theories, and Frenchmen have been 
 very able and industrious compilers, collectors, lin- 
 guists, and travellers. On the other hand, by far the 
 majority of the atrocities, disappointments, and suffer- 
 ings, which have befallen the world during the last 
 
148 
 
 hundred years, have had their source in France : 
 there is scarcely an imaginable extreme of opposite fol- 
 lies and crimes to which she has not plunged herself 
 "within that period : — there is not an example of im- 
 prudence which she has not afforded, not a possible 
 boast of vanity which she has not offensively made, 
 and from which she has not been disgracefully driven. 
 It would be unworthy of a rational man, to feel in- 
 censed against a nation, — but it would be dastardly 
 and unfaithful tov/ards all the most important interests 
 of our nature and species, to fall silently in with pre- 
 tensions that are untrue, unfair, and mischievous. 
 There is no shape in which the claim of being the 
 greatest people of the world can be made, in which it 
 has not been made by the French. It is repeated day 
 after day, under every possible clidiige of circumstan- 
 ces; now as conquerors, now as vanquished, now as 
 Republicans, now as Imperialists, now as Royalists. 
 AVhatever freak they cut, whatever tumble they take, 
 —whether they stand on their heads or their heels, — 
 or lie or sit, — they poke their faces in those of their 
 neighbours, with a supercilious grin of satisfaction, 
 and an intolerable assumption of superiority. 
 
149 
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 
 IT so happens, that public opinion in France has 
 never been directed to a proper understanding of the 
 constituents of national glory. It is the universal re- 
 mark of the French, that the king of England has no 
 palaces to compare with those that belong to the sove- 
 reigns of France. The fact must be admitted, but 
 whether it implies inferiority on our part, in respect 
 of the most valuable qualities of public character, 
 may be judged even from the short extract I have 
 made in the Appendix, from an account of Paris pub- 
 lished by two Frenchmen. 
 
 The great works of architecture are noble achieve^ 
 ments, when they spring from the taste, and spirit, 
 and opulence of the public body; — when they form 
 part of a consistent system of national comforts, ele- 
 gance, confidence, wealth, and all that goes to form 
 national strength. But there may be great danger in 
 an admiration of these splendid decorations, as tro- 
 phies of national superiority, if it be not guided by a 
 shrewd regard to their source. 
 
 I apprehend that France owes her public monuments 
 to circumstances that have been productive to her of 
 disgrace and detriment, — and that no popular disposi- 
 tion can be more fatal to popular virtue, and more to 
 be deprecated by patriotism, than the unqualified 
 
 N 2 
 
150 
 
 pride which she has ever shewn in these superb effects 
 of the power and profligacy of her rulers. Perhaps 
 at this moment it may be deemed, that there are good 
 reasons for endeavouring to oppose the seduction 
 which has attempted to reconcile the English to fetes 
 that *' put one in mind of those at Versailles," — to 
 military trappings and danglings crowding the royal 
 levee rooms, — and to princely buildings that are as 
 self-willed and extravagant, though not so elegant, as 
 those that have arisen from the indisputable mandates 
 of a Louis or a Napoleon. 
 
 The public of England have been accustomed to 
 look to themselves, — to their own spirit and opinion, 
 — for their own comforts, luxuries, and ornaments. 
 Little, or nothing, is performed by the English exe- 
 cutive government, but the details of state business, 
 — -and it seems safest to entrust it with no power, 
 and to centre in it no expectations, beyond this. It 
 is at once finer as a spectacle, and more advantageous 
 with reference to the happiness and respectability of 
 the community, that the possessions^nd decorations 
 of the public should grow, in silence and certainty* 
 out of the public bosom, — rich in rights, in senti- 
 ments, and means, — than that they should come down, 
 with a sudden clatter and violent shock, from the 
 hands of a dispensing despotism. V»^hen the people 
 originate what they enjoy, it is but reasonable to con- 
 clude that the people's welfare will be consulted, — 
 but in France it is directly the reverse. The French 
 people have been accustomed to look to themselves 
 
151 
 
 for nothing ; their rulers have given them every thing 
 of which they boast. It is to Henry the Fourth, or 
 Louis the XIV, or Buonaparte, that Paris owes this, 
 and that, and the other. The consequence is, that 
 the interests of the people have been promoted, only 
 just so far as they have happened to chime in with 
 the selfish and tyrannical feelings of their govern- 
 ments. Thus, they have never been habituated to 
 contemplate their own power: they have been fami- 
 liarised to regard themselves as having few or no 
 resources existing independently of their rulers. 
 
 The monuments of England are the acts of her 
 public bodies, in which concentrate those noble im- 
 ^Ises, that direct the national means and spirit to 
 fine objects of philanthropy or glory, — first at the time 
 in the estimation and view of the world. Her stu- 
 pendous public subscriptions in behalf of the distress- 
 ed of all nations, — her associations in behalf of sys- 
 tems of education, — her efforts to procure the aboli- 
 tion of abuses and the diffusion of blessings, are 
 surely as noble examples of her principles, her taste, 
 and her might, as palaces, and gardens that have 
 l)een built and laid out for a King*s mistresses, at his 
 subjects' expence. 
 
 " Look at that exquisite piece of light architecture,^' 
 said a Frenchman at Versailles. " That colonnade is 
 formed of pillars, each a solid piece of Languedoc 
 marble. It is a fairy palace I" 
 
 "It is very beautiful; — who was it built by^ and for 
 what purpose ?" 
 
" It is the built by Louis le Grand, 
 
 for his roisti e^^a, MuUs^mt de Maintenon." 
 
 " So he^ built this palace for his mistress, under 
 the windows of the national palace of Versailles, 
 where he resided as the conservator of morals and 
 order r" 
 
 "Yes/' replied the Frerxchman. — •' he was a great 
 prince j he encouraged the arts. Yonder at a short 
 distance is little Trianon." 
 
 " And for whom was that built ?" 
 
 " For the mistress of Louis the XV. — Madame 
 Pompadour. In it you will see the chamber where 
 that monarch caught the small pox that caused his 
 death, from a young girl with whom he would sleep, 
 notwithstanding the prudent remonstrances of Ma- 
 dame du Barri, another of his mistresses: — she who 
 was afterwards beheaded by the Revolutionists," 
 
 We eriteied great Trianon. — ^"What fine Madona 
 is that?" 
 
 '^Oh, that is a Le Brun. France is the country for 
 the arts, — and Louis le Grand encouraged every thing 
 that shed refinement over the world. Madame la Val- 
 liere, the king's mistress is represented by the paint- 
 er as the Madona. His Majesty and she have agreed 
 to separate : — she is about to dedicate herself to reli- 
 gion : — the whole court assisted at the ceremony of 
 her taking the veil." 
 
 "The whole court!" 
 
 *^Yes, the ladies of the court thought themselvc- 
 
153 
 
 much honored by the notice of Madame Valliere,— ^ 
 for even the Queen paid her attention." 
 
 " And pray what exquisite groupe of sculpture is 
 that yonder in the garden." 
 
 "Ah ! France is the country for the arts, and Louis 
 ie Grand was the monarch to encourage them. That 
 is the chef d*oeuvre of Gerardon* The monarch is 
 there represented as Apollo." 
 
 " Indeed 1 and he is surrounded by the Virtues, I 
 perceive." 
 
 " Pardonnez moi, Monsieur : — these female figures 
 are the King^s mistresses." 
 
 Here the dialogue may end, it is sufficient to give 
 an idea of the political and moral system, under which 
 France has acquired her decorations. Under it she 
 has become characterized by a fatal laxity of princi- 
 ple, the source of which lies in the despotism and pro- 
 fligacy of her former governments, and the effects of 
 which now are, that none of her authorities can be 
 said to be established, that her rulers have no security 
 in the afFeciions or the honour of those who swear al- 
 legiance to them, that to-day it is the eagle, and to- 
 morrow the lily,— and, probably, the day after the ea- 
 gle again. 
 
 The habit of considering a sovereign's greatest 
 glory to consist in these tumid undertakings, is highly 
 hurtful, as I have said, to the national discrimination 
 of what is really most conducive to its interests. 
 Wherever it prevails, there will be but little good that 
 is not great. What comes home to the business and 
 
154^ 
 
 bosoms of the large mass of individuais will be ne- 
 glected, for the sake of achieving some article of 
 mere shew, some overhanging and oppressive piece 
 of magnificence. I have observed, with regret, an 
 English writer delivering himself with an evident ad- 
 miration of Buonaparte, because he made market 
 places, and built fountains, and pulled down old streets, 
 and cleansed the Louvre. He says, these should be 
 visited by such as wish to form an opinion of the pro- 
 bable influence of Napoleon's reign. He also alludes, 
 in a tone of wondering rapture, to the Fountain Ele- 
 phant, commenced by Buonaparte after his own plan, 
 and which was to be 103 feet high. But what do all 
 these prove that can justify even common approba- 
 tion ? In point of fact, the public embellishments, 
 undertaken by Buonaparte, are inferior to those ac- 
 complished by several of the Bourbon kings, — and, 
 if we may judge of his taste by the triumphal arch in 
 the Place du Carousel, which looks like a trumpery 
 toy in that situation ; or by this same elephant who 
 was to spout water from his trunk, — it must be pro- 
 nounced to be very bad. 
 
 A more important view of the matter, however, re- 
 mains to be taken. These public works, to be worth 
 any thing at all, should indicate public prosperity; 
 but Buonaparte, and his predecessors in the same 
 line of conduct, wished them to be accepted in lieu of 
 it. Personal comfort and security ought to be testi- 
 fied by public grandeur ; — .and can it be said, that 
 France, who boasts herself superior in the latter, has 
 
155 
 
 been nearly on an equality with England in the for- 
 mer ? It is an easy thing for a tyrannical sovereign 
 to issue his orders, of a morning, that a pillar should 
 be put up, or a market place be built ; but the next 
 minute his ambition will do more to check the wel- 
 fare of his subjects, than whole years of his florid and 
 unnatural patronage could counteract. — Even the se- 
 lection of public works made by such a sovereign 
 will be injudicious. Buonaparte would have done 
 more real service to the people of Paris by paving it, 
 than by adding to the number of fountains, which 
 keep the streets in a constant puddle. But what 
 despot will care to devote money to the keeping dry 
 of the feet of tradesmen and sempstresses, when 
 these people themselves are more likely to be struck 
 by the splendid proportions of the palace in which 
 their oppressors reside, and the blazonry, in stone or 
 canvass, of the exploits that have wasted their blood 
 and treasure, — than by any quiet attention paid to 
 their comforts and respectability. 
 
 From these feelings in the people and the govern- 
 ment, it happens, that every where in Paris you see 
 signs that the sober and minute parts of the machi- 
 nery of society have been neglected for the sake of 
 what is swelling, gigantic, and overgrown. The 
 walks of the royal gardens are nicely gravelled and 
 superbly ornamented, — but the streets are dirty and 
 uncomfortable for walkers, to a degree which an in- 
 habitant of London, who has not seen them, can 
 scarcely imagine. There is, in general, no pavement 
 
156 
 
 by the edges of the streets, to protect those who walk 
 from the carts and carriages. The appearance of the 
 people, making their way, as they can, amongst a 
 crowd of fiacres, cabriolets, 8cc. — driving in an ha- 
 rum-scarum manner which an English coachman 
 would pronounce to be contrary to all reason, — is very 
 strange to an English visitor. The great wonder is, 
 that lamentable accidents do not frequently occur : 
 but the truth is, that the foot passengers take liber- 
 ties with the drivers, calculating on a forbearance ex- 
 actly in proportion to the danger and inconvenience 
 they incur by the want of the privilege of pavement. 
 Thus it is, that the degradation of the people invaria- 
 bly leads to popular licentiousness. In Paris the 
 coachmen cannot drive so quickly and so uninter- 
 ruptedly as they do in London, because in Paris the 
 walkers are liable to be run over by the coachmen, 
 and in London they are sufficiently protected. The 
 people in the French capital scarcely quicken their 
 pace when they hear the cry of garde done ! — where- 
 as, in the English, the holloa that proclaims the 
 wheels near, never fails to cause a rapid scampering. 
 The reason of this difference is, that, where all 
 classes enjoy their rights, all will rest contented with- 
 in their own, but where they are withheld from any 
 one class, that one will without scruple encroach on 
 the rights of others. 
 
 From all I have said of the French character and 
 condition, it will be seen that I have the worst idea of 
 their social system, as it is at present constituted. It 
 
157 
 
 seems to me to be without foundation or compactness. 
 — There are no generally recognized principles in the 
 public mind, — there are no great bodies to give gra- 
 vity, and steadiness, and impetus to the state, — there 
 are no respected- names in France to lead opinion, to 
 collect the national strength under legitimate banners 
 in behalf of honorable purposes. There is, to be sure, 
 much scattered talent and individual enjoyment, and 
 there are the principal materials of greatness to be 
 found amongst this most singular people, — but they 
 are loose, floating, and unarranged. This, it will be 
 observed, is conceding them the possession of valua- 
 ble capacities ; but, whatever may be the final re- 
 sult, their vanity, which has been the chief cause of 
 the calamities they have suffered themselves, and of 
 those they have inflicted on all around them, is at pre- 
 sent unsupported by their condition. From the revo- 
 lution they might have derived the greatest benefits: 
 it broke up what depressed and restrained the nation- 
 al energies, it gave play to the national circulations j-— 
 it braced the public nerves, and put animating objects 
 in the public view- But their vanity made them the 
 dupes of a cold and crafty tyrant, who has utterly de- 
 moralized theroj and who, by addressing himself ex- 
 clusively to their besetting faults, has increased them 
 tenfold. 
 
 The imperial influence raised itself on the frailties 
 of the French character, as displayed under the sway 
 of the old race of Kings. Its language was that of 
 bombast and falsehood, — it flattered the conceitednesSj 
 
 o 
 
158 
 
 that it might make a prey of the rights of the people, 
 — it corrupted their hearts that it might employ their 
 hands, — and taught them to look, as before, to the 
 magnificence of the throne as a sufficient compensa- 
 tion for all they lost of respectability as subjects, and 
 for all they violated of good failh towards the com- 
 munity of mankind. 
 
 The profligate system of Buonaparte required in- 
 struments after its own character; and, with unex- 
 ampled ability and villainy, he fashioned the people 
 to suit his views. The youth of France have been 
 trained up in his schools, and he has thus left them 
 fit only for his purposes. The great interest of France, 
 as he has left it, is the military interest, and this is 
 thwarted and injured by every measure that tends to 
 promote the peace and substantial improvement of 
 humanity. The air of the streets and public places 
 gf Paris is sufficient to impress this truth v/ith a me- 
 lancholy force, and to inspire fears of future distur- 
 bances. Walking one day in the Jardin des Plantes, 
 I fell into conversation with a young Frenchman : 
 iiis friends had destined him for the medical profes- 
 sion, but the conscription had seized him at an early 
 age, and dragged him from his studies,— and now the 
 peace had left him, at twenty-five, ignorant and un- 
 provided. He spoke of the Bourbons with bitterness, 
 and of Buonaparte with zealous attachment. The 
 fiamily to which he belonged, having been crossed in 
 their original intentions as to his destination, united 
 their feelings with his, and saw him, v;ith regret,. 
 
159 
 
 deprived of opportunities of thriving in the way of 
 life lo which he had been devoted. 
 
 Speaking from what I observed myself, I would 
 say, that the largest part of the mass of public opi- 
 nion in France was, from one cause or other, in favour 
 of Buonaparte. This appeared to me certain, and it 
 v/as equally so, that this tendency of opinion existed 
 in utter independence of honour and principle, or 
 rather in direct contradiction to both. They would 
 confess his worst faults, and specify actions which he 
 had committed, for which he merited their detesta- 
 tion ; after which they would add, — " Ah, but he was 
 a great man 1" Their affections were his.— If ever the 
 French have shewn constancy, it has been in favour 
 of Buonaparte. He was evidently best adapted to 
 their dispositions. It is all nonsense, that we have 
 heard about their groaning under him. He gave their 
 vanity objects and gratifications : he made themselves 
 and others believe in the glory of the French nation, 
 — he brought them pictures, he built them palaces, 
 he talked to them about destiny, and France, and em- 
 pire, all in a breath. This is the system of manage- 
 ment which is sure to be successful with the people 
 of whom I am writing, and by these means popularity 
 may be enjoyed, while perfidy, violence, and cruelty, 
 destroy the public reputation, and the most valuable 
 public properties. 
 
 The conscription was not considered in France as 
 so heavy an evil as v/e have been in the habit of con- 
 ceiving it, with our English notions. In the first 
 
place, the French evidently want deep domestic feel- 
 ing : a violent burst of grief, succeeded, in a few- 
 days, by a violent burst of laughter, is all that can be 
 expected from a people w^hose domestic economy is of 
 the nature I have described. Home is the only nurse 
 for the heart; and home is disregarded in Paris. In 
 the next place, the habits and views of this people 
 are military ; parents have been in the custom of 
 looking to the army as affording a provision for their 
 sons, and they seemed to me rather to grieve than re- 
 joice that they had got them back. The great object 
 of their exertions was to procure them new appoint- 
 ments, which would again remove them from their 
 families. 
 
 The capacities of the French nation, however, I re- 
 peat, are great. — The advantages of what is called a 
 common education, are universally diffused ; and a 
 taste for reading, for accomplishment, for all the em- 
 bellishments of existence, is a general characteristic. 
 The peasants have it>-— and in almost as high a degree 
 as the most cultivated persons. The poorer orders, 
 as I have already observed, are polished far beyond 
 the correspondiiig classes in England, and the effect 
 of their behaviour is extremely pleasing. One :s 
 chiefly surprised by the propriety of their mode of 
 speaking : the ceremonies of courtesy, and the idio- 
 matic phrases of politeness, proceeding from milk- 
 women and carmen to each other, rather amaze an 
 P2nglishman. The lowest persons touch their hats 
 to each other in the streets. Two m.cn, whom I ob- 
 
161 
 
 ocrved playing at piquet in an open vegetable shop, 
 deported themselves towards each other with all the 
 punctilio of two gentlemen of fashion. Their lan- 
 guage too, frequently surprises you, as elevated far 
 beyond their station. A washerwoman, describing a 
 hot foggy day, said, — " the fog poured down like the 
 breath of a flame /" The keeper of the Temple, 
 speaking of some rough stones which Buonaparte had 
 ordered to be brought there from Fontainbleau, said, 
 — " it is the chisel of many a daij>) that has engraven 
 those marks." Walking along the quay one morning, 
 I i)eard a woaian who sold the crockery-ware 4.hat was 
 displayed on the ground, instructing her daughter in 
 the social duties of life. The practical part of her 
 lesson was a caution not to encroach, as the girl had 
 been doing with her cups and saucers, on her neigh- 
 bour, a bookseller, whose volumes were also on the 
 ground. — '^ The great art of life, ma fille^^ said she? 
 *' is to do as much good for yourself as possible, pro- 
 vided you do no harm to your neighbour." 
 
 Yet even w^ith regard to the common knowledge^ 
 which the common affairs of life require, it will be 
 found, on a close observation, that they are wonder- 
 fully more uninformed than the brisk adroitness of 
 their manners would at first lead you to imagine. It 
 is very possible that you may see the hostess of a 
 country inn, seated under the vine at her door, read- 
 ing Voltaire's Henriade, yet the same woman will not 
 be able to take twelve sous from a thirty sous piece^ 
 and return you the change. The middle and lower 
 
 o 2 
 
163 
 
 orders of Paris, are in the lo\vest state of ignorancs* 
 as to actual facts and sound opinions. They know no- 
 thing* of what passes beyond the observation of their 
 eyes, and may easily be deceived as to that. Their 
 judgments are weak, in proportion as their impres- 
 sions are lively. They may be induced to believe any 
 thing that is monstrous, and thus it is easy to lead them 
 to commit all sorts of monstrosities. It was in this 
 way that the atrocities of the revolution were perpe- 
 trated. No story was too absurd to be credited by the 
 people, — and each new day, brought, in the shape of 
 a ridiculous lie, an inducement to some horrible enor- 
 mity. It is easy to see with what facility a people, 
 thus distinguished by susceptibility and ignorance, 
 may be duped into the extravagancies and errors 
 which stain the modern history of France. Their 
 vivacity is but the liveliness of credulous vanity, al- 
 most always exercising itself in hostility to duties and 
 truths. A Frenchman will credit whatever you please 
 to tell him, and commit whatever you please to direct, 
 provided you in some measure connect your story and 
 your command with ihe idea in his mind, that FraRce 
 is the only country worth naming in the world, and 
 that he is, or may become, one of the most distin- 
 guished Frenchmen. A Parisian Shopkeeper is likely- 
 enough to ask, whether in England we are not accus- 
 tomed to have boxing matches in our drawing-rooms, 
 and, in the same breath, descant on the glories of 
 David's last picture, and the scarcely inferior excel- 
 lence of Raphael's Transfiguration 
 
163 
 
 The standard then of manners, is high m France, 
 — and the standard of their conversation is still high- 
 er, — but, in the substantials of knowledge and con- 
 duct, they are below both these. Further, their ac- 
 coinplishments and attainments are all carefully and 
 exclusively adapted to have an effect on the society of 
 the day and place, — which is society in its most con- 
 tracted sense: — this is their main, or rather their 
 only object, and it is inconsistent with what is most 
 worthy of present respect, to say nothing of what is 
 most likely to secure the respect of futurity. 
 
 But a people with these lively notions, full of the 
 amour pro. re, and whose multitudes catch inspira- 
 tions from objects that, in other countries, have no 
 influence but on a select few, cannot but form a na- 
 tion of rapidity in action, of splendid appearances, of 
 interest and of celebrity. And, under a good govern^ 
 ment) — one which should have no interest in flatter- 
 ing their faultSj — and under which the expression of 
 truth might be permitted to go forth, at freedom to 
 detect vanities and imperfections wherever they lurk, 
 — whether in politics, in manners, in art, or in lite- 
 rature, — they would bid fair to attain a pitch formida- 
 ble to all competitors. Hitherto, however, they have 
 but astounded Europe to their own shame and cala- 
 mity. They are lamentably ignorant of what I may 
 call the A, B,C, of moral rectitude. They have not 
 fixed in their minds the few elementary principles, to 
 which every action or proposal might be at once re- 
 ferred, as to a certain test of its propriety. I have 
 
164 
 
 usually found that the most abrupt, and even violent 
 contradictions, were followed, in the course of the 
 stream of conversation, by an unguarded admission of 
 facts, which proved all that had been originally denied. 
 Against the iiumming up, if they dislike its tendency, 
 they will stoutly protest, but w^ill readily admit, and 
 even furnish particular pieces of evidence, that lead to 
 an unfavourable verdict. This inconsistency arises 
 from a looseness of knowledge, and siightness of feel- 
 ing as to right and wrong : — the cardinal points of 
 morality are not marked on their minds to guide their 
 course. For want of these, they often glory in their 
 shame, and bewilder themselves and others by ad- 
 miring inconsistently, resenting wrongfully, and sub- 
 mitting abjectly. 
 
 As a conclusion to, and corroboration of these re- 
 marks, I may be permitted to quote certain passages 
 from some articles which were published in The 
 Champion, and which I wrote for that Journal from 
 the Capital of France : — 
 
 *^ A very little observation of the society of Paris, 
 will shew that it is in a sadly disorganized state. It 
 has no natural order : one does not know where to 
 look for its top or bottom : all sorts of ranks are strewed 
 about, without any distinct separation further than a 
 a nominal one : all sorts of principles are avowed with- 
 out any heed as to their being honourable or base. 
 The Imperial court seems to have done nothing toad- 
 just and settle the foundations and superstructure of 
 society, but much to unhinge and overturn it. It took 
 
165 
 
 uo care to establish interests more fundamental thao 
 those which arose out of its temporary enterprises : 
 it countenanced no fixed standard of character, but 
 made reputation depend on subserviency to its chang- 
 ing commands, and pronounced on the propriety of 
 actions according to its momentary feeling of expedi- 
 ency. The keenness of Buonaparte's regard to the 
 particular object he had in view, was exerted to the 
 exclusion of the slightest care for any other considera- 
 tion, however important in itself, or even closely con- 
 nected with his immediate purposes. Thus, when 
 he wanted men for his v/ars, he paid no atteniion to 
 the wants of trade or agriculture, the necessity for 
 educating youth, and the claims of relationships. 
 When he wanted money, he took no precautions to 
 continue confidence, although after this is gone, no 
 government will be long supplied by its people* 
 When he thought fit to adorn his court with titles 
 and honours, he looked for no better desert to be dis- 
 tinguished, than the services of a mere creature, no 
 matter how destitute of virtue and elegance^ — =of all 
 that can give respectability and grandeur to the arti- 
 ficial elevations of a monarch. In short, never was 
 the improvident system of living on the principal, and 
 neglecting the future for the sake of enjoying the pre- 
 sent, more ruinously exemplified than in the conduct 
 of the Emperor of France. He behaved as rashly as 
 the possessor of a fine mansion v/ould, who should cut 
 up his beautiful mahogany doors and bannisters, be- 
 cause for a m.oment he was in need of wood to kindle 
 
166 
 
 a nre ; — or cui his exquisite pictures from iheir fi*ames 
 to mend the screen of a pantry with their canvass. 
 
 " The consequence is, tliat France is disjointed, 
 and confused, and unsettled. Justice and establish- 
 ment have not their natural protectors in that country. 
 By their natural protectors, vre mean persons having 
 extensive infiuence over the people, whose principles 
 and interests attach them to an established order of 
 things tliat does not grossly violate any of the great 
 rules of right and wrong. A race of gentlemen by 
 birth and education, who are checked from abusing 
 their advantages by a wholesome equality of privi- 
 leges, and the fear of being held in odium by an in- 
 telligent and sensitive public ; — individuals of wealth, 
 who have gained it by lawful heritage or tranquil in- 
 dustry ; — and men of talent, who have not lost sight 
 of the connexion between moral and intelleclual beau- 
 ty and strength, — these form the natural protectors of 
 a country's peace and character. But in France we 
 look in vain for them supporting its social and politi- 
 cal structure. There are no favourite names even in 
 the mouths of its parties, to be invoked for the public 
 good. In England, according to a person's establish- 
 ed system of opinions, he turns with admiration to 
 certain illustiious examples of that excellence which 
 is, in his estimation, of the highest standard. These, 
 however opposed among themselves in sentiment as 
 to details, constitute an attracting and regulating body, 
 that gives compactness and strength to the common- 
 wealth. France, un!V»itunateIv, sec.ms \o have r.o 
 
167 
 
 centre around which to revolve, which might keep 
 her firm in her orbit. She has no feeling of religion, 
 and no proper understanding of philosophy ; — she is 
 quite careless about liberty, and totally destitute of 
 loyally ; — she has but little of literature and less of 
 knowledge ; she is without wealth, and without con- 
 tentment ; — she forswears rest, yet cannot specify any 
 proper object for her exertions. 
 
 " The grumbler with whom you converse in the 
 Cafe^ is not prepared to tell you any thing but that he 
 is dissatisfied. The course of his mind seems shaped 
 at a savage random, and in an unblushing defiance of 
 truth and propriety ; — he seeks for no covering for his 
 nakedness, nor concealment for his deformity. He 
 will declare to you that he wishes for Buonaparte's 
 return, and confess, in the same breath, that the Em- 
 peror was a great liar, very extravagant in his plans, 
 and tyrannical in his temper. He will utter an invec- 
 tive against the Bourbons, but add that the King is a 
 sensible man, heartily devoted to the welfare of his 
 kingdom, and very likely to promote it. He will pro- 
 test with fierce insolence in his look and gesture, 
 that France is the most civil and most triumphant 
 country in the world ; and conclude his flourish by 
 groaning out, in a tone between that of sighing and 
 cursing, that he burns to assist in obliterating the 
 shame of defeat, and destroying those who are de- 
 stroying his omnipotent nation. He swears in your 
 face, that the Allies only respected Paris because they 
 knew that the Parisians could, if they pleased, have 
 
168 
 
 destroyed all the armies that advanced upon them 
 from Montmartre. He refers you with insulting gas- 
 conade, to the catalogue of the monuments of art 
 which his capital contains,— where you find it record- 
 ed, by the learned member of the Institute, that the 
 Transfiguration was given by victory to France, it be- 
 ing a chef d^mivre belonging to her by destiny ! — but 
 if you hint that, if the French gained it by victory, they 
 have only kept it through the generosity of their con- 
 querors, his rage knows no bounds." 
 
 "This lanG:uao:e will be called severe, and it is in- 
 tended to be so. It is directed against a class of 
 people, which, more than any other, is the legitimate 
 object of the extremest severity. We mean those 
 who are wise to infallibility in their own conceit, while 
 in truth their habits have not left them a single cor- 
 rect idea : — who have erected a monstrous obscene 
 idol, whose service they account honorable, although 
 it is shameful degradation, and to whom they would 
 intolerantly cause all the world to bow ; — whose no- 
 tions oppose them as enemies to the peace of man- 
 kind, and against wnose noions, then, mankind should 
 make a common league- 1 his class exists in all 
 countries : — unfortunate circumstances have given it 
 a fearful predominance in Par's : it may be said to 
 form the character of the Parisian public as it ap- 
 pears to a stranger, and we are afraid it also forms 
 the greatest influence of that public to aifect the 
 
% 
 
 1(59 
 
 measures of the French government, and the relation- 
 ships of France with other countries. 
 
 " When one has been in Paris, it no longer seems 
 doubtful that Buonaparte's political system has been 
 the chief cause of all this mischief. We yet see the W 
 
 means he took to produce it ; we are enabled to 
 trace the connection between his unhallowed objects 
 and his diabolical institutions ; — we are every where 
 confronted with his devices for debauching the instru- 
 ments of his evil concupiscence ; and we are carried 
 along amidst crowds of his corrupted, whose natures 
 have been turned to unmingled evil, by the force of 
 his discipline. We say not this, God knows, in en- 
 mity to Frenchmen, but because observation has im- 
 pressed us with a conviction, so lively and powerful 
 that we know not how to describe it, — that the worst 
 species of moral filague is in France ; that it has made, 
 and is making, the most horrible devastation there ; 
 that the disease must be proclaimed for the safety of 
 the world : — that the severest regulations of quaran- 
 tine ought to be imposed by other countries; and 
 that, as the first step towards curing its unhappy 
 victims, it should be proclaimed to them by every 
 possible variety of method, that they are foully dis-* 
 eased. This they do not suspect: their vanity and 
 self-confidence surpass the imagination of those who 
 have not seen them. With many of the best mate- 
 rials of character, they present little that is not per- 
 nicious and profligate in conduct and conversation. 
 They seem the relics of a system of order and beau- 
 
 p 
 
170 
 
 ty, whose very capacities only tell us that disorgani- 
 zation has been at work, and that they have been per- 
 verted." 
 
 <^ It has been a favorite wish of patriotism in Eng- 
 land, that there should be no distinction between the 
 citizen and the soldier : in France the wish is realiz- 
 ed, but it is by means, and in consequence of circum- 
 stances, which the friends of liberty cannot deem de- 
 sirable. They wish the soldier to feel and act as the 
 citizen, but, in the neighbouring kingdom, the citizen 
 is lost in the soldier : he sinks into the mere instru- 
 ment of despotism, the weapon of lawless ambition. 
 Every gradation of rank, and distinction of occupa- 
 tion, are swallowed up in the army. The boys in the 
 streets are to appearance, young soldiers ; most of 
 the servants at the backs of the carriages have cock- 
 ades and feathers in their hats. If you take your 
 seat in the pit of a theatre, on one side of you is a 
 private in a threadbare green jacket, with louring 
 eyes, a dark thin face, and large whiskers,^ — and on 
 the other, an officer in blue, slovenly and ostentatious, 
 —having neither the look nor the manners of a gentle- 
 man. The countless number of coffee-houses and 
 eating-houses, which are all day choke full, are filled 
 with the same description of persons ; all floating 
 about, loose, idle, forlorn, — ignorant, obstinate, and 
 profligate. In private companies it is just the same: 
 in every circle the great majority of the men are 
 cither now attached to the army, or but just discharge 
 
171 
 
 ed from it. The stations appointed in Paris for giv- 
 ing assistance in cases of fire, are stations for mili- 
 tary, who execute the office of our firemen : guard- 
 rooms correspond with our watch-houses, and sol- 
 diers do the duty of our watchmen. The head-quar- 
 ters of the staff usurps the consideration and the place 
 of the municipality. Soldiers act as constables at the 
 theatres, and in the streets of the French capital : sol- 
 diers attend to preserve order in the gambling-houses: 
 in short, France is a great barrack.'' 
 
 *' Whether the house of Bourbon is or is not to 
 continue to reign over this sort of people, is the same 
 kind of question as whether to-morrow it will be sun- 
 shine or rain; except indeed that the uncertainty of 
 a temper, as well as of a climate, gives our fears, if 
 not the chances, a leaning to the side of what is disa- 
 greeable. One thing, however, strikes every one 
 that has lately been in France, and we are more anx- 
 ious to express this than to speculate on probabili- 
 ties. It is, that of all the practicabilities, which at 
 present offer themselves to that country, the one that 
 is most pregnant with its best hopes and present in- 
 terests, is the stability of the government of the Bour- 
 bons. In England, objections are urged,— -and very 
 justly too,-— to many points of the conduct of the court 
 of France since its restoration. Let these objections 
 be still urged, for the spirit of opposition is the most 
 efficacious principle of improvement. The King, pro- 
 bably, might have been better advised in several re- 
 
i73 
 
 spects; — but the French nation has not moral worth 
 enough in its possession, to warrant a rational belief, 
 that any change, made by the impulse of popular 
 resistance, would not be for the worse. The pro- 
 gress of amendment must be great from, the point of 
 its present condition, before any good can be expect- 
 ed for France from the influence of what is Eng- 
 land's best security as well as chief glory, — the fiub^ 
 lie sentiment. 
 
 When we deprecate the impulse of popular resist- 
 ance, as more likely to urge Frenchmen into disgrace 
 and despotism, than to carry them forward towards 
 the perfection of government, we must not be under- 
 stood as even breathing disapprobation against any 
 symptom of vigilance and independent honest dissent, 
 which they may now or hereafter shew. What we 
 earnestly hope to see averted, is one of those great 
 tumultuous national movements, that give to the ma- 
 chine of the state as great an impetus in its inferior 
 as in its noble parts ; which urge it onward in a 
 blind course, with a crushing v/eight, raising a dust to 
 fill the eyes when clear vision is most necessary. The 
 influence of scrutiny and disapprobation, exercised 
 within certain legal limits, and by regular means, is 
 of a very opposite nature ; and when France dis- 
 plays more of this fruit of a cultivated mind, we shall 
 have less reason to fear the springing up of her ivild 
 oats. It surely ought not to be, for a m.oment, lost 
 sight of, in estimating the value of the government 
 of the Bourbons in its new shape, that it not only the- 
 
oretically provides for the exercise of a constitution- 
 al opposition, but that, in point of fact, a very active 
 opposition to the measures of the court exists under 
 it : an opposition which, in the days of Buonaparte, 
 durst not have raised the point of its finger : an op- 
 position which, protected as it is by the fences of law, 
 and actually established in its exercise, is fully com- 
 petent to gain for France in time every concession 
 that is due to the rights of man. If it fail to do this, 
 it must be through the baseness of the people : we 
 know not whether the court is to be severely blamed 
 for having the usual tendencies of power. Louis 
 XVIII. seems to have given quite as much as was in- 
 sisted upon, and probably he might have given less, 
 and yet seated himself on his throne. We have eve- 
 ry reason then to say of him, that he entertains as li- 
 beral notions on these subjects as a monarch can be 
 expected to entertain, and we believe that those who 
 know him best are most inclined to praise him on 
 this ground. But all that the independence of sub- 
 jects requires, is not fairly to be expected to emanate 
 from a king ; and when a people are full of wild, jar- 
 ring, and unjust sentiments and demands, honesty it- 
 self startles at whatever appears calculated to in- 
 crease the force of so baleful an influence. The ar- 
 guments of the men of the old school who surround- 
 ed the person of Louis, when he returned to France, 
 were strengthened by the state of the people of 
 France : the recollection of the manner in which they 
 
 T 2 
 
174 
 
 formerly abused liberty, could not but be freshened 
 in his mind by the undignified and unprincipled tem- 
 per in which he found them : and, with the conscious- 
 ness that he was bringing them freedom itself in com- 
 parison with the government of Buonaparte, is it un- 
 likely that he should consider himself as acting solely 
 for the good of his people in those very points of his 
 conduct, which have been considered by us as evin- 
 cing the hereditary taint of despotic principles V[ 
 
175 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE air of the French females, it must be acknow- 
 ledged, is full of a certain species of witchery ; but 
 it is strongly marked by mannerism. Its secret seems 
 to lie in making the external woman exclusively dis- 
 play the peculiarities of her sex ; her looks, her 
 turns, her whole manner of speaking and acting is 
 sexual. The distinction between male and female is 
 never for a moment lost sight of by either. In Eng- 
 land it frequently happens, that a gentleman for some 
 time addresses a lady in a way, that would leave a 
 person who should only hear the observations, but not 
 see to whom they were directed, perfectly ignorant 
 whether the conversation were held with a man or a 
 woman. But this could scarcely ever happen in 
 France ; the tourneur of the phrase, when a woman is 
 spoken to, cannot be mistaken : it is modelled ac- 
 cording to her peculiar instincts, charms, and weak- 
 nesses, and so is the carriage of him who speaks to 
 her. In this consists the politeness of the French to 
 the softer sex, of which they boast ; but the question 
 is, whether it does not imply a stooping to, instead of a 
 raising towards ? Can women have any thing given 
 them in the shape of deference that can atone for the 
 loss of equality? Is it humouring they are fond oft 
 We humour a child and spoil it by so doing ; we hu- 
 
176 
 
 mour the sick and the weak ; we humoar eccentrici- 
 ty and folly ; but we never humour sound sense and 
 propriety. The first instance of humouring had ve- 
 ry unlucky consequences. 
 
 " Wouldst thou had hearkened to my words, and staid 
 
 With me, as I besought thee, when that strange 
 
 Desire of wandering this unhappy morn, 
 
 I know not whence, possess'd thee ; we had then 
 
 'Remained still happy ; not, as now, despoil'd 
 
 Of all our good ; shamed, naked, miserable." 
 
 Paradise Lost, book IX. 
 
 The women of Paris are entirely creatures of ma- 
 nagement and ma.nner : — the chief business of socie- 
 ty is left to them to transact ; — a tradesman entrusts 
 the concerns of his shop to his wife, — a gentleman 
 asks no guests to his house but with her permission. 
 There is every where an affectation of placing every 
 thing at the discretion and disposal of the females, — 
 but it is still evident, that their empire is granted to 
 their weakness, and they are thus taught to make a 
 parade of their sexual peculiarities, that they may 
 gain pampering and indulgence at the expense of 
 their respectability. They are raised above their 
 helpmates, as men and women raise children on high 
 chairs, and help the young folks first to pudding. In 
 this very preference there is an insult ; but there is 
 worse degradation in the employment to which they 
 are put. They are taught to make the most of their 
 influence as women, in order to gain for themselves 
 »iiid those connected with them, the mercenary ends 
 
177 
 
 which arise out of the competitions, hazards, desiresj 
 and necessities of daily life. The bad effect of this 
 on the delicacy of their minds, requires no exposure^ 
 and their ariificial, active, adroit, and intriguing ha- 
 bits, have, in fact, given to their physiognomies and 
 manner, an acute, watching, attacking sort of air, 
 which, however powerful it may be in its way, is not 
 the power which most properly belongs to woman, or 
 that most exquisitely becomes her in its exercise. 
 
 The system of educating and training young wo- 
 rtien in France, is open to the most serious objections- 
 Girls, in respectable life, are placed, as they grow up, 
 under a strict surveillance : they are never entrusted 
 beyond the eye of the mother or governess. If they 
 are pernlitted to pay a visit to a female friend of the 
 family, the hostess is sensible &he incurs the heaviest 
 responsibility. The youthful guest must not sleep 
 beyond the immediate superintendance of her enter- 
 tainer ; a bed is made up for her in the cabinet of the 
 lady of the house. She must not dance but with the 
 partner selected by her friends; she must not sit down 
 with her partner after she has danced : — in short, 
 strictness and guardianship are the substitutes for 
 formation of character, and, without paying any regard 
 to the mind, the body is pampered and preserved for 
 the accomplishment of the future views of a merce« 
 nary and cold authority, that looks but to sordid in- 
 terests, and is careless of virtue and of happiness. 
 
 This degrading system of watch and ward, is abso- 
 lutely necessary according to the habits of Paris, for 
 
178 
 
 they are directly levelled against whatever would 
 %varrant confidence in the sense of integrity and ho- 
 nour in the young female mind. Mothers will not, in- 
 deed, instruct their daughters to intrigue after they 
 are married, — and they will not, probably, talk of their 
 own licentious indulgences before their daughters ; 
 but their conversation with their intimates, in the 
 hearing of their children, is sufficiently instructive, 
 that connubial constancy is in little estimation, and 
 less practice. Such a lady, they will say, speaking 
 of one who has a husband and children, is not now on 
 terms with that gentleman — that affair is over long 
 ago : — it is now Monsieur ■ . 
 
 These breaches of nuptial fidelity, it is affirmed, 
 are less universal at present than they wxre before 
 the revolution J but, I believe, it is doing no injustice 
 to the state of French morals to say, that they now 
 constitute the majority of cases of conduct after wed- 
 lock in the genteel circles of Paris : — before the revo- 
 lution a case of post-nuptial chastity in these circles 
 was neither known nor expected. At present, the in- 
 dulgence is managed with no needless display of inde- 
 cency, but it is perfectly well understood, both by the 
 husband and society, and the indulging party is not 
 severely treated by either. 
 
 It is not thought an insult, in Paris, if a man, sitting 
 down by a married lady, immediately commences 
 making love to her. His language is divested of all 
 unnecessary explicitness ; but it has a sufficiently pal- 
 pable tendency to the last favour that a woman can 
 
179 
 
 grant. It is, in fact, a mere matter of course almost^ 
 to address a French married lady in those terms of 
 gallantry, which, in England, are employed to fe- 
 males whose persons are still disposable. The woman 
 to whom they are directed may not be inclined to 
 listen to them, — she may be engaged at the moment, 
 or the application may be disagreeable ; — but she ne- 
 ver thinks of resenting the application as offensive.— 
 In short, a husband here cannot rationally calculate on 
 his wife's fidelity, and I believe, very seldom does. If 
 the parties, a/?er marriage, feel themselves very much 
 attached to each other, their reciprocal fidelity is se- 
 cured by a mutual pledge on honour, which is added 
 to the compact made at the altar, as an extra obliga- 
 tion, not necessarily included in the original engage- 
 ment. 
 
 In Paris, it is the regular business of parents to 
 marry their children ; the idea of the latter conduct- 
 ing so serious an affair for themselves, would shock 
 every father and mother in that capital. For this pur- 
 pose, they announce every where what portion they 
 can afford to their son or daughter, and, without he- 
 sitation, enquire of all persons whom they know, that 
 have progeny of which a match may be made, what 
 portions they intend to give. The most incessant at- 
 tention is given to this grand affair, and a Parisian 
 mother devotes a degree of industry, dexterity, and 
 frequently artifice, to effecting the settlement of her 
 children in the world, which no woman but a French 
 woman could display, and which reflect much credit 
 
180 
 
 on her talents, although the view taken of the real 
 interests of those for whom she concerns herself is far 
 from a judicious one. 
 
 The sole object to which they direct their efforts is, 
 to accomplish a match which may be advantageous to 
 their child in worldly matters — namely, in point of 
 fortune or connections. As these are things which 
 have no sort of connection with inclination on either 
 side, it sometimes happens that a marriage is agreed 
 upon between the parents for some years before the 
 girl^s age will permit it to be consummated. A young 
 lady of the highest rank, whose nuptials took place 
 when I was in Paris, had been accustomed to say to 
 her governess who was an Englishwoman, — " They 
 tell me I am to be married at fifteen : I wish I knew 
 to whom; — I dare say I shall like him, — don't you 
 think I shall V Girlish feeling prompts this anticipa- 
 tion of satisfaction, — the awful contract for life is hail- 
 ed for no better reason than that it affords a prospect 
 of escaping from the irksome restraints that have^been 
 already described, — the commands of the parents are 
 signified and obeyed, and two persons come together 
 whom no impulse of their own has brought together, 
 who can have no well founded confidence in each 
 other, and whose minds are prepared before hand to 
 give ready access to levity and inordinate desires. 
 
 After marriage, the wife, young, and uninstructed 
 in morals and duties, is at once emancipated from a 
 state of severe restraint, and plunged into one of li* 
 centious liberty and unnatural power^ — of which a few 
 
181 
 
 of the features are, a luxurious Boudoir, full of 
 couches and statues — separate bed rooms, — a lover 
 in every visitor, and the customs of society opposed 
 to cruelty to lovers. It is needless to deduce conse- 
 quences from these,-^lheir existence is sufficiently 
 informing. 
 
 The system of married life in France, is one by 
 %vhich the lady enjoys a sort of artificial authority and 
 influence, raising her to appearance much above the 
 claims of her sex and relationship, but existing at the 
 expense of that cordial communication and heartfelt 
 disinterested deference, which distinguish unions 
 founded on a more judicious basis than that which I 
 have been describing. She is installed in various pre- 
 rogatives that look flattering and desirable, but they 
 are chiefly favourable to the discharge of functions 
 from which a true respect for her sex, cherished by 
 the men, would entirely preserve her, and the enjoy- 
 ment of gratifications which a proper self-respect on 
 her own part would prohibit her from partaking. 
 
 The chief emblem and representation of this con- 
 dition of married women, is the Boudoir. It is a tem- 
 ple of separation and luxury. It belongs to the wife 
 exclusively ; the husband has neither property in it, 
 nor power over it. If she were suspected of having 
 a lover concealed within its mysterious enclosure, that 
 enclosure, nevertheless, must not be violated. What 
 I mean is, that such is the rule of good manners in 
 France, and the man who disregards it is esteemed a 
 brute, — an object of the general dislike and disgust of 
 
183 
 
 both sexes. The Boudoir is the apartment, as I have 
 before observed, that is most commonly complete in 
 its elegance. The nursery for the children, in the 
 houses of families of rank, contrary to the custom in 
 England, is neglected, and crammed into some incon- 
 venient corner ; but the Boudoir for the mother, is 
 rich in couches, in statues, in paintings, and flowers. 
 It is a retreat in which Venus might be happy to re- 
 cline, and is, in every respect, calculated to inspire 
 the sentiments which belong to the devotion in which 
 that goddess delights. 
 
 One effect of what I have been describing is, that, 
 amidst this general profligacy, the grosser features 
 of vice are not frequently seen. A woman who swerves 
 from her sex's point of honour in England, is aware 
 that she has committed an unpardonable offence, and 
 the coarseness of depravity ensues from the very con- 
 sciousness of the enormity of her crime. But it is very 
 different in France. A female there who has com- 
 mitted adultery, regards herself, and is regarded by 
 others, as not more culpable than if she were a little 
 too extravagant, or too addicied to play, or rather 
 fond of going from home. Her mind, therefore, ex- 
 periences little, if any alteration, in consequence of 
 the violation of her person : it is but little, or rather 
 not bt all, worse than it was before. It must be ad- 
 mitied, that this is a l>ctter state of disposition and 
 feelir;g than usually exists in union with a disregard 
 of chastity in England, but how worthless is it as a 
 general standard of the female heart, — ^jid is it not 
 
infinitely better to meet with instances of gross de- 
 pravity, as disgusting exceptions to the general puri- 
 ty, than to find purity no where, and every where a 
 dissoluteness, insulting and confounding virtue by as- 
 suming the air of decency ? 
 
 This leads me again to notice what I have before 
 referred to— namely, the boast of the French, that 
 the appearance of vice in Paris is not so odious as in 
 London. If it be allowed them that their wickedness 
 is not so deformed, yet if their virtue is not so fair, the 
 worst stigma will remain with them. Where women 
 commit adultery, and are allowed to continue in good 
 society, the common prostitutes will not in their be- 
 haviour shew themselves at variance with the obser- 
 vances of good society. Why should they ? The crowd 
 of unfortunate females in the lobbies and boxes of the 
 English theatres, forming, as it certainly does, a dis- 
 play offensive to decency, is adduced sometimes as a 
 contrast disgraceful to the nation, agamst the deco- 
 rum of behaviour which profligacy preserves in the 
 public places of Paris. Be it observed, however, that 
 no one attempts to say, that there is a less amount of 
 profligacy collected together in the latter assemblies; 
 —but it assimilates itself more to the general man- 
 ners, it lives on an easier and more communicable 
 footing with all around it. Now the truth is, that, for 
 all the interests of virtue, this is ilie most fatal public 
 symptom ot the two. The ofllmsive shew in our the- 
 atres is highly disgraceful to the managers w' c build 
 conveniences for this description of ptrsons, that they 
 
184 
 
 rtay derive a profit from assisting the vicious inter- 
 course in question, — but one of its most certain effects 
 is to fill the breast of the youthful female, v/ho is not 
 corrupted, with horror, and to strengthen it against 
 eveiy seduction, v/hich, by any possibility, might end 
 in reducing her to so frightful a state of degradation. 
 She sees the votaries of pleasure in an awful state of 
 deformity and abandonment, and if the Greeks found 
 it efficacicus, to confirm their young men in habits of- 
 temperance, to expose slaves before them in the bru- 
 tality to v/hich drunkenness reduces, surely it must 
 be still more admonitory and alarming to a young girl 
 of delicate feelings and refined manners, to see her 
 own sex exposed in loathsomeness and misery to the 
 insolence and coarseness of the other. 
 
 The dangerous seduction is in Paris, — where the 
 harlot sits beside the girl of virtue, pretty, demure, 
 attentive to the play, and coquetting with the sur- 
 rounding beaux. The young lady is sensible that this 
 woman does little more than her mamma does, and 
 she sees no difference in their carriage. The men 
 behave alike respectfully to both ; they are both, then, 
 entirely on an equality to' the eye, and pretty nearly 
 so to the understanding. 
 
 It is, I repeat, most essential to the preservation 
 of virtue, that the distinction between it and vice 
 should be strongly marked. It certainly is not so in 
 France ; they unite with each other, and this is an 
 union which must be entirely at the expense of the 
 best party to it, and, at the same time, promote th^: 
 
185 
 
 exlensioiij ^vithout lessening the mischiefs of the 
 worst. In a country ^Yhere the most respectable 
 tradesmen's wives will put obscene prints into the 
 hands of their customers, — where the insignia of filth 
 and wickedness are every where displayed, — where 
 licentious conversation prevails at every table, — and 
 the young married woman wlio is without a paramour, 
 is an exception to the general custom, — we must not 
 hear a word of its refinement or of its delicacy. 
 
 However lenient society may be to the violator of 
 the marriage bed, it is very resentful against those 
 girls who marry v/ithout their parents' consent : — -a 
 blind deference to their authority is demanded, and 
 it is observable, that this unqualified obedience, which 
 some labour to represent as a binding duty, from 
 which no circumstances can relieve, is chiefly incul- 
 cated and practised in the more imperfect conditions 
 of society. The precepts that enforce it are too often 
 the result of an interested, tyrannical disposition^ 
 which would justify its own bad passions, by assuming 
 a right to be founded in nature and religion, wliich is 
 not countenanced by either. 
 
 The influence of females is employed, without scru- 
 ple, as I have said, on every occasion where profit is 
 to be derived from it. An English lady, who had 
 been resident for some time in Paris, was called up- 
 on one morning pretty early, by a Parisian -female ac- 
 quaintance. The latter requested her foreign friend 
 to bestow more than common attention that day on the 
 business of the toilette, and, without explaining the 
 
186 
 
 naotive of the request, withdrew, saying &he would 
 call again in an hour. She did so, bringing another 
 Frenchwoman with her. My countrywoman, at their 
 united request, went out with them in their carriage, 
 and they drove to the hotel of a Judge. The three 
 ladies presented themselves before this administrator 
 of the laws ; and one of the Parisians, with much vo- 
 lubility of representation, and in a pathetic touching 
 manner, which was meant to be irresistible, laid be- 
 fore him her statement of a case in which her family 
 was interested, which v/as soon to come before him in 
 his official capacity 1 The two accompanying females 
 were to swell the amount of the attack, and they had 
 been selected because ihey were in the possession of 
 a considerable proportion of personal charms. 
 
 A Countess, whose husband arid children had been 
 much injured by the Revolution, and who had again 
 suifered by the destruction of the government of Buo- 
 naparte, one day, when I was in Paris, said to a young 
 Enirlish lady who belonged to a party of visitors to 
 that capital,—" Ah, had we but a handsome Eni^lish- 
 woman, to go and entreat the Duke de Berri, our son 
 would be sure of an appointment V* 
 
 These soliciting females ai e not easily rebuffed. 
 They repeat their applications day after day, if not 
 successful at first: they will take no denial ; charms, 
 tears, hysterics, nay convulsions, are all employed if 
 necessary, — and little degradation of character is sup- 
 posed to be sustained, whatever the price may be 
 
187 
 
 that is paid for the accomplishment of what is de- 
 sired. 
 
 The latitude which the conversation of females 
 takes in Paris, is rather startling to those who are un- 
 accustomed to it : — but it certainly does not indicate 
 there, what it would indicate in England. I have al- 
 ready said, that in that city, the action itself is only 
 thought of importance,-^what is merely a matter of 
 feeling, or is nothing more than a tendency, is but lit- 
 tle regarded one way or other, amongst the society 
 which I am describing. A Frenchwoman does not 
 think, that she is at all transgressing the decorum of. 
 her sex, by lecturing a young man not accustomed to 
 Paris, on all the snares and seductions of that danger- 
 ous capital, specifying, with much plainness, what he 
 should avoid, in order that there may be no mistake. 
 The language of gallantry to unmarried females, when 
 it can be preferred, is unmeaning, — to married ones, 
 to whom it is m.uch more commonly addressed, it is 
 always full of meaning. The Parisian ladies are not 
 inclined to quarrel with words, and a coarseness of al- 
 lusion prevails in mixed conversation, which, like ma- 
 ny other qualities in Paris, is strangely opposed to its 
 boasts of refinement. 
 
 A loyal Parisian told me, in the fulness of his heart, 
 and in his wife's presence, that he had been rendered 
 
 a happy man by the King's return:— Madame 
 
 was in the family-way, and she had never been so be- 
 fore, though tJiey had been married eip;ht years I 
 
 The French ladies dress very expensively :— we 
 
188 
 
 have been accustomed to hear of the opulence and 
 extravagance of the English, from all the world: but 
 really there appear no signs of poverty in Paris, and, 
 with reference to the particular just mentioned, I 
 think the French belles try the good nature and libe- 
 rality of their husbands, even more than .ours. Nor 
 are the articles of their dress such as are procured 
 at a comparatively small price in France, however 
 dear they might be in England : a dashing fietite mai- 
 iresse of the French capital, is as anxious to enhance 
 the value of wh^t she wears, by a selection of what is 
 most difficult to be procured, as the lady of a London 
 citizen, or British nobleman can be. 
 
 In conclusion let me again hear testimony to the 
 powerful effect ivhich a Frenchwoman's manners 
 have : — whatever estimate may be formed, on reflec- 
 tion, of the value of her general character, she will 
 ever be felt by the majority, when present, to be a crea- 
 ture of fascination. 
 
 An old French clergyman, who had been many years 
 an emigrant in England, returned to Paris on the 
 restoration of the Bourbons, to pay a short visit to one 
 or two valued friends. He entertained the most hor- 
 rible notions of the place ;— the men, he said, were 
 even degenerated from the time of the revolution, — 
 they had become devils, — every thing was altered for 
 the worse, — but at the end of every sentence of 
 sweeping condemnation, one exception was always 
 made in these words : — " 7?zai», les femmes^ — Ah'^ il 
 faut avouer qu^elks sont tres seduiasantes,'^ 
 
189 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 THE driver of a cabriolet, which I hired, told 
 me that his horse was a Cossack : he said, " these 
 Cossacks got a very bad name, — but, for my part, I 
 think they were of great service to Paris. They 
 would give us five francs to drive them to the Palais 
 Royal, and, in one hour, I once made thirty francs by 
 them. They sold us their horses for a bottle of bran- 
 dy each, — and, sacre Dieu, how fond they were of 
 brandy !^' Another driver, whose horse was restive, 
 and compelled us to alight after nearly overturning 
 us, — exclaimed, sacre Cossack I — and assured us that 
 the vice of the animal was to be traced to his having 
 been among these irregulars. The postillion on the 
 road from Dieppe to Rouen, with a similar exclama- 
 tion of sacre Cossack^ against one of his horses, be- 
 stowed upon it a number of blows, seemingly for no 
 other reason, but to revenge the cause of France. 
 
 It would seem, from this, that the Cossacks have 
 left as many horses behiad them in France, as they 
 have robbed from French individuals : and probably 
 it may be the case, generally, that they have done as 
 much service to some, as they have done harm to 
 others in that country. This, hov/ever, does not lessen 
 the sufferings of those, who received all the damage 
 and none of the recompence. But it sometimes hap- 
 
190 
 
 pened, that the same individual was the object of 
 both. Thus, the brother of a French gentleman, 
 with whom I am acquainted, had a fine horse, which 
 they were about to steal, when they said they would 
 let him retain it, if he would give them thirty francs : 
 — he did so, and they took his horse and the money 
 too! From another party, however, he afterwards 
 bought a most excellent horse, worth from seventy to 
 eighty pounds, for twenty francs ! 
 
 The shop-keepers of the Palais Royal, have many 
 of them made fortunes by the Cossacks. They seem- 
 ed to have spent their money much in ihe spirit, and 
 after the manner of English sailors. They would 
 call for a bottle of eau de Cologne, give a five franc 
 piece for it, and pour the whole over their greasy 
 heads : all the old fashioned jewelry, remnants of 
 silks, perfumery that had been kept ten years, and 
 daniaged goods of every description, were brought 
 out for the Cossack-market. Their appetites were 
 too sharp, and their taste too coarse, to permit them 
 to stand on the quality of their purchases. 
 
 But this thoughtlessness, which they evinced in 
 spending, and the quantity of money which they did 
 sptnd, tell but too plainly how they got their riches. 
 They must have been the fruit of rapine and plunder 
 the most horrible to those who were their victim.s. 
 Tnus it has been the fate of Paris, which must be 
 deemed the chiefly guilty city of France, not only to 
 be spared sufferiir^, but even to derive benefit, instead 
 of punishment, from the events of the war. The 
 
191 
 
 man who shewed me the abbey of St. Germain, spoke 
 of their atrocities with a shudder; and a Russian offi- 
 cer, with whom I travelled from Newhaven to Rouen, 
 admitted that they must have committed great devas- 
 tations. The nature of the service in which alone 
 they are useful, makes it impossible that they should 
 be controuled and superintended so as to restrain the 
 natural greediness and savageness of barbarians. — 
 They were sent out alone, or only with a companion, 
 to prowl about the country, and it is in this sort of 
 employment that their quickness and sagacity, and 
 natural fiowers^ as distinct from acquirements, — 
 (which in fact acquirements lessen) — are of great use, 
 and are signally manifested. Here too they shew 
 much courage, which they do not in regular fighting. 
 On this scouring service a single Cossack will charge 
 several enemies, and by his dexterity at least succeed 
 in getting away from them. 
 
 They are very superstitious : — they will not rob the 
 dead, — but for those who yet breathe they have no 
 compunction ;— so they ride over the field of battle 
 and drop their pike on the bodies strewed about. If 
 any motion takes place, they strip the body instantly, 
 — if the poor wretch's nerves reply not to the pointed 
 weapon they pass on. 
 
 Platoff I was told, by the same authority, is a man 
 of no talent. He had an officer attached to his staff 
 who directed every military movement, — but the or- 
 der must go thiough Platoff, for the Cossacks' fide- 
 lity depended upon that feeling by which they regard- 
 
193 
 
 ed him as a patriarch. He is a man of uninformed 
 mind, and simple manners— ^but of a good disposition. 
 The eagerness of the English crowds alarmed him 
 somewhat, but England has made a strong impression 
 on his mind. 
 
 It is not to be forgotten that the French called all 
 the light troops of the Allies Cossacks, so that much 
 mischief doubtless was laid to their charge of which 
 they were innocent. 
 
 The feelings and conduct of these barbarians, trans- 
 planted from the deepest recesses of Russia, and 
 parading over Europe as victors, — hearing their name 
 every where pronounced v/ith fear, and sometimes 
 with admiration — and at length thrown, with their 
 pockets full, among the luxuries and elegancies, and 
 shews and vices of Paris — amongst spectacles and 
 enjoyments so diiTerent from all with which they were 
 familiar — so novel, so tempting, — afford themes for 
 touching reflection. One may follow them in imagi- 
 nation through Paris, and fancy the scenes that took 
 place : take them to the museums — the monuments of 
 art, Sec— contrast their ignorant wonderment, with 
 the ignorant vanity of the French common people ; — ^ 
 then follow them home to their wild villages — see 
 them about to re-enter on scenes and occupations so 
 very contrasted to those which they had lately left : — 
 their wives and children meeting them after their 
 long absence ! — But how many were left behind, — 
 and those who returned how altered ! May centuries 
 revolve, before such another turning-out of the in- 
 
193 
 
 iicrmost depths of the wilderness takes place, in con- 
 sequence of the terrors and depredations of an ambi- 
 tious tyrant 1 
 
 A lady observed to me that she never had the least 
 fear that the Allies would burn Paris. It was a large 
 -and noble city, 720^ a little place like Moscoiv J 
 
 The Parisians reflect much on the pusillanimity of 
 the Empress Louisa. They felt themselves safe when 
 she remained,-— but when she left them they ga^e 
 themselves up for lost. They justly ask what she had 
 to fear ? If she had shewn herself on the approach of 
 the Allies, she might probably have saved the govern- 
 ment for herself or to her child. She was not at all 
 liked in the French capital; and the manner in which 
 she received Buonaparte's proposal of marriage, cer- 
 tainly makes against her heart. " »/lncl 'why not .^'* 
 said she, abruptly, to Prince Metternich, who, after 
 much circumlocution, had just dropped out what he 
 deemed the horrible import of his commission. Her 
 haughtiness to those about her formed a great contrast 
 to Josephine's behaviour, who was affability and good- 
 ness themselves. Buonaparte, feeling his own origin^, 
 and jealous of every thing connected with dignity^ 
 was, on the whole, pleased with the haughtiness of 
 Maria Louisa, — but he sometimes found it necessary 
 to check its display. " If you are so severe to your 
 attendants as you propose to be," (said he one day| 
 
 R 
 
191 
 
 " whom shall we keep around us ?" The Empress is 
 described as not pretty — but she had a fine full per- 
 son when she came to Paris, which she lost after her 
 very severe lying-in. Our newspapers, it may be re- 
 collected, spoke, in a very confident tone, of the tor- 
 tures of mind which she felt in consequence of the 
 marriage — but they relieved her from the tortures of 
 child-bearing. Sh,e suffered that which they relieved 
 her from, and did not suffer what they inflicted. 
 
 Josephine is never spoken of but with expressions 
 of regret and love. She got her death by going out, 
 contrary to advice and expostulation, when an irrup- 
 tion was on her body, to conduct the King of Prussia 
 round her house and grounds, the arrangement and 
 furnishing of which reflected the highest honour on 
 her taste. Her physician said, at once, when he saw 
 her after her imprudence, that she was a lost woman. 
 Buonaparte always treated her with great respect af- 
 ter the divorce : he never came back from his wars 
 without paying her a visit, and he always bid her fare- 
 well before he set out. He used to grasp her arm 
 familiarly, and say, "Come along and shew me your 
 pictures," which request he knew would please her. 
 When Maria Louisa heard of these calls, she mani- 
 fested great anger and jealousy. 
 
 Josephine had suffered much from Buonaparte's 
 ill temper, kindled against her in consequence of her 
 remonstrances against his violent measures. At last 
 the courag*^ of goodness, which she long maintainec!, 
 gave way, and she became afraid to speak to Liru. 
 
195 
 
 The murder of the Duke d'Enghien grieved her to 
 the sou!, but the domestic and political tyrant had 
 in his face, at this awful period, what prevented the 
 mediator from making any attempt to save the vic- 
 tim. 
 
 Talma, the actor, was a great favorite with Buona- 
 parte, and was often called to read pieces to the Im- 
 perial court, before they were performed at the thea- 
 tre. A short time before the divorce, he selected a 
 piece, translated from the English, in which the se- 
 paration of a married couple formed the principal in-' 
 cident. None of the courtiers then knew what was 
 brewing. The Empress Josephine was observed to 
 weep very much, and Buonaparte, after listening for 
 a while impatiently, rose and shut the door which 
 opened to the outer room in which the company sat, 
 who were thus, to their great surprise, prevented 
 from hearing. The whole piece however was read, 
 and when it was finished, the Emperor forbade its 
 public performance. 
 
 It is affecting to hear the Parisians dating all Buo- 
 Tiaparte's misfortunes from the day of his divorce,— 
 and it happens, to support their notion, that the allies 
 entered Paris on the anniversary of his second mar- 
 riage, four years after its celebration. 
 
 Buonaparte seldom or never shewed gaiety; only 
 one gentleman, an artist, was accustomed to make 
 him laugli. To hmi he shewed the King of Rome, 
 and, with a fatherly exultation, exposed the child's 
 limbs, which were stout and well shaped. On thij$ 
 
196 
 
 Occasion he gave his son some strong coffee, and 
 when the nurse expostulated, saying it would keep 
 the infant from sleep, — he replied, "well what of 
 that? I am often kept from skeft. 
 
 Whenever he met with ill fortune in his enter- 
 prises, the English residents in Paris were pretty- 
 sure of an order to quit, which by a little manage- 
 ment, they generally contrived to evade, but which 
 the Emperor's petulence always caused him to is- 
 sue. Those employed to execute it, seemed to re* 
 gard it as a mere ebullition of ill humour, and did 
 not do their duty very strictly. Could this be a gre^t 
 man ? 
 
 On the day when the allies were fighting behind 
 Montmartre, agents of the police were placed in eve- 
 ry corner, to affirm that the King of Prussia was taken 
 prisoner, that the allies had capitulated, and other 
 falsehoods of a similar nature. 
 
 The greatest praise is given by all parties to the 
 conduct of the allies. Their behaviour is allowed to 
 have been admirable v/hen they were in possession of 
 the capital. 
 
 Talleyrand had long before this event been an ob-^ 
 ject of Buonaparte's hatred and suspicion: this the 
 former well knew, and conducted himself in his deli- 
 cate situation with the policy and dexterity for which 
 he is famous. He knew that his house was full of 
 spies; he knew that he had not a servant on whos.c 
 fidelity he could rely: — the police were most proba- 
 bly in correspondence vvit;h every human being whon^ 
 
i9r 
 
 he employedj— yet under these circumstances, so 
 horrible to think of, he shewed no signs of embar- 
 rassment or uneasiness. When the Emperor's vic- 
 tories were announced in the public journals, Talley- 
 rand took care to express his pleasure at the news^ 
 when the greatest number of domestics were present 
 during the dinner. But his self-command was chiefly 
 shewn on the trying occasion of the ostentatious in- 
 sult offered him by Buonaparte. — Without having re- 
 ceived any notice of his dismission, he found his place, 
 as a great state officer, near the person of the Empe- 
 ror, occupied by another, who outfaced him as he en- 
 tered a crowded levee-room to officiate in his usual 
 duty. The whole of trie assembly preserved a strict 
 silence, — and the general eye was fixed on Talley- 
 rand. He did not change a feature,^ — not a shade 
 of colour deepened in his face. He took his place 
 in the circle with an easy cheerfulness, and paid his 
 respects to his sovereign with much grace and readi* 
 ness. 
 
 Talleyrand's expostulations on the subject of Spain 
 certainly caused his disgrace. After the quarrel Buo?- 
 naparte took every opportunity of expressing his ha- 
 tred of his disagreeable adviser. He seemed to sus- 
 pect and fear that so much offended ability would one 
 day or other work him mischief. On a particular oc- 
 casion, in presence of his marshals and ministers, he 
 flew into a violent passion with Talleyrand, who had 
 been repeating his remonstrances. He used the word 
 traitor ; Talleyrand smiled, bowed, and turned pale, 
 
 R 2 
 
198 
 
 He went on in a strain of abuse till he was breathless, 
 and then rushed out of the room into his closet ; but 
 he instantly returned, and in a lower and calmer tone, 
 which, however, indicated deep agitation, he said, — 
 " I have returned, because I omitted to mention that 
 I have been much indebted to you, Prince of Bene- 
 vento. To you, probably, more than to any other now 
 present. I wished to declare this : — the rest remains 
 as I have said!" With these words the Eipperftr 
 a^^ain hastily left the staring assembly.. 
 
im 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE French are certainly a dramatic people* 
 They want nothing false or meretricious as allure- 
 ments, to give attractions to their theatres. The play 
 is always sufficient to fill their houses, and to inter- 
 est the audiences, and that without any sacrifice of 
 propriety to stage effect, or any insult to truth and 
 public feeling by the falsehoods of managerial puffing. 
 The simple respectable look of a French play-bill, 
 which contains a mere announcement of the enter- 
 tainments and of the performers' names, is perhaps 
 the only thing in Paris calculated to make an English- 
 man blush for the opposite practice of his country. It 
 is a mortifying contrast to the impudent quackeries 
 and lying pretensions, which, in all the varieties of a 
 large and small letter, are blazoned on the hand-bills 
 of our two national theatres. 
 
 The French theatre, as it is by distinction called, 
 is sacredly devoted to the highest class of the dra- 
 ma : the profanation of beasts and pantomimes, i^ 
 not permitted to insult the classical presence of their 
 best writers, and even the graces of singing are 
 thought inconsistent with the dignity of this temple 
 dedicated to the legitimate drama. 
 
 It surprises an Englishman to see this volatile peo- 
 ple listening in profound silence, and, apparently « 
 
200 
 
 without an exertion of patience, to long dull speeches, 
 kept up between two performers, with the regular al- 
 ternation of a debate in Parliament, and totally unre- 
 lieved by processions, by changes of scenery, or even 
 'by brilliant dresses. The actors and actresses dress 
 with a strict regard to accuracy ; the most industri- 
 ous investigations are made, with the assistance of 
 the learned members of the Institute, into the habits 
 and manners of the period and people concerned in 
 the play, — and on this basis of truth its decorations 
 are got up and its arrangements made. But not a 
 thought is wasted on what is so essential to the popu- 
 larity of a representation in England, — glitter, and 
 shew, and pomp. If they arise from a regard to facts 
 and proprieties, well and good ;-— if not, the audience 
 do not resent their omission. The hardware brilliancy 
 of Mr. Kemble's helmet and shield in Coriolanus, 
 would excite the laughter and hooting of the judi- 
 cious critics of Paris. 
 
 There are seldom more than two performers on the 
 French stage at one time ; — my readers know that 
 t-he unities of time and place are strictly observed ; — 
 and the scenery, though classicaUy designed, and ad- 
 mirably adjusted, has but little variety or brilliancy of 
 appearance. (Of course the opera is excepted from 
 this remark). — The necessity of some of these seve- 
 rities of decorum may be disputed, but it will not be 
 denied that they fairly try the sterlingness of the dra- 
 matic taste of the people ; and the result proves it to 
 be very superior to thai of the English at present, dc^ 
 
201 
 
 bauched as the latter has been by greedy and igno- 
 rant theatrical management, protected in its folly and 
 rapacity by an abused and unjust monopoly. 
 
 Even in their minor theatres, where small operas 
 and melo-dramas are performed, the business of tha 
 stage is conducted with a praise-worthy discretior!, 
 and a cofifident reliance on the true dramatic feeling 
 of the audience. There is no half-price at any of 
 these places of amusement : there are no accommo- 
 dations for prostitution let out by the managers ; they 
 do not share the profession and profits of those who 
 keep the brothels of the Palais Royal : — their busi- 
 ness is the drama, and to its performance they confine 
 themselves. Thus their houses are not larger than 
 sufficient to supply the legitimate demand of the pub- 
 lic for this species of amusement : they fill regularly 
 with the commencement of the entertainments, and 
 they permit each person who pays for his admission 
 to derive the stipulated enjoyment of hearing and 
 seeing. 
 
 The general style of French acting in comedy is- 
 excellent ;— ^in tragedy it is bad. In the latter it par- 
 -takes of the fault of their serious poetry, which falls 
 into the mistake of considering nature unfit for lofty 
 celebration in its common shape and garb, and there- 
 fore subjects it to a drilling and dressing which leave 
 it without essence, without resemblances to affect, or 
 strength to overpower. It was pretty accurately ob- 
 served to me by a countryman, whom I accidentally 
 igt next to one evening, in the French theatre, that 
 
202 
 
 the English commit a similar fault in their comedy ; — 
 it must be admitted that the general practice at pre- 
 sent on our stage, is to over-act as well as to over-cre- 
 ate parts of humour and levity. 
 
 Talma, it is well known, is the great tragic perform- 
 er of the French stage, and it has no other that is even 
 tolerable. I had been taught to expect from him an 
 artificial violent manner, — a recitative tone of speak- 
 ing, — and a figure by no means elegant or striking. I 
 found this description correct in its particulars; — 
 but, as very often happens, the ioiit enseinble was ex- 
 tremely different from that which the accurate ac- 
 count I had received caused me to anticipate. Upon 
 the whole, he appeared to me a much better actor 
 than I expected, but the praise due to his powers must 
 not be permitted to throw out a sanction or apology 
 for the badness of his taste, in adopting that most 
 atrocious style of performing in tragedy and the se- 
 rious drama, which has now established itself on the 
 Parisian stage. 
 
 Talma is the leader of that style ; his eminent ex- 
 ample has diffused it through all the theatres, large 
 .and small ; we have its tawdriness and bombast, at se- 
 cond hand, from all the underlings that appear in the 
 melo-draraas at the Gaite and Franconis, — and horri- 
 ble is the effect of that which is bad in itself, and 
 which not even a master can recommend to the taste 
 that is guided by pure and true feeling, — when it is 
 thus given as copi-^.s by dunces. The style of acting 
 ii> question, cln<^scs itself with such an pccomplish- 
 
a03 
 
 ment as dancing. It is as wide of nature, and as in- 
 dependent of nature as a test, as this last nnentioned 
 exertion of art ;— it would therefore be doing it an in- 
 justice to try its excellence, as a piece of execution, 
 by a reference to the expressions of nature. The 
 artist adopts another standard, — he purposely con- 
 trives combinations that are not to be found in simple 
 nature, and which forward none of its purposes. 
 
 Talma's principal power is shewn in the represen- 
 tation of the terrible : his features, his voice, his 
 ngure, and his conceptions, unite to assist him in 
 this respect. I saw him among other parts in CEdipe, 
 and his acting in the scene where the horrible truths 
 of his situation, after affrighting the wretched prince 
 by indistinct shadows of misery and guilt, burst upon 
 his knowledge as intolerable realities, was the most 
 awful exhibition I ever witnessed in public. We cer- 
 tainly have not an actor on the English stage that 
 could have produced so prodigious an effect. Kean's 
 bursts come the nearest to it, but they involve more 
 of what looks like intentional display, and thus the 
 spectator is relieved a little from the overpowering 
 sense of distress : on the other hand, the indications 
 of Talma's horror and agony, were dark, quiet, and 
 simple, — illuminated only by an occasional glare of 
 ferocity, which evidently belonged more to the man 
 than to the part, and thus threw into the representa- 
 tion an assurance of reality, which it would otherwise 
 have wanted. — On occasions like this. Talma drops 
 entirely his false and strained njanner, and then h<i 
 
so* 
 
 appears the greatest actor of the present day. lie 
 has generally a touch of vulgarity in his acting, which 
 often adds to its strength, and is much better than 
 its artificialness. 
 
 There is no other tragic perfornner belonging to the 
 Parisian stage that merits notice. The Jnen all rant ; 
 the women all whine. There is a curious peculiarity 
 belonging to them, namely, that their second-rates 
 imitate, even to mimicry, those who are esteemed at 
 the top of their profession. Thus Mademoiselle 
 Raucour's affected tone of pathetic suavity,* made all 
 the women whimper themselves into a mournful smile, 
 and Monsieur Saint Pris, having tuned his nasal blus- 
 ter exactly to the pitch and length of Talm.a's, gave 
 the note to the numerous tribe beneath him. 
 
 The reputation of regular French comedy is well 
 supported at its proper theatre by Monsieur Fleury 
 and Mademoiselle Mars. They are performers of 
 that school, now called the old one in England, which 
 was impressive from the force of truth, and not from 
 the violence of caricature. 
 
 The French opera is chiefly distinguished in the 
 eyes of an English visitor, by the splendour of the 
 scenery of its ballets. The singers are not first rate, 
 as every one has heard, and we seem to have secured 
 the best French dancers in London. 
 
 • This actress died lately, and her interment caused thejdis- 
 turbance at the Church of Saint Roque, of which we have been 
 told in the newspapers. 
 
205 
 
 •The Comic opera is a delightful place of amuse- 
 ment. It cannot boast of such first rate singers as 
 Miss Stephens, or Mr. Braham, but the performers 
 are almost all capital actors and singers above medio- 
 crity. This union of powers, and general excellence, 
 conduce more to the pleasing effect of a dramatic re- 
 presentation, than one or two instances of the highest 
 merit, left unsupported by any thing like talent, and 
 exposing to our disgust the wretchedness with which 
 they are linked. In their comic dramas, at all their 
 theatres, the French are treated with a full muster of 
 good performers ; — there is very little halting behind, 
 — each one acts up to the acting of his neighbour, and 
 to the vivacity of nature. But the nntional manners of 
 the people in question fit them all to be good come- 
 dians. 
 
 The theatres Variete and Vaudeville, possess three 
 excellent actors, as mimics, drolls, and punsters,-— 
 namely, Brunet, Poitier, and Joly. They draw crowd- 
 ed houses every night, and the Parisians talk in rap- 
 lures of their performances. The favorite exertion of 
 their powers of ridiculing while I was at Paris, was 
 the taking off of the English ; and this they managed 
 dexterously and without any unnecessary display of 
 ill-nature. Collections of the jokes of these Gentle- 
 men are published under their respective names, and 
 they are understood to have free license to introduce 
 whatever may occur to them at the moment. Brunet 
 has sometimes incurred the displeasure of Buonsc- 
 
 s 
 
206 
 
 parleys government by puns that had too much of po- 
 iitical point. 
 
 From a collection entitled ^« Piotieriana/' I shall 
 extract a small specimen of the commodity : — 
 
 " Un homme se trouvant a St. Cloud, disait; — Ma 
 foi j*ai vue tous les villages des environs de Paris, 
 mais je ne trouve rien au monde d' attachant cominc 
 St, Cloud (cing cloudy 
 
 "Jocrisse dit que les lettres que Ton prononce 
 beaucoup en ete sont celles, L. H. O. {elle a chaud). 
 
 " On lisait une jour, a une dame la tragedie do 
 Bajazet; le lecteur, apres avoir nomme les person- 
 nages, dit : la scene est a Constantino/ile. Bah I in- 
 terrompit la dame, je ne croyais pas que la Seine allat 
 si loin. 
 
 '^ Un Frangais disait a un Anglais, que si chez lui on 
 avait trouv6 le secret d'aller sur Teau, chez nous Ton 
 avait trouve celui d'aller dans I'air. Oui, repondit-il, 
 nous sommes firo/onds, et vous etes legers,'' 
 
307 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE following remarks on the schools and literary 
 establishments oF Paris, are from the pen of a friend. 
 
 " The state of education in France has been lately- 
 examined in many publications. I found some of those 
 referrii]g solely to the university of Paris, objecting 
 to its lectures, and to its want of any examinations of 
 the students Many celebrated men still continue to 
 adorn this institution.— The military and polytechnic 
 schools are large and magnificent establishments ; the 
 former intended for the education of young men of 
 good families in the art of war ; the latter a seminary 
 in which three hundred young men, selected after a 
 rigorous examination from the inferior schools, re- 
 ceive an extensive education, in the sciences only, for 
 the space of three years. The learned languages are 
 chiefly taught in the university itself, in the college of 
 France, and in the Prytanee^ which is divided into 
 the four colleges of Paris, St. Cyv, St. Germain, and 
 Compiegne. — It was, undoubtedly the aim of Buona- 
 parte to degrade literature and give a superior place 
 to the sciences. How happy ought France to feel, that 
 this attack is no more 1 That history, legislation, 
 poetry and criticism may be again allowed to flourish, 
 free from the mutilation of their productions. It was 
 in thej?n that Buonaparte saw and felt the enemy of his 
 
208 
 
 power and his despotism. He had a degraded reli? 
 gion and a slavish priesthood at his command ; but he 
 seems to have dreaded the voice of history, and to 
 have shrunk from the thoughts of posterity. He seems 
 to have intended ultimately, to limit the education of 
 youth to the mathematical and physical sciences only, 
 aware that in their studies nothing would occur to 
 inculcate sentiments of horror at the despotism with 
 which he had enchained France. While in the perusal 
 of a Greek or Roman historian, in turning over the 
 pages of Xenophon or Tacitus, some thoughts might 
 be elicited by the dullest students, and some conclu- 
 sions drawn, not exactly in harmony with the plans 
 of their Imperial master. 
 
 "It is hence that at present in France the literary 
 ii}5^titUtions do not rival their former fame, and if any 
 proofs were wanting, I might refer to the late volumes 
 of the literary class of the Institute. 
 
 "The establishments for education in the sciences 
 are upon the most magnificent scale. The polytechnic 
 s-chool is furnished with a large library, drawing 
 'school, and mechanical workshops. The school of 
 mines is provided with a splendid collection of mine- 
 rals, which fill a suite of five apartments, and with 
 designs and models of the most celebrated mines, and 
 the machinery used in them. At the mint, Le Sage 
 lectures on Mineralogy, assisted by an extensive 
 cabinet of minerals, and many articles of philosophi- 
 cal and chemical apparatus. At the Jardin dcs Plantes 
 nine professors give lectures on Natural History ahd 
 
S09 
 
 Chemistry, surrounded by every thing which can en- 
 able them to extend their researches in these sciences. 
 To all these institutions, chemical laboratories are 
 attached. 
 
 '' An elegant building in the Rue de la Boucherie^ 
 collects the professors and students of Medicine, Sur- 
 gery and Anatomy. — The students have the privilege 
 of attending the Hotel Dieu, and the other hospitals. 
 The library of the Ecole de Medecine is considera- 
 ble ; the amphitheatre, which holds a thousand stu- 
 dents is magnificent ; and the collection of surgical 
 instruments, in the invention and manufacture of which 
 the French have led the way, is large and splendid. 
 Twenty professors give lectures in this school, and a 
 designer of morbid parts, and a modeller in wax are 
 attached to it.— In a separate establishment, the Ecole 
 de Pharmacie, public instructions are given in che- 
 mistry, botany and pharmacy ; there is a botanic gar- 
 den which is open every week day to all; and it also 
 includes a chemical laboratory as well as the school 
 of medicine. 
 
 "These establishments, let it be remarked, subsist- 
 ed with slight variations before the revolution ; since 
 that time they have been undoubtedly improved by new 
 organizations, and by the impulse which has been 
 given to the physical sciences in general. The sala- 
 ries are all paid by the government, and they are^e- 
 ry moderate. 
 
 " The school of roads and bridges in the Rue de 
 Grenelle^ Fauxbourg St. Germain, is to be consider- 
 
 s 2 
 
ed as an institution for the education of civii engiiiters ; 
 it receives thirty-six pupils, to each of whom the go- 
 vernment allows tiiirty-tive pounds annually. It has 
 a fine collection of models. Twenty pupils are ad- 
 mitted to study at the school of geography. There 
 are also schools of painting, of architecture, civil and 
 naval, and of the veterinary art. There are several 
 other establishments which are of less importance; 
 for the French sometime* take a little liberty by be- 
 stowing splendid appellations on trifling institutions : 
 — thus I found that the Ecole de TArchitecture rurale, 
 was merely an empty ruinous cottage, about half way 
 between the Barriere St. Antoine, and the Castle of 
 Vincennes, 
 
 " The education in the provinces, is committed to 
 the care of the teachers in the schools established by 
 government, of which some in the principal cities, as 
 Lyons and Rouen, are furnished with museums of 
 paintings, and botanic gardens. — Smaller schools^ 
 either public or private, are to be found in every con- 
 siderable village. Many of the lower orders of the 
 regular clergy, give up a large part of their time to 
 the education of the poorer children, in reading, wri- 
 ting, and religion, particularly in Paris. — From all 
 these, the mass of information communicated is un- 
 doubtedly great. 
 
 " In Pari% there are many boarding-school esta- 
 blishments, on the plan of those in England, and 
 adapted for both sexes ; they are chiefly situated in 
 tl»e open situations beyond the BouJevardes. Trarts- 
 
iations of the classics, a branch ofliterature little at- 
 tended to in England, are within the reach of all who 
 Qannot aspire to read them in the original languages ; 
 and in another department, that of elementary school 
 books and systems of science, the French are peculi- 
 arly happy : — many of their treatises in mathematics, 
 chemistry, and natural philosophy, being the produc- 
 tions of men celebrated as inventors and improvers in 
 these branches. The despotic power of the govern- 
 ment has probably given rise to some good books in 
 these sciences. Thus, Haiiy, the celebrated crystal- 
 lographer, was obliged to finish his system of Natural 
 Philosophy within six months after receiving the or- 
 der to undertake it, nor could the state of his health 
 be accepted as an excuse for not performing the task 
 within the limited time. 
 
 " In Paris, before the revolution, there was only 
 one circulating library, and it was of no great extent; 
 now they are so abundant, that every street appears to 
 contain several, — no sign being more common than 
 that of abonnement a lecture, — The royal printing- 
 office, and that of Didot in the Rue de la Harpe, are 
 large establishments well worthy of the attention of 
 strangers ; and the quantity of books printed in Paris, 
 yearly, though far less than in London, appears to be 
 greater than the comparative magnitude of that city 
 would require, if we did not consider that Paris has 
 to supply a larger population throughout France, and 
 that the productions of her press, from the diffusion 
 of the French tongue, find a ready sale in most of the 
 
212 
 
 large cities of Europe. — The prices of new books in 
 Paris are nearly what they were in London about a 
 century ago ; — octavo volumes are published at from 
 two and a half, to four francs, and if, on scientific sub- 
 jects, and accompanied with plates, at five or six : — 
 quarto volumes, at about nine or ten ; — -but the splen- 
 did editions of Didot, and the expensive works on na- 
 tural history, are, from the limited demand, as dear 
 as similarly executed works in the British metropolis. 
 
 "The number of newspapers printed in Paris is as 
 great as ever. The Journal des Debate requires six 
 presses, and others, as the Moniteur^ h^ve more. 
 
 '' The public libraries of Paris are large establish- 
 ments, and the easiness of access to them, must ex- 
 cite, or keep up, a taste for reading in many minds. 
 The peers, the deputies, the institute, the Prytaneum, 
 the Athenseum of the Rue de Richelieu, has each its 
 library. They are generally large, and often magni- 
 ficent. Libraries are also attached to ail the schools, 
 and to the hotels of the ministers of state ; — the city 
 library, and that of the Jardin de^ Plantes, consist 
 chiefly of works on natural history. 
 
 " But by far the largest collectioHj and, indeed, in 
 numerical estimate, as well as in the riches of the in- 
 dividual parts, the first in the world, is the National 
 or Royal Library. Here any one may take his scat 
 at tables provided with the necessary accommodations, 
 and ask the attendants for any book which is possess- 
 ed by the establishment. From ten volumes, collect- 
 ed by King John in the fourteenth century, it is now 
 
2L3 
 
 supposed to contain three hundred thousand at least, 
 besides a treasure of eighty thousand manuscripts, 
 genealogies of all the French families, and cabinets 
 of engravings, medals and antiquities. 
 
 " The books fill a suit of rooms, which extend 
 around a court of five hundred feet in length ; by this 
 arrangement they are deprived of the grand look of 
 continuous perspective. The lower shelves, only are 
 protected by doors and wired frames. The room of the 
 Editiones firincifies^ contains every thing to graiify the 
 taste of the biographer ;— vellum copies, large mar- 
 gins, and illustrated unique volumes ; — but it is 
 not pleasant to think of the system by which it haS: 
 been thus enriched. It was not enough, that Buona- 
 parte should conquer at Austerlitz and Jena; Denon 
 was ordered to follow in the rear of the carnage, tO 
 select and pack up the small gems, and rare copies 
 of the cabinets of Berlin and Schoenbrunn. Perhaps 
 the robbery appears with greater infamy in this in- 
 stance, than in transferring to Paris the Apollo or the 
 Laocoon, because the prizes attained are of a more 
 trifling kind. 
 
 " The letters of Henry the Fourth and the fair Ga- 
 brielle, are seen in the rooips of the manuscripts. In 
 the cabinet of the antiquities, the collections made by 
 Cayius, are still among the prominent objects; — the 
 series of Egyptian idols, is far inferior to that of the 
 British Museum, and I should judge, as far as my 
 recollection extends, that the Greek and Roman 
 
214 
 
 bronzes were inferior to those in 'the possession of 
 Mr. R. P. Knight, of London. 
 
 '*The manuscripts found by Denon in the mum- 
 mies of the tombs of Thebes, are still displayed and 
 unexplained.— An Ibis, disentangled from its case, 
 has its feathers fresh and perfect ; nor is the identity 
 of ibis bird (so revered in aniient Egypt) with the 
 Tantalus Ibis of Linnaeus, and the Abou Hannes of 
 Bruce, any longer doubtful. Among other remarka- 
 ble objects in this apartment, I had an opportunity of 
 viewing for the first time, the celebrated tablet of Isis, 
 encrusted with silver, on which long series of Egyp- 
 tian figures are represented : — the two round silver 
 shields, commonly denominated there of Scipio and 
 Hannibal : — the brass chair of King Dagobert : — and 
 the Heart of Anne of Brittany, enclosed in a vase of 
 gold fiilagree work. The Sacro cattino of Genoa, is 
 thrown carelessly into the bottom of a case, though it 
 was once regarded with reverence as the dish of 
 emerald which held the Paschal lamb, at the last 
 supper of our Saviour. The French sfavans, col- 
 lecting every thing rare and curious, brought this 
 also from Genoa, where, for several centuries, it had 
 been ranked among the greatest treasures of the re- 
 public It was sent to the chemists for examination, - 
 and the first scratch with a pin, shewed it to be a 
 very good bit of green glass. — Its colour is dark, and 
 it appears to have been cut and polished with great 
 care. 
 
Mo 
 
 " The remains found in the tomb of Childeric, were 
 chiefly gold bees, from which Buonaparte took the 
 hint of covering his mantle, and many hangings in 
 his palaces, with representations of that insect.-— 
 Among the medals exposed to view, are many Rus- 
 sian, executed with the greatest beauty, and present- 
 ed by Alexander. Many of the rarer gems, and rich 
 antique works in agate and crystal, are placed under 
 glass-cases, for the accommodation of those who do 
 not wish for a more extended view of the treasures of 
 this department. 
 
 " A bust of Barthelemi, the author of Anacharsis, 
 is placed in the Cabinet of Antiquities ; and in one of 
 the rooms of the library, a bronze statue of Voltaire 
 sitting {by Houdon) is elevated on a pedestal. — Near 
 it, is a model of the pyramids, in which the propor- 
 tions of these edifices, and the sphinx, are exactly de- 
 lineated in relief, rising from the desert, and accom- 
 panied by an oasis with its grove of palms, and a ca-* 
 ravan of camels.-— .The French Parnassus is a large 
 groupe of wood and bronze, executed in 1721 by Fil- 
 let, as the inscription bears, fiour la gloire de France: 
 Louis the Fourteenth, in the form of Apollo, crowns 
 the summit of the sacred hill, and Boileau, Racine, 
 and others line the sides, which are sufficiently pre- 
 cipitous. — Lastly, I should notice the large globes 
 made by Father Coronelli about the beginning of the 
 last century, and presented to Louis the Fourteenth 
 by Cardinal d'Estrees. They are fifteen F' :nch feet 
 in diameter, of copper, with a copper meridian^ which 
 
316 
 
 is four inches in thickness ; and the index of the ho- 
 rary circle is three feet in length. They are sup- 
 ported on elegant pillars, and the floor of the apart- 
 ment is pierced to allow of the height which their 
 size requires. Their appearance is chaste, from the 
 blue tints which are spread over them. They weigh 
 about two thousand pounds each, and cost about five 
 thousand pounds sterling." 
 
217 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WHEN I commenced this work, which I mean to 
 conclude with the present chapter, it was my inten- 
 tion to have taken particular notice of what may be 
 termed the sights of Paris ; but in its progress I have 
 been induced to alter my design. As objects of cu- 
 riosity to the bulk of readers and travellers, they 
 have been described over and over again ; and such 
 of them as might suggest a discussion of the princi- 
 ples of science or art, to be properly handled should 
 be handled at greater length and with more care, than 
 my limits w^ould now permit. In the course of the 
 previous pages, the most striking places and buildings 
 of Paris have been alluded to in a way, sufficient to 
 convey a notion of their character and appearance, 
 though certainly attention has chiefly been directed to 
 them as illustrations of manners and memoranda of 
 events. The curious, however, will find, in the Ap- 
 pendix, two or three very accurately drawn up papers 
 on the Jardin des Plantes, the Collection of Mecha- 
 nical Inventions, 8cc. with which I have been furnish- 
 ed through the kindness of a scientific friend, — the 
 sam.e to whom I owe the previous chapter. The se- 
 quel of these pages shall be chiefly devoted to a few 
 observations on the splendid collections of Art in the 
 museums of Paris, connecting them with reflections 
 
 T 
 
318 
 
 on national encouragement of Fine Art, and the pre- 
 sent character of the French public, with reference 
 to matters of Literature and Taste. 
 
 The first visit to the Louvre, as it is now furnished, 
 forms an aera in the life of every one whose habits 
 and dispositions render him liable to be affected by 
 the monuments of human genius, and the symbols of 
 the finest sentiments and feelings of the human 
 breast. To me it seemed, as if I was entering amongst 
 the spirits of immortality, amongst piercing intellects, 
 sublime imaginations, and heavenly fancies. The stu- 
 pendous length of the Gallery of Pictures, which 
 gives an interminable solemn air to the collection, 
 adds to the weight of the effect, — and, as one advan- 
 ces down its vast line, the feeling excited, is that of 
 being encompassed, and looked down upon, by a su- 
 perior company the most admirable and awful. Here 
 live, and breathe, and impress, with all their powers, 
 the pure and beauteous Raphael, the mighty Angelo, 
 the balmy Corregio, the vivid Leonardo da Vinci, the 
 grasping realizing Titian, the irresistible Reubens, 
 the grave Sarti, the striking Rembrandt ! They ex- 
 ist,— they regard you, in a silent abstraction from the 
 inferiorities of mortal life, which gives point and pow- 
 er to their presence. Here is life brought to light in 
 immortality, — for here is the secret explained of that 
 mysterious longing, and unconquerable endeavour, 
 which incur the pains of martyrdom, — '' the proud 
 man's contumely," and, "the spurns that patient me- 
 
S19 
 
 -rit of the unworthy takes," — ^through some motive 
 which common souls cannot conceive, and in the evi- 
 dent enjoyment of a gratification which they cannot 
 comprehend. 
 
 The superiority of genius to force, however sur- 
 rounded by pomp and circumstances, cannot be more 
 signally displayed than it is in these wonderful collec- 
 tiors. They have been formed in Paris in conse- 
 quence of revolutions that have removed states from 
 the face of the earth, — that have quenched, not mere- 
 ly glory but even memory and being, — that have caus- 
 ed the humiliation of to-day to succeed to the pride 
 of yesterday, — and have cast into reproach and shame 
 the triumphs and praises of conquerors, the predic« 
 tions of historians, the vanity and confidence of na- 
 tions. They are affecting memorials in their present 
 situation, looking back to their past history, of catas- 
 trophes, such as are described in those impressive 
 verses of the Revelations : 
 
 " That great city, Babylon, shall be thrown down, 
 and shall be found no more at all : 
 " And the voice of harpers, and musicians, and of 
 pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all 
 in thee : and no craftsman, of v/hatsoever craft he be, 
 shall be found any more in thee ; and the sound of a 
 millstone shall be heard no more at all in thee : 
 
 " And the light of a candle shall shine no more at 
 all in thee ; and the voice of the bridegroom and of 
 the bride shall be heard no more at all in thee." — Re* 
 velatio?i8j Cha/i. 18. x'. 21, 22, 23, 
 
2m 
 
 The museums of Paris are now rich in the impe- 
 rishable parts that appertained to what has perished ; 
 — in the sole survivors of general wrecks and ruins. 
 And these unfading and undying glories, be it ob- 
 sei*ved, are not those of senates, and armies, and 
 fleets, and emperors ; — even talent, when employed 
 on these materials, has failed to perpetuate its work- 
 manship : — Art and poetry alone remain, certain and 
 beautiful as at their birth, — forming models for pre- 
 sent instruction, instead of contrasts to present ex- 
 cellence. Earthquakes have shaken and swallowed, 
 volcanoes have overwhelmed, barbarians have scatter- 
 ed, — yet here, in a palace of modern Paris, are the 
 marbles of ancient Greece and Rome : — here are the 
 lines traced by the hand of Phidias, — the productions 
 of his skill, the objects on which his eye rested, and 
 the subjects of his hopes, and fears, and anxieties. 
 Undangered and inevitable duration can be promised 
 to nothing in this world, — but what commands the ad- 
 miration and veneration of all times, and places, and 
 opinions, — the value of which rests on no theory, and 
 arises out of no system of instruction, but spontane- 
 ously from the heart of man, — is the least likely to be- 
 come the victim of contingencies, and forms the most 
 refreshing point of retreat from the turmoils, and 
 changes, and doubts of the world's affairs. 
 
 Yet with these impressive proofs of the instability 
 of national possessions before them, — the testimony of 
 which, as affecting themselves, should not be less 
 strong in their estimation because they themselves 
 
S31 
 
 nave been gross violators and robbers of national and 
 individual propertyj-^the French coxcombs dare to 
 speak and write about destiny decreeing to France 
 from eternity, and in perpetuity, these immortal works 
 of genius ! What Rome could not preserve, they flat- 
 ter themselves Paris can, and the triumph which has 
 been denied to the Capitol, they assign by anticipation 
 to the Palais Royal ! A stronger evidence than this of 
 the unfeelingness of the French character cannot be 
 imagined. — What must that people be, whose sgavans 
 derive from the spoils of Thebes, and the relics of 
 Palmyra, subjects for priggish chattering about them- 
 selves, their powers, and the indubitable duration of 
 their day and doings ? These men, looking into the 
 beaming shield of Achilles, would first think of ad- 
 justing the knots of their neckloths. 
 
 And where is it, and surrounded by what, that this 
 assurance and these boasts are indulged ? As I walk- 
 ed along the Gallery of Pictures, I looked out fromi 
 the windows on the Place du Carousel. It was a court 
 day at the Tuilleries, and the Gardes du Corps of 
 Louis were lounging over the balcony of the palace, 
 while crowds were assembled to see the ministers 
 and noblesse, who went to pay their respects to His 
 Majesty. A few months before, and all this was hap- 
 pening in favour of Napoleon ! Yonder are the famous 
 antique horses which the Emperor carried off from 
 Venice, and placed on the summit of that arch, com- 
 memorative of his victories, which has so trifling and 
 frittering an effect in so large a space. — His N's and 
 
 T 2 
 
jess . 
 
 bis monuments are every where about, but iic iuinicli 
 is removed ! And this temple of taste, and these pa- 
 laces, — many years have not elapsed since they were 
 the scenes of savage ferocity and wanton carnage. 
 Through this gallery a French King and his family 
 flew, pursued by murderers, never more to return to 
 a royal residence. — These multitudes, that are now 
 pressing round pictures and chattering criticism on the 
 works of taste, were formerly equally occupied and 
 amused with an exhibition of dancing dogs under the 
 guillotine I 
 
 It is only such a people as this, that could have 
 collected what is amassed together in Paris, and it is 
 only such a people as this that could vaunt of such a 
 collection, amassed under such peculiar circumstan- 
 ces, in the tone and language which they use. Others 
 have gone to the seats of these sacred monuments to 
 admire and venerate, but they went to pack up and 
 transport. Their armies advanced, burning houses 
 and violating women; and in their rear came the 
 members of the Institute to worship fine art and co.n- 
 mit sacrilege in its temples. In the morning, the 
 soldiers perpetrated every species of ruffianism in 
 Rome, and in the evening they removed a statue of 
 Brutus, at the expence of its mutilation, to excite 
 fuic sentiments and touching sensations in one of their 
 theatres ! 
 
 Whether we consider the character of these remo- 
 vals, with reference to the glory, as it is called, of 
 iticse who committed them, or to the, interests of 
 
taste, it Will be found that they chiefly reflect igno^^ 
 miny, and merit censure. France says, that her vic- 
 tories enriched her museums, — but who now looks at 
 their contents without recollecting that her defeats 
 placed ihem al the disposal of her enemies, and that 
 her continued possession of them is solely owing to a 
 generosity, the benefit of which she experienced, 
 but the example of which she never set?— On the 
 other hand, the finest emotions and associations of 
 thought which these works suggested in their origi- 
 nal seats, became dissolved and dissipated by their 
 transportation. The statue that warmed and inspired 
 the soul in Rome, is chiefly a prompter of regrets and 
 misgivings, when placed in a gallery of the Tuilleries. 
 The enthusiasm it excited in its primitive situation 
 was of the highest poetical and moral kind, but this 
 is chilled when we find it surrounded by French 
 academicians and connoisseurs taking notes and 
 snufl". 
 
 Neither can I allow, that even the study of art is 
 likely to he benefited by the change. A worse mis- 
 take cptunot be committed than the supposition that 
 facilities are chiefly useful to the cause of taste and 
 science ;— it would be much more true to say, that 
 difficulties and impediments do it a service. The 
 pockets and convenience of students may be consult- 
 ed, but nothing that tames the ambition of genius, or 
 the enthusiasm v/ith which the works of art are re- 
 garded, can promote its excellence or reputation. 
 Let the student be exposed to hazards ; the fire is 
 
2m 
 
 necessary to part the pure metal from the dross ; — let 
 him incur difRculties, they will, if he be worthy of 
 his pursuit, encrease his ardour ; — a lover's passion 
 is rendered more intense by having to rescue his be- 
 loved from behind the bars of a window. Let the 
 student be led in a painful pilgrimage to the honour 
 of his divinity, from Paris to Germany, from Ger-~ 
 many to Rome, from Rome to Florence. The sacred 
 flame will be fanned by the motion, and his mind be 
 
 informed and corrected by observation. When, 
 
 therefore, the French learn true notions of what is 
 valuable in character, and are rendered, as it is to be 
 hoped they will be, wise concerning national glory by 
 the experience of national happiness, they will not 
 regard the spoils in question as honorable to their 
 possessors ; on the contrary, they will see in them 
 only the memorials of a black and disastrous period, 
 when their name was abhorred in Europe, and when 
 a degrading tyranny led them, through every variety 
 of misery at home, and rapine and violence abroad, 
 until their outrages were terminated by their invasion, 
 and the capture and disgrace or' their capital. It is 
 really high time, that France should give up the pro- 
 fligate and puerile fancy, that she has acquired glory 
 by carrying the fire-brand that agonized her own body 
 into the harvest of Europe's possessions : — if her 
 frown has been destructive of others, its terrors have 
 proceeded from the snakes, which, issuing from her 
 own head, tortured herself. France must be taught 
 better conduct by the expressed indignation of her 
 
neighbours, if she have not grace and sense enough 
 to derive profit from experience. A little said now 
 may prevent the necessity of doing much hereafter. 
 Our French friends must be told, that they are ex- 
 pected to shew at last some signs of sober thinking. 
 The time for admiring their splendid freaks, their 
 mountebank exploits, and wonderful vaultings beyond 
 their proper limits, is gone by. Such performances, 
 though brilliant, have become tiresome ; — they have 
 been acted with eclat in almost every capital of Eu- 
 rope, but the catastrophe had Paris for its scene. Let 
 them now then be contented to study that of which 
 they are very ignorant — namely, the first principles 
 of politics, morals, art, and literature ; by this means 
 they will become wiser and happier than they have 
 been, if not quite so showy and so glorious ; and the 
 " Great Nation," \n\\ not, after this change, less de- 
 serve or receive its favourite adjective. 
 
 The halls of the Louvre, on the ground floor, are 
 filled with the ancient statues. Painting does not 
 seem to me to have ever executed any thing so won- 
 derful or striking as these. If I were condemned to 
 a solitude, and had my choice of the tixasures of the 
 sister arts collected in this museum, I would much 
 rather surround myself with these sublime marbles 
 
22^ 
 
 than with the canvasses up stairs. Criticism, or ra- 
 ther praise, has been so entirely expended on these 
 extraordinary pioductions, that any thing I could now 
 say, must either be a repetition, or unnaturally ori- 
 ginal. The triumphant Godhead of the Apollo, the 
 delicacy and beauty of the Venus, the terrors and 
 agony of the Laocoon, the symmetry of the Herma- 
 phrodite, have been stated in all the power and varie- 
 ty of language, and in works dedicated solely to them 
 as subjects ; — I shall not therefore here attempt any 
 particular description of these wonders, — but keep 
 myself within my principal and favourite design of 
 illustrating and discussing national character and 
 manners. 
 
 The Gallery of Paintings is prodigious : the num- 
 ber of pictures, the length of the walls, the recollec- 
 tion of the events that have filled it, form an union 
 producing an overpowering effect. But the place is 
 by no means well-adapted for the purpose to which 
 it is devoted. The cross-lights render it almost im- 
 possible to see the pictures, and with regard to many 
 of them it is quite impossible to catch their nicer 
 beauties. The great congregation of these works, 
 bearing so plainly and palpably the air of an exhibition, 
 lessens their influence on the mind as poetical concep- 
 tions. To please the vanity of the multitudes of Paris, 
 who flock in to view their pillage, a long avenue, with 
 pictures forming its sides, like so many regularly 
 planted trees, may be best adapted ; but the person 
 of taste and feeling would be most touched and gra- 
 
tifiedj by a distribution into different rooms, where 
 a sort of precedency might be observed, and by means 
 of which, natural distinctions might assist the judg- 
 ment, and prevent that bewildering of the senses 
 which is produced by a vast promiscuous assem- 
 blage. 
 
 In the Palace of the Luxembourg, on the otlier 
 side 01 the Seine, there is a collection of Paintings 
 by Reubens, which excites the highest ideas of that 
 master's powers of hand, and feeling for the forms of 
 naiure. There is scarcely to be found in the v/orld, 
 an equal display, within the same compass, and per- 
 formed v/iihin the same time, of the genius of one 
 man. 
 
 The following extracts from the Common-Place 
 Book of an English ariist, who has the right of a 
 kindred mind lo express his opinion of the excellence 
 of these great m.en, will, J am sure, be read with much 
 interest: — 
 
 " I passed rapidly down the immense gallery, re- 
 cognizing by rapid, but keen glances, many noble 
 pictures of the masters with whom my thoughts had 
 long been familiar, and with the prints of which I was 
 well acquainted : — But I never stopped till I stood 
 before The Transfiguration I The first look disap- 
 pointed me : its general effect seemed to have even 
 a character of meanness : the figure of the Christ 
 gave me dissatisfaction, as small It v/as evident that 
 it had been seriously injured by cieanini^, — but not- 
 withstanding, I was soon impressed by the beauties 
 
238 
 
 of this famous production of Raphael's. The head of 
 the Father, who is puttiii,^ forward his possessed Son, 
 is intensely expressive : it seemed as if his voice hav- 
 ing failed, and his internal frame relaxed through 
 agony of mind, all he had strength to do was to look 
 his distress. I procured means of getting close to 
 Christ's head : its super-human expression is now 
 certainly gone. Saint John, bending back, and sha- 
 ding the glory from his eyes, is full of soul and sen- 
 timent : and the young girl, who is leaning forward, 
 near the boy, is exceedingly sweet. The woman in 
 front is certainly not handsome : — it is doubtful whe- 
 ther any of Raphael's women are standards of beauty 
 or form. Saint John seems to have been a character 
 Raphael delighted in : it was, in fact, his own* Wher- 
 ever he appears, he has the same look of purity, pie- 
 ty, benevolence, meekness, and voluptuous rapture, 
 — with a glowing cheek enveloped in long heavenly 
 hair. 
 
 " Raphael's feeling for expression was probably the 
 most intense feeling ever bestowed on a human being 
 (except Shakspeare) in the world. Every turn of 
 drapery, every bit of ornament, in Raphael, contri- 
 butes to assist in expressing the peculiarity of the 
 character. Sometimes he clothes an innocent youth 
 in all the purity of white drapery fringed with gold : 
 — his head dresses, his hair, his Srtndals, every tassel, 
 —I might say, every thread, were in hiui vehicles of 
 expression, and the means of refinement. He did not 
 clothe his women to conceal their beauties, but to add 
 
2S9 
 
 interest to their appearance, to produce sensation, to 
 excite love in the observer. 
 
 " Raphael must not be judged by his works in the 
 Louvre. Alas ! there is not a single work of his there 
 (except the vision of Ezekiel, which was in the old 
 Royal collection) — -which has not been mutilated, 
 stippled, scrubbed, and overwhelmed, almost to ruin, 
 by the unfeeling, detestable French, — There is no 
 woman of his in the Louvre to be com.pared to that 
 exquisite creature in the Cartoon of the Beautiful 
 Gate, th^t carries, with a fairy lightness, a wicker 
 basket full of fruit and flowers on her head, and holds 
 in her hand an elegant boy, with two doves, that un- 
 dulate their little necks to suit the motion of her steps, 
 Raphael's faces are full of the " light within," and 
 truly it is a divine light. His eyes glisten, his cheeks 
 glow, his mouths quiver, the soul seems bursting for 
 utterance. The heads of Raphael are the emblems 
 of greatness, intelligence, and love ; and his children 
 are the germs of his men and women. 
 
 " But Raphael wanted (at least in oil,) that compre- 
 hensiveness of feeling for imitation or the representa- 
 tion of objects, which he possessed so fully for ex- 
 pression, and telling a story. In consequence, his 
 representations are all equally detailed, prominent? 
 and coarse. By the side of Corregio, Raphael looks 
 hard and Gennan. Painting is the effect of an objects 
 sculpture is the object itself. To insist on the details 
 of objects in a picture, because objects are made up 
 of details, is insisting on having all the stones of a 
 
 u 
 
230 
 
 tower, seen ten miles off, marked as plainly and dis- 
 tinctly as if the eye were within ten yards of it. Reu- 
 bens, without beauty, without refinement, without 
 poetical conception of character, has obtained, and 
 will ever keep — a splendid reputation solely by his 
 gigantic comprehension of the lowest parts of his art. 
 He felt the representation of objects as Raphael felt 
 their characters. That power which, almost singly, 
 could give Reubens his fame, would not surely have 
 detracted from the greatness of Raphael : — in fact, 
 it alone was wanting to complete it. In the organiza- 
 tion of forms, Reubens was a most extraordinary be- 
 ing : his hands, and feet, and trunks, are as perfect 
 in formation, — that is to say, in parts that are essen- 
 tial to motion, — as the Elgin marbles, — though, as 
 every one knows, most brutal and most disgusting m 
 taste of design. 
 
 " The next picture I turned to, was the Pietro 
 Martire of Titian. This too has been injured, but 
 the effect is still prodigious. The expression of the 
 assassin's head is wonderful ;— -ne has cut his victim 
 down with a dreadful gash ; — his look does not give 
 the idea of hatred or peculiar ferocity, but a sort of 
 ah ! of professional exultation seems to break from 
 him, as if he were a hired assassin, having no perso- 
 nal revenge to gratify. The exhausted, languid, and 
 yet penetrating look of the monk is sublime. He is 
 mortally wounded, he is dying, he is helpless, but his 
 last look is the look of an Inquisitor — a look of tho- 
 rough penetration. The back ground is in perfect 
 
231 
 
 harmony: the sun has shot up his h\st blaze, before 
 sinking ; — the evening breeze seems rustling amidst 
 the towering trees ; — some friends are escaping in the 
 lurid horror of the forest, and the immediate compa- 
 nion of the murdered monk is rushing off, with his 
 dark drapery against the deep sky, producing a sense 
 in the spectator of terror and agony reaching almost 
 to despair. In colour, this picture must have been 
 once complete ; it is now seriously injured, and one 
 can only judge of what it must have been by parts 
 that are left. 
 
 ''The intensity and truth of Raphael's feelings for 
 ideal character, were possessed by Titian for real — 
 viz. Portrait, The eyes of his portraits shine with 
 intelligence, his figures look as if they were stand- 
 ing in a Venetian viranda on a summer evening 
 listening to the strains of guitars from distant gondo- 
 las. 
 
 "The marriage of Saint Catharine by Corregio was 
 the objectof my next contemplation. It was the first 
 undouDted picture by that admirable master that I 
 had ever seen. Of all men that ever lived Corregio 
 was the most extraordinary for a sense of what may 
 be termed the essence of sweetness. There is a ma- 
 gical refined beauty in his women : he has seized 
 and realized all those fleeting momentary expressions, 
 which scarcely have existence, and yet affect us with 
 their beam. He has caught them and kept them, with 
 a harmony, a poetry, an enchanting grace, such as 
 if his fancies had been the dreams of an Angel. 
 
232 
 
 Reynolds had well studied the same system of har- 
 mony, in colour: — that look of surface in painting, 
 which Reynolds carried to excess, is apparent in Cor- 
 regio. 
 
 "A detailed description of great works is of very 
 little use :— a student should survey the whole galle- 
 ry, compare one master with another, and from the 
 comparison, form principles of practice for his own 
 guidance. When once he can paint with facility what 
 he- sees in nature, let him not dwell, in heavy indo- 
 lence and stupid pondering, over a painful copying of 
 a favorite picture. The great advantage which the 
 Louvre affords, lies in the matchless opportunity it 
 gives for making a comparison of the different excel- 
 lences of the different schools. One principle set- 
 tled in the mind from such a review, will be of great- 
 er use to a student, than if he were to return with 
 twenty much-studied, well-detailed, well-bungled co- 
 pies. After having compared the ancient Great, one 
 with another, let him compare the modern Little, — 
 let him compare the French with the Italians, and 
 the English with both, and make deductions and form 
 conclusions of principles from these examinations. 
 By looking through the Louvre on this system, he 
 will find, that, in effect, breadth and brightness, size 
 and depth, will bear down all opposition, — because na- 
 ture is oftener seen under such aspects, than under 
 that of Giiido's grey, or Rembrandt's brown : — he 
 will find that a particular view of nature will carry a 
 man but a very limited way, and that fame can only 
 
233 
 
 be certainly attained, and securely kept, by acting on 
 the most general principles, and applying to the most 
 general feelings of life. 
 
 " The French artists display cleverness as distinct 
 from genius and feeling : — they are full of what will 
 commonly be termed the knowledge of their art, — 
 but are devoid of its spirit. They know not how to 
 employ what they have collected. In Expression they 
 are theatrical, — their Colour presents to the eye and 
 mind a green, doughy mud. In Effect 4hey are flat, 
 smooth, marbly^and mawkish. 
 
 " But let me say, that in the principles of costume^ 
 and in architectural skill, they are great and excel- 
 lent; and let English artists endeavour to supply their 
 deficiencies in those respects, by attending to the ex- 
 cellence of their rivals. In their Imitation, the French 
 attend more to the imaginary boundary than to the 
 actual substance of nature ; — substance, and not line, 
 is the great principle of Imitation. 
 
 " For a school of ;^am/m^the Louvre is unrivalled; 
 but, in the Elgin marbles and the Cartoons, England 
 possesses a higher school of desig?! and exfiression. 
 They have nothing in the Louvre to compare with 
 the Elgin marbles in system and style, and had our 
 government one grain of taste, they would purchase 
 these unrivalled productions, erect a national build- 
 ing, and place them and the Cartoons in distinguish- 
 ed situations, providing also the means of study. But 
 they suffer the one to lie in a private yard, dusty and 
 
 damp,— and the other to remain shut up in a dingy 
 
 u 2 
 
234 
 
 gaileiy, unthought of and unfelt. What is the won- 
 der of every enlightened foreigner, who visits this 
 country ? It is, that out of the thousands, I might say 
 railiions, squandered about in almost all sorts of ways, 
 not a farthing is bestowed on the encouragement of 
 Historical painting. Sculpture is fairly encouraged ; 
 but painting is positively thwarted. The Directors 
 of the British Institution, who deserve the sincere 
 thanks of every friend to taste and refinement, for 
 having raised the value of British Art, applied to 
 the government for the small sum of five thousand 
 pounds annually, to assist them in their meritorious 
 endeavours^ — and this small sum was refused I What 
 ^vould Denon say to this ? The present creditable 
 state of historical painting in England, is owing to 
 the vigour of its artists' minds, backed, certainly, by 
 '.he laudable institution which I have mentioned. 
 And, to be sure, there is some consolation, or rather 
 cause for exultation, in this very circumstance. Yes ! 
 energy of mind and force of talent, will make their 
 >vay to greatness, not only in spite of neglect, but 
 even against obstruction : — and the painters of Eng- 
 land are making their way in a nobler track, and at a 
 swifter rate, than any others of the present time, — 
 although they have no national gallery, although they 
 have but little patronage, and almost no natural en- 
 couragement, although the government denies, and 
 individuals neglect them, — although the fogs of the 
 nation ai'e thick? and its days are short, and its pec- 
 
pie not generally prone to run their pretensions to 
 taste before their actual feelings.'* 
 
 The above observations are dictated by sound judg- 
 ment as well as by strong feeling, — but something in 
 the way of explanation, relative to the encourage- 
 ment which Fine Art can fairly claim, and that is cal- 
 culated to do it the most legitimate service, is proba- 
 bly necessary. It is, no doubt, irritating to see thou- 
 sands on thousands of the public money thrown away 
 on pastry, and pagodas, and fire-works, while the pal- 
 try pittance aforementioned, was refused to an object 
 connected with the expansion of the national intellect, 
 and the vindication of the national character : — but 
 the present state of art and literature in France, af- 
 fords a most convincing proof, that the native ener- 
 gies and best dispositions of both, are more likely to 
 be weakened and depraved, than developed and 
 strengthened, by the forcing system of patronage and 
 galleries, and public rewards, meetings, and institu- 
 tions. A British painter of the present day, one of 
 whose works for sterling character, and interesting 
 incident, — for humour, and pathos, and truth, and in 
 short, for all that is most valuable in a picture, — 
 vv'ould outweigh the whole that the French school has 
 produced for the last twenty years, — made a most ju- 
 dicious observation on this subject: — he said, " the 
 modern French artists were evidently ihQ consequen- 
 ces^ not the causes of patronage. A more fatal inver- 
 sion than this, of the proper order of things, cannot 
 be imagined. Patronage never can produce merit, 
 
236 
 
 although it ought always to be produced by it. To 
 place art on the footing of being reared, and fondled, 
 and pamperedj — formed out of models and collections, 
 and lectures, — ^fed with daily bread from the hand of 
 power, and with the cant of praise from the mouths 
 of the ignorant, — is sure to reduce it to the state in 
 which we now find it in France. It is there an exer- 
 tion of acquired dexterity, — an observation of rules, 
 and a habit of industry, — something very smooth and 
 regular, and systematic ; but it neither springs from 
 the heart, nor goes to it : — as a lesson of life it is no- 
 thing, as an appeal to the affections, it is nothing,—. 
 how then can it be any thing worth having or caring^ 
 for? 
 
 It will appear very clear, afier a little considera- 
 tion, that the encouragement which really promotes 
 the display of genius in a country, must spring from 
 its own operation on the hearts of the people : — at 
 the same time, a disgraceful coldness to its produc- 
 tions may exist, which ought to be made the subject 
 of reprehension, in order that individuals may have 
 their attention turned to what they are losing for want 
 of a well directed application of their means. But 
 encouragement, in order that it shall do good, must 
 lake the shape of a natural demand ; — it must not 
 have an eleemosynary aspect, or come down as re- 
 wards, given in the exercise of taste and knowledge 
 superior to the merit that is rewarded. The feeling 
 of being necessary to the public gratification and wel- 
 fare, is absolutely essential to that respectability and 
 
237 
 
 excellence, the existence of which reflects honor on 
 the public character ; and this feeling cannot spring 
 from commanded competitions, adjudged premiums, 
 awarded medals, authoritative decisions^ and arbitrary- 
 rejections. 
 
 This is a hard doctrine, I know, for the pride of 
 patronage : it will not easily be digested by well^ 
 dressed, and well-meaning directors: it is not likely 
 j^ first to find favour in committee rooms, where 
 lords and commoners, the wealthy buyers, and some- 
 times the w^ealthy sellers of pictures, sit in secret 
 round a table, and, with their glasses clapped to their 
 eyes, settle infallibly and indisputably who is to re- 
 ceive the one hundred, and who tha two hundred 
 pound prize for this season. There is something 
 vastly pleasant in the possession of this power of dis- 
 pensation, and so long as those who exercise it, can 
 lay the flattering unction to their souls, that they are 
 forwarding the cause of taste, and assisting the en- 
 deavours of genius, it is not likely to be resigned. 
 
 But believing, which I sincerely do, that those to 
 wiiom I am alluding, have it at heart to do these 
 laudable things, — I am equally convinced that they 
 sadly mistake the method. The present imperfect, 
 but advancing state of feeling in this country relative 
 to fine art, renders it necessary, that, for a time, some 
 persons should take the lead in its encouragement, — 
 but that encouragement should be at once put on the 
 only footing on which it can be durable and exten- 
 sive. It is not by holding out, in the view of the 
 
§38 
 
 country, a distribution of gifts and prizes, that ever 
 the public generally will be led to encourage the 
 higher exertions of the pencil : — such a spectacle is 
 of itself calculated to convince thenn, that this style 
 of painting is not adapted for them, that it lies quite 
 out 6f their way, that it cannot support itself, and 
 rather belongs to the class of useless and expensive 
 pageantry, than to that which includes what is a 
 source of natural and common delight. 
 
 This is a notion the most fatal for fine art that can 
 prevail, and the course usually taken by institutions, 
 is precisely that which is most likely to engender such 
 a sentiment. Their business should be, not to display 
 their own power, and skill, and weight, but to en- 
 crease the respectability and the independence of ar- 
 tists, by setting the example of a legitimate demand 
 for their v/orks, on the principle of their being waiit- 
 ecL Painters should be fairly and unequivocally em- 
 ployed, and left to themselves to do justice to their 
 employers and themselves. A selection might still 
 be made as to those commissioned, and, in this way, 
 the highest merit might, as it should, receive the 
 greatest share of encouraG;ement. — But, I repeat, the 
 artist should commence his work, supported by a cer- 
 tainty that he will not, at its termination, be exposed 
 to cruel disappointment and ruinous disgrace, through 
 the effects of caprice, or cabal, or ignorance. His 
 degree of skill being known, let it be decided whe- 
 ther he is worthy of employment,— but employment, 
 once given, should be absolutf. It is in this way 
 
339 
 
 only, that the real powers of men of talent can be 
 drawn forth : it was in this way that the powers of Ra- 
 phael, and Michael Angelo were allowed to mature 
 themselves, till they became manifested in the sub- 
 lime works which these great men have left behind 
 them. It is in this way only, that those who have 
 the care of the public buildings of England, will be 
 induced to employ artists in their decoration, and 
 that a general tasfrtjbr the loftiest and most poetical 
 achievements of the pencil can be engendered, pro- 
 viding for the excellence of art, by ensuring to the 
 best artists a proper rew^ard from a discriminating 
 fuiblic. 
 To return from this digression to the museums, Sec. 
 of Paris. Magnificent galleries of foreign produc- 
 tions do little or no credit to the mind of a country, 
 and perhaps it would not be too much to say, that 
 they are positively injurious to its mind. The Greeks 
 had no galleries of Egyptian art; — if they had, we 
 should not have received from their artists the pre- 
 cious bequests which have survived to this day. The 
 Romans, like the French, were overwhelmed with the 
 works of other people, and they did but little, com- 
 paratively speaking, in sculpture or painting. It was 
 not till the fifteenth century, when but few vestiges 
 of ancient art remained, that the genius of Rome 
 reared its head in majestic splendour. I do not mean 
 to affirm that excellence is not assisted by experience; 
 but what has been done before us should be rigidly 
 and merely regarded as objects of study an4 examiiia- 
 
240 
 
 tion. It was in this light only, that they were regard- 
 ed by the great Italian masters to whom I have just 
 alluded. 
 
 Paris, as has been stated, is full of public libraries, 
 exhibitions, and museums : they are all open to the 
 public, and that city thus affords aids and facilities to 
 every kind of study, unequalled in the world. It is 
 the highest of all treats therefore to visit it : the stran- 
 ger finds a banquet spread out^Jtltfore him, and put 
 within his reach, the richness and variety of which 
 beggar description. Tables, and chairs, and fire, and 
 pen and ink, are provided for him, in the midst of 
 the most splendid libraries : he has but to enter, and 
 sit down, and study : — ^whatever book he vvants is 
 brought to him : the scarcest prints, the rarest medals, 
 the finest pictures and statues, are each or all put be- 
 fore him, according to his taste or pursuit. These 
 are advantages and gratifications which it makes one 
 almost feverish to recount : they make an impression 
 on the mind of a visitor, to whose habits and disposi- 
 tions they address themselves, that never can be ob- 
 literated. — But there is every reason, to believe, that 
 their continued possession, is not such an advantage 
 to a country, as to common thinkers it may seem. 
 They are likely, I grant, to bring out a great num- 
 ber of persons respectably versed in science, litera- 
 ture, and art : they are likely to render the general 
 public, conversational and pretending on all these sub- 
 jects, — but their results will be acquirement as op- 
 posed to genius, talking as opposed to feeling, re- 
 
S41 
 
 search as opposed to production, and imitation as op- 
 posed to invention. The character of the French as 
 a people, and the character of their works, may be 
 appealed to in confirmation of this opinion. 
 
 The present state of French literature is confessed- 
 ly low. TJiey say the talent of the nation has been 
 turned into other channels, and there is a good deal 
 of truth in the remark. They have not at present a 
 writer above the rank of a pamphleteer ; and the cle- 
 verness of a flimsy unprincipled article in one of their 
 public prints, is about the outside reach of their lite- 
 rary genius. Like ourselves, they are totally without 
 dramatic writers of the best class; though their small 
 pieces have much affect and point. In oratory they 
 are at once poor and vicious : I never heard a speech 
 in the Chamber of Deputies that was not wretched, 
 and Regnaud St. Jean D'Angely, who was the go- 
 vernment orator under Buonaparte, and is esteemed 
 the best public speaker in France, is very meretri- 
 ous in his style, and by no means possesses a high 
 der of talent. In science, France has still several 
 , LIT distinguished names, the most of whom will be 
 found enumerated in the article on the Jardin des 
 Plantes in the Appendix, — but she does not seem to 
 be replacing those whom she is losing, with any thing 
 like their equals. In one science of the highest im- 
 portance to mankind, she is very decidedly behind 
 England, — namely, in that of Medicine. Her prac- 
 titioners, comparatively speaking, are not skilful, and 
 their principles are not sound. In military tactics, 
 
 X 
 
2^2 
 
 the French, as is well known, may boast to possess 
 some who are deemed the first masters of the day, 
 and as they have introduced quite a new system of 
 making war, and have brought forth into practice 
 military powers and capacities that were never be- 
 fore thought of, they seem fairly entitled to take the 
 lead in this respect. In the field, however, England 
 has quite maintained her equality,- — but then her ge- 
 nerals have never been properly pitted against him, 
 who was always deemed the greatest captain of the 
 French armies, and who has conducted war on a vaster 
 scale, and with greater variety of resources, and com- 
 prehensiveness of plan, than any of his predecessors 
 or contemporaries. 
 
 But in all those efforts of mind that denote deep in- 
 ternal feeling, chaste and sound principle, and enlarg- 
 ed and honest observation, the French are at present 
 behind not only the English, but also the Germans. 
 The whole of their system of society and instruction 
 is opposed to what is natural, touching, and pure ; 
 and their remarkable disposition to look for models 
 only to themselves and their own possessions, stands 
 directly in the way of their improvement. England 
 has at present five or six excellent poets, — France has 
 not one: — it might be said she never had. But she 
 caniiot be convinced of this; and she cannot be con- 
 vinced that the hardness and poverty of David do not 
 constitute a standard of the first rate excellence in art. 
 She has the antique, and she prides herself on these 
 monuments as if they had been achieved by herself j 
 
g43 
 
 yut her vanity prevents her from making a judicious use 
 of her good fortune in this respect. — She merely ex- 
 tracts a few mechanical rules from these high exam- 
 ples, but to the soul of the lesson, and to the inspi- 
 ration of the inducement, she is utterly callous. Her 
 students, when I saw them in her museums, sur- 
 rounded by Raphaels, and Titians, and Reubens's, 
 were generally employed copying from David. They 
 preferred the sublimated and refined essence of art, 
 as contained in the works of this modern Frenchman^ 
 to its crude and coarse body in the productions of the 
 Italians of the fifteenth century I 
 
 The estimate of the French character and condition, 
 given in this volume, is an unfavourable one, and I 
 can only say that I went over to Paris in the expecta- 
 tion of forming conclusions more to its credit. The 
 gross public faults of the nation have been flaunted in 
 the face of Europe for many years, so that no one 
 could pay it a visit in the belief of finding it immacu- 
 late. But more of accomplishment, and more of pur- 
 pose, and more of favourable symptoms of every kind, 
 than it presented to my observation, I did expect to 
 
 )d. In conclusion, however, I repeat, what I have 
 more than once thrown out in the course of these 
 pages, that the capacities of the French nation are 
 very great. What it chiefly wants are principles of 
 thinking. It is probable that much of that quickness 
 
244 
 
 and dexterity in action, by which its people are dis- 
 tinguished, would fail them if they took a more re- 
 flecting scrupulous turn of mind,— but if to the qua- 
 lities which they have, they could add one or two 
 which they have not, their rivalship would be of the 
 most formidable description. As it is, a settled an4 
 liberal government, if such an one should be esta- 
 blished among them, acting with the efficient instru- 
 ments and stout fresh materials supplied by the Re- 
 yolution, must build up a strong state. The capabi- 
 lities of the country have been materially improved by 
 that tremendous event, though, hitherto, its actual 
 condition has been the reverse of what is respectable 
 and desirable. 
 
 The visit of an Englishman to Paris cannot but pro- 
 duce the liveliest impressions on his mind ; — and, aS 
 affording fresh knowledge, inspiring new feelings, 
 and linking additional associations, it is calculated to 
 increase the extent and value of his character. The 
 mere curiosities, as they are termed, and amusements, 
 are sources of powerful excitement and interest, but 
 the great gratification arises from coming perpetually 
 in contact with novelty. Novelty presents itself in 
 every face, in every motion, in every piece of furni- 
 ture in the room, in every utensil of the house, and 
 almost in every breath of air that is inhaled. The vi- 
 sitor, therefore, feels his existence sit as lightly and 
 elastically as if he were just born in the full posses- ■ 
 sion of the powers of manhood. His return to his 
 home will be endeared by a contrast which he never 
 
M5 
 
 before could forrxij— and the general influence of the 
 j6urney, I think, is to humanize the heart, even while 
 it suggests conclusions to the disadvantage of those 
 among whom we have been ; — for looking widely, and 
 without personal attachments or resentments, on the 
 surface of society,— we see how little individuals are 
 to be blaxied for what we most dislike in their con- 
 duct ; and when the impression of this sentiment of 
 forbearance and kindness, is coupled with a display 
 of what has been working to produce the mischief 
 and imperfection, that we cannot but see and regret, 
 —the lesson, thus including a knowledge of what 
 ought to be corrected with a motive to cheerfulness 
 and charity, is the most useful that man can receive. 
 It has a direct tendency to raise his nature, towards 
 that higher rank of intelligence, in which irritation 
 against disagreeable consequences is prevented by a 
 knowledge of their natural and necessary causes. 
 
 X 2 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 A SKETCH OF THE PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT OF 
 THE FRENCH CAPITAL, COMPILED FROM THE HIS- 
 TORY OF PARIS BY LE GRAND AND LAUDON. 
 
 A FEW scattered cottages, gradually encreasing 
 in number near a wood or on the declivity of a hill, in 
 a valley, or on the borders of a river, is in general 
 the origin of celebrated cities. Such is that of Paris, 
 which was then called Lutetia. From whence this 
 name arose is now unknown; nor is that of Parisis 
 more intelligible. Paris was at first contained in the 
 He, now called the Cite. Csesar found it in this state 
 about fifty years before the Christian era. Labienus, 
 his general, attempted to take it by siege, but the in- 
 habitants rather chose to burn their town, or possibly 
 only the suburbs, than to give it up to the conqueror. 
 Csesar, finding this position necessary to him, built a 
 new town on the scite of the ancient Lutetia, or at 
 least very much augmented the old one, embellished 
 it with many edifices, and fortified it with walls and 
 two strong castles, at the head of two wooden bridges, 
 situated where the Pont au Change, and the Petit Pont 
 
248 
 
 now are. During 530 years that the Romans possess- 
 ed this town, they enlarged it to the north, and beyond 
 the island, which then formed the capital of the Gauls : 
 the governors resided here, and amongst them some 
 emperors; Constantine and Constance were of the 
 number : Julian also passed some time there, the 
 winter of the years 357, 8 and 9. He rebuilt the pa- 
 lace of Thermes and the aqueduct of Arcueil, the 
 ruins of which subsist to this day. Julian spoke of 
 this town as his dear Lutetia^ describes its situation, 
 and boasts of its vines and fig-trees. 
 
 Saint Denis came to preach the Christian faith 
 about the year 250. The Pagan temples were then 
 demolished, and replaced by some Christian churches. 
 
 The Franks made the conquest of Paris in the year 
 of Christ 486, and Clovis established it as the seat of 
 empire 22 years afterwards, 
 
 Paris gradually increased till the wars of the Nor- 
 mans, in the ninth century, stopped the progress of 
 the buildings, and made the inhabitants feel the ne- 
 cessity of an enclosure to preserve their burgs from 
 the invasion of the enemy. 
 
 The castle of the Louvre, which existed from the 
 middle of the seventeenth century, was rebuilt by 
 Louis le Gros about the year 1110; and Philippe Au- 
 guste, after having paved the streets of Paris in 1 184, 
 commenced a new enclosure of walls in 1190, which 
 were fiinished in 1211. 
 
 He erected in the middle of the castle of the Louvre 
 an elevated tower, where all the great vassals were 
 
S49 
 
 -obliged to pay their homage to the king; it was 48 
 eet in diameter and 96 feet high, Philippe Auguste 
 died in 1223, after a reign of 43 years. Paris receiv- 
 ed considerable improvements under his direction, 
 for the town which till then consisted of four quarters 
 had now eight divisions. After the new enclosure of 
 walls begun by Charles V., and finished by Charles 
 VI. in 1383, the town was divided into sixteen 
 parts. 
 
 Robert Sorbonne founded his schools in 1250 in the 
 quarter now called the Sorbonne. It is likewise called 
 the quarter of the University, because all the sciences 
 were professed there, and to distinguish it from the 
 rest of the town, and from the cite. But the faubourgs 
 being very much spread, and in danger from the fre- 
 quent excursions of the English, a new enclosure of a 
 ditch 30 feet wide and 15 feet deep was begun to de- 
 fend the town. 
 
 Paris remained in the same state under the five 
 reigns that succeeded that of Charles V. It was not 
 till the time of Francis I., the friend of letters and of 
 the arts, that Paris took a new face. The improve- 
 ments commenced with the Louvre : the old castle, 
 that uncouth assemblage of lowers and heavy walls, 
 was demolished, and replaced by a palace worthy of 
 the King of France. Much had been done to em- 
 bellish Paris, but much more still remained to be 
 done. The palace of the Thuilleries was built by 
 Catherine of Medicis, in 1563. Henry the Fourth, 
 after giving peace to the kingdom which he had con- 
 
550 
 
 quered, resolved to execute the vast plan conceive:- 
 by Phinp*7e Aii^'""-'/"^ -Ty f^^-r'^'^ : '^. '^v Francis ih? 
 First 
 
 Itt 1619 was placed on the Pont Neuf the eques- 
 trian statue of Henry IV. : this Prince conpeived the 
 project of forming a great public square, to be called 
 the Place de France, each of the streets coming into 
 it was .he name of one of the provinces. 
 
 Unc tign of Louis XIII. various fine stree*.- 
 
 were buiu^ and improvements made, 
 
 Paris received under the long and glorious . ..^.. . . 
 Louis XIV. embellishments worthy of the powerful 
 monarch who commanded them, and the ministers 
 and artists who directed their execution. The pro- 
 jects of Henry IV. and of Louis XIII. were finishes. 
 More than eighty streets were opened and rebuih. 
 Thirty-three churches were erected .vith great mag- 
 nificence; two public squares and bridges rebuilt in 
 stone, and the quays newly constructed; four new 
 ports to facilitate commerce were made, and the great 
 Chatelet was enlarged for the greater convenience of 
 the administration of justice 
 
 The magnificent establisnmeiu of me Hotel de 
 Mars, or the Invalids, was founded, and also the Ob- 
 servatory, to forward the knowledge of astronomy 
 and navigation ; also a pump to raise the A the 
 
 Seine, and to distribute it to the difFcie.^.t quartcrs- 
 and fifteen new fountains. 
 
 The Louvre likewise was enlarged, and almost re- 
 built, with a magnificence which has spread its far 
 
351 
 
 over all Europe as a chef d'oeuvre of art, and as the 
 most magnificent palace of the universe, including 
 the Thuiileries, which joins it, and also the Pont 
 Royal. 
 
 The old gates of the town were now replaced by- 
 triumphal arches, and the Boulevard planted with 
 trees, forming an almost uninterrupted promenade 
 around the whole of the capital, and contributing as 
 much to its salubrity as to its beauty. 
 
 Louis XV. was equally jealous to embellish the 
 capital : the limits of the town were enlarged by his 
 order. In 1722 the Palais Bourbon was built in a 
 new style. The Military School was founded in 1751, 
 and the new St. Genevieve erected on a majestic plan. 
 The Place Louis XV. and its colonnades were begun 
 in 1754. The Champs Elisees were replanted at the 
 same epocha; and in 1763 the building of the School 
 of Medicine i^eproduced in Paris the noble forms of 
 antique architecture. In 1764 the porcelaine manu- 
 factory was established at Sevre with royal magnifi- 
 cence. In 1765 new boulevards surrounded Paris on 
 the south. Several fountains were also erected. The 
 chisel of Bouchardon gave beauty and value to the 
 fountain De Grenelle. The Foundling Hospital was 
 established in this reign ; and the road and bridge of 
 Neuiily astonished the stranger by the beauty and the 
 boldness of their execution. The fronts of Saint Sul- 
 pice and of Saint Eustache decorated the quarters 
 where they were elevated, by their imposing masses 
 
S5S 
 
 and richness of their architecture. L'Ecole deDroitj 
 and L'Hotel des Monnois were erected in 1771. 
 
 Louis XVL proposed to finish the monuments and 
 all the embellishments commenced by his great- 
 grandfather, and to order new works. He caused St. 
 Genevieve and the new Madeleine to be continued, 
 built several churches, repaired the Palais de Justice, 
 and enlarged and founded several hospitals. 
 
 The French and Italian theatres, the comic opera, 
 and the smaller theatres, were built with astonishing 
 rapidity. The Halles were enlarged, the markets 
 opened, and the fountain of the Innocents, the chef 
 d'oeuvre of Jean Gougon, again appears in an open 
 situation \ and the fine cupola of the Halle-aux-bles 
 rivals in grandeur that of the Pantheon of Rome. 
 Many other improvements also took place; amongst 
 them the Pont Louis XIV. made its appearance, and 
 established the long desired communication between 
 the Faubourg St. Germain, and the Faubourg St. 
 Honore. The Jardin des Plantes received considera- 
 ble enlargement, and its cabinet of natural history be- 
 came more worthy of the attention of the student and 
 the public by the wonders it offered to their research 
 and curiosity. The Palais Royal and its galleries was 
 built in a short space of time, and ornamented with 
 shops of all descriptions. 
 
 But the Revolution began and produced nothing 
 but ruins : the Bastille was demolished ; and at this 
 signal all the monuments of art were menaced ; the 
 barriers of Paris were mutilated ; several churches 
 
253 
 
 %vere violated and degraded, or sold and destroyed. 
 The statues of the kings broken, melted, and repla- 
 ced by idols in wood and in painted cloth. 
 
 At last a young hero reigned in France, and Paris 
 once more regained her splendour. The grand pro- 
 jects of public utility, and truly royal magnificence, 
 were recommenced, and for the most part were exe- 
 cuted with a celerity without example. 
 
 The Carousal was cleared of all those nuisances 
 which dishonoured the palace of the sovereign ; it 
 forms an immense place d'armes, ornamented by new 
 streets and triumphal monuments ; the Louvre is fi- 
 nishing ; the gardens of the Thuilleries are cleared 
 on all sides : and the Rue de Rivoli, which runs on 
 one side, produces an imposing efi'ect. The Rue de 
 ia Paix, running from the Place Vendome to the 
 Boulevards, establishes another grand communication 
 between this superb garden and the Chaussee d'An- 
 tin : a spacious market is foniied on the lands of the 
 Jacobins of the Rue St. Honbre : three bridges rise 
 at the same time before the Louvre, the x\rsenal, and 
 rile Notre Dame ; and a fourth soon after before the 
 Military School. 
 
 The Place de la Bastille is to become the great 
 point of union between the Rue St. Antoine and the 
 north and south boulevards. A triumphal arch near 
 this place is to attest to future generations the immor- 
 tal days of Marengo and Austerlitz. 
 
 The Place du Louvre and that of Notre Dame are 
 enlarged ; the demolition of the houses of the Poht 
 
 Y 
 
^51 
 
 St. Michel, have changed the aspect of Paris. The 
 quays of Buonaparte, Desaix, and Napoleon, have 
 rendered it more magnificent ; and each day new pro- 
 jects are arising to add to its happiness and its glory. 
 
 THE PALACES OF PARIS TRACED TO THE NATIONAL 
 CHARACTER AND GOVERNMENT, BY LE GRAND AND 
 LAUDON. 
 
 After the sacred edifices, the palaces are in gene- 
 ral the works where architecture displays her grand- 
 est means, and where the power and the taste of na- 
 tions are developed to the greatest extent. 
 
 It is also io this species of edifices that the man- 
 ners and customs of a people are mostly shewn. The 
 habitations of the great and the rich bear in all na- 
 tions the characteristic mark of the political institu- 
 tions that govern them. According to the various 
 ways which these institutions permit to individuals to 
 shew or conceal their riches, architecture either re- 
 strains or expands her powers. 
 
 Past and present examples prove that in a country 
 where democracy reigns, the habitations of the rich 
 are invariably simple. A sumptuous palace would 
 excite envy. In these countries a certain unison of 
 exterior, which is taken for equality, prevails ; but it 
 is oftener hypocrisy on the part of the powerful, who 
 readily take other means to indemnify themselves. 
 
255 
 
 Luxury in private buildings was unknown to the 
 republics of Greece, and in what is called the fine 
 time of the Roman republic. It was in the decline 
 of this last, that the rich, breaking the barriers ele- 
 vated by custom and the laws against luxury, inhabit- 
 ed palaces, which, according to Pliny, insulted by their 
 splendour the divine temples. 
 
 The aristocratic republic of modern Italy carried 
 the magnificence of its palaces to the highest de- 
 gree. It is generally the principle of aristocracy that 
 dominates in Italy ; and this principle is very favour- 
 able to the luxury of civil architecture. There, 
 where the great participate the government,^ — the 
 pride of rank, of birth, and of fortune, cannot be re- 
 pressed by the laws, but must on the contrary d£V5= 
 lope and discover themselves. To strike the senses 
 of the multitude they must be imprinted on whatever 
 attracts the eye. 
 
 The monarchical government is very favourable to 
 the building of palaces. There the prince disposes 
 of considerable sums of money, and may employ them 
 at his pleasure in the expenses of building. In great 
 monarchies the palace of the sovereign is necessarily 
 an immense edifice ; and when good taste has direct- 
 ed the execution, the imposing example must have a 
 powerful effect on the arts and architecture. For in 
 monarchies a spirit of imitation reigns, and all follow 
 the model of the prince. To imitate is to please, and 
 to please is the first and surest way to fortune. From 
 hence arises an emulation amongst the rich, who 
 
256 
 
 more or less have the ambition of constructing taste- 
 ful and magnificent palaces to add to the lustre of the 
 sovereign abode. By little and little, this ambition 
 extends to the lower classes; and as in this country 
 t/iere is too much distance between the prince and his 
 subjects to allow envy to form comparisons^ architec- 
 ture may be lavished without fear of censure on the 
 habitations of the subjects. 
 
 AN ORIGINAL DESCRIPTION OF THE JARDIN DES 
 PLANTESj AND ITS COLLECTIONS. 
 
 The appellation of the Jardin des Plantes^ does not 
 very well express the nature of this establishment. 
 Besides a botanic garden, it comprehends an exten- 
 sive Menagerie, a cabinet of all the objects of natural 
 history, a Museum of Anatomy, and buildings where 
 courses of lectures are given on the chief depart- 
 ments of the Physical Sciences. 
 
 The Jardin des Plantes^ formerly known by the 
 name of Jardin du Roi, (a title which, I suppose, will 
 be, or has been, restored to it,) is situated at the east- 
 ern extremity of Paris, and on the south side of the 
 Seine. Near the river, and the gateway which opens 
 before the bridge of Austerlitz, the ground is level ; 
 but on retiring behind towards the south, it is agree- 
 ably vciried by small eminences and depressions. 
 
 On entering you perceive on the right a series of 
 
237 
 
 square enclosures, which have for their object to fur- 
 nish instruction to the farmer and the practical gar- 
 dener. 
 
 The first of these divisions is appropriated to spe- 
 cimens of different kinds of soils and manures, — a 
 ticket being prefixed to each heap. Among these 
 may be noticed the soil in which nitre is produced or 
 regenerated : calcareous soils and marls, varieties of 
 clay, gravel, and river sand, straw and the dung of 
 various animals, and even oyster shells, have furnish- 
 ed ^specimens for this collection ; and to these are 
 added brush and fire-woods, hop-poles, Sec. 
 
 Though it may be at first thought by some, that the 
 ticketing of a heap of oyster-shells is carrying the 
 system of nomenclaturing 2l little too far, and borders 
 on the ridiculous, yet, perhaps, this impression will 
 cease, when it is recollected, that the object has been 
 to assemble specimens of all the chief varieties of 
 soils and manures in one spot, where the practical 
 man may examine them at his convenience. 
 
 The school of practical agriculture occupies the 
 next inclosure : it is large and well managed, and 
 contains varied examples of hedges, ditches, ha-has, 
 and combinations of these ; ditches with sloping 
 banks enamelled with flowers ; — hedges on walls ;— « 
 palisades of the various ever-greens, and modes of 
 trimming them ; — frames for rearing apple trees, &c. 
 Sec. 
 
 It is easy to appreciate the use of this enclosure to 
 the gardener and the farmer; and it is pleasing to see^ 
 
 Y 2 
 
^58 
 
 for the first time, a collection of the different modes 
 in which the industry of man is applied to the soil and 
 its products. 
 
 Continuing in the same line, we come to the Ecole 
 des Plantes (T usage dans reconojnie rurale ei domes- 
 tique des Francois, 
 
 This enclosure, as large as the last, contains a 
 great variety of plants arranged under general heads. 
 
 The school of fruit trees cultivated in France forms 
 the next enclosure, arranged simply according to the 
 nature of their fruits, whether shells, or berries, or 
 having kernels, or capsules. Sec. 
 
 We then reach those parterres in which the plants 
 that properly constitute the botanic garden are placed. 
 The arrangement is according to the natural method 
 of Jussieu, which has for its basis the marks of affinity 
 existing between different species and families of 
 plants. It is in some respects better suited for a bo- 
 tanic garden, than for the actual investigation of plants, 
 for in the latter instance it cannot be placed on the 
 same footing of utility with the system of the illustri- 
 ous Linnaeus. 
 
 Within these inclosures every thing approaches to 
 an English neatness ; the rails are of iron painted 
 green ; the walks are bordered by well trimmed box; 
 the labels offer themselves conveniently to the eye, 
 and there is such an intermixture of trees and shrubs 
 with the smaller plants, that the whole loses that too 
 formal appearance of beds which is so common in 
 many botanic gardens. Those plants which are too 
 
S59 
 
 weak to bear the agitations of the wind, are enclosed 
 by cylinders of open wicker-work ; others more ten- 
 der, are placed under glass shades. The trees which 
 line the great avenues, form an excellent shade ; they 
 are chiefly horse chesnuts, tall, and having their 
 branches trained parallel to the alleys, so as to present 
 the same imposing appearance which is seen on the 
 grand road from Paris to Chantilly. 
 
 The Pond is a small circular basin, with a border 
 of marble. The aquatic plants grow up in tubs or 
 small casks, which prevent them from spreading too 
 much in a place where the art of the gardener can 
 have less controul over them. I took a list of them 
 all, but none are uncommon. 
 
 On the right hand opposite the pond, extends a 
 range of buildings occupied as green-houses and 
 stoves, and extending to the length of nearly six hun- 
 dred feet. These have been erected at different pe- 
 riods, and have little uniformity or elegance in their 
 appearance ; and they are evidently not in good re- 
 pair. The principal green-house alone, raised above 
 a sunk parterre below, has a good aspect, from its 
 arcades and a range of marble vases along the front, 
 v.hich impart elegance; it is besides one of the few 
 buildings in Paris constructed of red bricks. 
 
 I saw many plants which were new to me in it, as 
 well as in the range of hotbeds below it. Behind it 
 the hedges are interlaced with twining Tropaola^ Pas- 
 don Jiowers^ and Convolvuli. Several of the rarer 
 ^vees and shrubs are placed in boxes on a circular plat 
 
260 
 
 before the Amphitheaire, intermixed with orange 
 trees, of which many specimens, including some va- 
 rieties, are scattered in the walks throughout this part 
 of the garden. There are two fine specimens of the 
 Pabiietto^ or thatch palm, at the gate of the Amphi- 
 theatre, and others are near. 
 
 The ferns, not numerous, grow up among porous 
 pieces of rock, which are too small, far more so than 
 at Kew\ One would wish to have these toys banish- 
 ed from Botanic gardens, or rather to see a garden, 
 in which nature was imitated in the scale^ as well as 
 in the mode. The little lizards were running thrbugh 
 the w^alks. 
 
 Continuing onwards, and leaving the Amphitheatre 
 on the right, the ground rises rapidly, and on passing 
 by the houses of the professors, you begin to follow a 
 winding path which leads to the summit of a small 
 hill by a gentle ascent. You proceed amid firs, and 
 cypresses, and hedges, intertwined or overhung with 
 flowers. On the top is an open temple of brass, con- 
 sisting of eight slender pillai*s, surmounted by an 
 armillary sphere and dial. Formerly a burning glass 
 was so arranged, as to set fire to a small cannon, when 
 the sun approached to the meredian. On the friese 
 is- in scribed, 
 
 Iloras non nuniero nisi serenas. 
 
 Here I sat frequently in the evenings, enjoying the 
 prospect of Paris and the country. To the east, be- 
 
261 
 
 yond the columns of the Barriere St. Antouie, the dun- 
 geon of Vincennes is conspicuous, amid a rich country, 
 continued on both sides of the Seine, and on the south 
 diversified with villages, windmills, and suburbs, be- 
 yond the domes of Val de Grace and the Salpetriere. 
 To the westward, you look around on one half of Pa- 
 ris, crov/ned by the majestic dome of the Pantheon, 
 rising up lofty and white in a clear sky; but the view 
 is arrested at the black towers of Notre Dame, and 
 from the rising of the ground the most interesting 
 parts of the city, the palaces, and the Invalids, are 
 lost, — A person attends with a telescope to afford a 
 better view of the more distant objects. 
 
 Below, the high trees obstruct the view of the 
 greater part of the garden. One of the most conspi- 
 cuous objects half way down is the great Cedar of Le- 
 banon, {Larix Cedrus^) a most majestic tree, spread- 
 ing out into dense and dark green masses of foliage, 
 above which are seen its large cones, as if floating. 
 Before it lost its top during the fury of the revolution, 
 it must have nearly equalled the brass kiosk in eleva- 
 tion. But cannon balls found their way evefi here, and 
 hours not serene I — Near its evergreen foliage, and 
 within the hedge, rises a small column of white gra- 
 nite, on a pedestal of white marble ; the foliage springs 
 up closely around it ; it once supported a bust of Lin- 
 naeus, which the government should replace in so de- 
 lightful and appropriate a situation. 
 
 The students recline in numbers on the turf, or 
 read and write on the seats around. Small cottages 
 
2G2 
 
 below ofiFer them refreshments in the following terms 
 in Latin and French :— 
 
 Laiterie de la Chaumiere dii Jardin des Plantes. 
 
 riic post Laborem Quies. 
 
 Hie secura qules, aer victusque salubris ; coUe super viridi sunt 
 
 ova recentia nobis, caseoli molles, et pressi copia lactis. 
 
 They have also coffee, and you may breakfast very 
 well here on all these materials for a franc, without 
 any dread of the saving clause with regard to the 
 eggs. 
 
 The Menagerie occupies nearly one half of the 
 Jardin des Plantes, On turning to the right, after 
 passing the school of Practical Agriculture, a low 
 range of buildings appear in which the fiercer quadru- 
 peds are confined. There were there, when my visit 
 was paid, three fine lions, and as many lionesses. 
 One of the lions has a dog for his companion, of whom 
 he appears fond, smiling at his sport. The dog keeps 
 barking at the spectators, and the lion, retired behind, 
 looks on with the frank and mild, yet noble air, for 
 which this quadruped is remarkable. The dog ap- 
 pears to be proud of serving him. 
 
 I saw no tiger. There is a large panther, a very 
 fierce bear, a wolf of the Ardennes, hyaenas, and a 
 porcupine. Several ceils are empty. 
 
 From thence to the Anatomical Cabinet and the 
 Amphitheatre, the whole ground is laid out in enclo- 
 sures, and provided with lower or higher palisades, as 
 
S63 
 
 the animals require ; the surface has a considerable 
 variety, and there is an abundance of shade. In the 
 lowest part is a pond. 
 
 Five bears, in three low open enclosures, surround- 
 ed by parapets, afford much amusement to the specta- 
 tors in the garden. Being young, they are pretty 
 tame, and are easily prevailed upon to climb the trunks 
 of trees, which are placed before their dens. 
 
 Behind them, range almost at liberty, the tamer 
 quadrupeds, deer, gazelles, the strepsiceros, the elk, 
 the white goats of Angora, several varieties of sheep, 
 &c. Two camels are employed to turn the wheel of 
 a forcing pump, which raises water to the gardens. 
 
 The elephant has a large building and a yard to 
 himself; he is young and without tusks, but bulky 
 and in good health. He amuses himself within his 
 enclosure by scattering the dust over his body with 
 his trunk, or by catc^ung the articles of food present- 
 ed to him by his visitors. 
 
 A large circular building lately erected contains at 
 present only a specimen of the Arnee or Indian Bull. 
 — In enclosures around, the tame fowls, peacocks, 
 pheasants, and cassowarys, ducks and swans, roam 
 about or resort to the piece of water at the bottom. A 
 range of wire cases near the lions contains some of 
 the smaller birds ; the fiercer ones are in stronger 
 cages in a long range near the house of the keeper. 
 There are there, besides a long series of monkeys, 
 macaws, and lorys, many specimens of vultures and 
 
-26-4 
 
 eagles, some of which have most piercing eyes, to 
 which no painter could do justice. 
 
 Such is a general view of the menagerie, and the 
 most pleasant ideas are called up, on walking through 
 these shady enclosures, and seeing the antelopes, and 
 wild goats, and deer, and fowls, tame, and approach- 
 ing to solicit food. 
 
 The Cabinet of Natural History, which is the 
 richest collection of this kind in the world, occupies 
 the two floors of the great building at the end of the 
 garden. There are concentrated those specimens in 
 the three kingdoms of nature, which have occupied 
 the attention of Tournefort, Buffon, Lacepede, Haiiy, 
 and other illustrious men. 
 
 The building is plain, without decorations, and 
 though nearly four hundred feet in length, is still too 
 small. On the first floor we find the Library^ which 
 consists almost entirely of works on Natural History. 
 In this respect, however, it is far excelled by the 
 magnificent collection of Sir Joseph Banks, in Soho 
 Square, who has omitted no opportunity, during a 
 long and valuable life, of purchasing every good or 
 curious work on the sciences to which he is so warm- 
 ly attached. — But many of the rarest works on plants 
 are to be found here, as the Hortus Malabaricus^ the 
 writings of Plumier and Ventenal, &c. The herbah 
 of Tournefort are also deposited here, and they are 
 in good order. In the middle of the room, are ta- 
 bles for reading ; at the upper end is a pair of globes, 
 
265 
 
 four feet in diameterj engraved by Coronelii of Ve- 
 nice in 1693.-— A few prints and drawings of plants, 
 and the new mineralogical tables of M. Lucas, are 
 suspended against the book cases. 
 
 Near the door is the statue of Buffon, in white mar- 
 ble and with a simple drapery. It bears on its pedes- 
 tal the well known and very improper inscription :— 
 
 Majestati Naturae par Ingeniam. 
 
 This is but a slight ebullition of French flattery, and 
 that too not very well applied. No one has described 
 animals with such eloquence and beauty of colouring 
 as Buffon ; but in exactness he yields to the Swedish 
 Sage, and system he constantly despised. Buffon's 
 successors have seen his errors, and avoided them. 
 Besides, how ill does this inscription agree with his 
 theory of the Earth, now forgotten, and his organic 
 molecules^ Qxi which he attempted to raise a system of 
 materialism. 
 
 The Minerals and Geological collection are con- 
 tained in a suite of live room.s, or rather halls.— 
 There is little to boast in their arrangement : as is 
 usual in other collections, many are too high to be ea- 
 sily recognized by the sharpest eyes, and others level 
 with the floor, so as to require stooping. The ar- 
 rangement is that of Haliy, the- celebrated crystallo- 
 grapher, and is the result of forty years application to 
 his favorite study. 
 
 Though this collection is rich and numerous, yet it 
 appeared to me to have by far too many duplicates of 
 
2&6 
 
 common minerals. In the calcareous spar suite^ it is 
 rivalled by two private cabinets in London ; and in 
 the gems far surpassed by several collections in the 
 same city. It is still, however, the largest collection 
 which has yet been formed. 
 
 Labels, indicating the order, class, or genus, ap- 
 pear at the head of each ; and when specimens of a 
 substance or forms of a crystal are wanting (as is of- 
 ten the case), the label remains to indicate its situa- 
 tion, as in the instances of the very rare m.ineral 
 filomb natif -volcanigue. The only specimen of native 
 lead is marked atnorfihe^ and is small and imperfect. 
 
 After one hall of earthy and stony substances, and 
 one of ores, a third displays the varieties of the larger 
 masses of the globe, as granites, porphyries. Soon 
 however all becomes confusion here, from that inter- 
 mixture of primary and secondary rocks which Haiiy 
 patronises along with many other opponents of the 
 more vigorous and useful distinctions introduced into 
 geology, by the celebrated Werner. — In this hall are 
 three hundred specimens of French marbles, of uni- 
 form size. In the other departments are all the orna- 
 mental articles constructed of granites, agates, jas- 
 pers, rock-crystals, fire-marbles, lapis lazuli, S^c. 
 
 When we enter the next hall, the fourth in order, 
 the mind is suddenly arrested and carried back to re- 
 mote periods of time. Around are the bones of the 
 animals which have become extinct on our planet, 
 preserved in their original envelopes of stony matter, 
 as they were drawn from the soil or elevations of 
 
267 
 
 which they often form a large or the greater part. 
 With these are associated the remains of quadrupeds 
 similar to those of our present continents, but dug up 
 in countries where many of them are now never seen. 
 All are arranged by the hands of Cuvier himself, who 
 has placed them in that order in which they are de- 
 scribed in his late work. 
 
 All parts of the world have contributed to this col- 
 lection. Among other wonders, are the fragments of 
 an elephant's tusk, which, when complete, must have 
 been at least eight feet in length. Several cases are 
 filled with the bones of the Siberian Mammoth, or 
 Elephant, and the American Mammoth, or Masto- 
 donton. There is a specimen of the hair of that 
 Mammoth which was found in 1805, preserved in a 
 block of ice on the shore of the Icy Sea, in the^ coun- 
 try of the Tonguses in Siberia : when extricated the 
 dogs devoured its flesh, which had remained in a 
 state of complete preservation for so long a period. 
 After the bones of Rhi4iS::eroses, Hippopotami, and 
 Tapiers, come those discovered by Cuvier in the 
 plaster quarries of Montmatre, and of which he has 
 constituted several new genera of extinct quadru- 
 peds. 
 
 Few classes of animals exist of which we do not 
 find the remains here, dug up from great depths, 
 where they had been covered by regular series of 
 strata. If the remains of birds are not numerous in 
 this case, the same cannot be said of the fishes, for 
 you have only to turn round to the opposite side, and 
 
36S 
 
 view five hundred fish in stone from one hill in Italy. 
 Mount Bolca in the Veronese. There part of the 
 animal matter has been arrested by the pressure of 
 the mass, and tinged the marly slate which surrounds 
 it. The names attached to them are old, and cannot 
 now be depended on. 
 
 There is employment here for months and years; 
 and enough indeed on which to exercise the increas- 
 ed knowledge of the philosophers, who shall exist 
 some centuries hence. In the last and fifth room we 
 must pass by hurriedly all those impressions of ferns 
 dug up from coal mines, which shew us the connec- 
 tion of coal w^ith the ancient forests. Nor can I do 
 more than notice those fine opalised and jaspery 
 blocks of wood, which are perfect opal and jasper at 
 one end, and perfect wood at the other. After these 
 appear the productions of Vesuvius and Etna, the 
 w orkmanship of those natural fires which never cease 
 operating. The specimens collected by Spallanzani 
 and Dolemieu, the two best observers of Volcanic 
 countries, are here, and it is interesting to connect 
 them with the relation of their travels in Naples, Si- 
 cily, and the Lipari Isles. With these Haiiy has con- 
 nected the Basalts collected by St. Fond, and all the 
 other clay rocks, which according to his opinions in- 
 dicate a Volcanic origin. 
 
 The Zoological treasures, with the exception of the 
 Amfihibia and Pisces, which occupy a hall on the first 
 floor, are contained in the long gallery on the second. 
 
269 
 
 They are well lighted by semicircular windows in the 
 roof. 
 
 The length of this gallery, and the diversified ^nd 
 numerous assemblage of beings which arc crowded 
 in it, form a pleasing and animated coup d'oeil, and 
 the interest heightens, when, on the public days, we 
 find it nearly impossible to move through the crowd 
 of persons of all ranks which fills it. 
 
 Few animals are wanting in the series of quadru- 
 peds^ and birds. Of monkeys alone there are at least 
 two hundred specimens, and often more of a single 
 family of birds, as of the genera Matacilla and Zanagra, 
 To mention here a fevr of the leading objects would 
 be to go far into the field of Zoology. I saw many 
 animals for the first time, as the camelopard brought 
 from Africa by Vaillant, the bison, and the lama, and 
 the vicugna, of Peru. Many specimens have been pre- 
 sented by the late Empress Josephine. There is a re- 
 gular arrangement of the whole, which adds conside- 
 rably to their interest and value* In different parts of 
 the gallery appear busts of Tournefort, Linnaeus, Adam- 
 son, Daubenton, and Fourcroy. The only paintings are 
 two — a lion tearing a goat, and an eagle pouncing on 
 a lamb. 
 
 The invertebral animals are chiefly deposited in ca- 
 ses in the middle of the apartments ; the insects and 
 shells are neatly displayed below glass cases, along 
 with corals, sponges, and suites of the eggs of birds. 
 There is here a great want of room, and many ob- 
 jects are too low to be seen well, — Among the in- 
 _ z 2 
 
270 
 
 sects, after the splendid papilios are glanced at, and 
 the sphinxes, one may see a series of the silk-worms, 
 with their cocoons, and the caterpillars formed of wax 
 so as exactly to resemble the living animals. Near 
 them are the gall-nuts, and woods pierced or formed 
 by insects. Additions illustrating the history and ha- 
 bits of the insect are often added, so as to please ; 
 thus the cunning formica leo^ or lion ant, is placed at 
 the bottom of its sandy pit, down the sides of which 
 insects are crawling, unconscious of their danger. 
 
 The Cabinet d\4natomie Comfiaree^ or the anatomical 
 collection, is contained in a large building near the 
 Amphitheatre. Cuvier presides here, and by his ge- 
 nius and skill has effected wonders in this branch of 
 science. A great part of the present collection was 
 formed by Daubenton, during the period when he 
 was associated with Buifon in describing and dissect- 
 ing the quadrupeds and birds. Cuvier has enlarged 
 it, but wishes to increase it, so that it may contain, 
 not only a complete skeleton of every animal, but a 
 complete scries of the bones of each, separately ar- 
 ranged, to be at all times objects of comparison for 
 determining the true species of animals whose re- 
 mains are found in the fossile state. Cuvier, who was 
 the first to divide animals into vertebral and mverte- 
 braly has so improved comparative anatomy, as to be 
 able to determine, on inspecting any one of the prin- 
 cipal bones of a quadruped, to what peculiar species 
 it belongs. 
 
 I first passed through the rooms where Cuvier con- 
 
271 
 
 tinues his labours ; the walls are covered, as in all 
 French cabinets, with wooden and pasteboard boxes, 
 in which he assorts and names the bones which he is 
 constantly receiving. On the tables are the prepara- 
 tions on which he is immediately employed. 
 
 In the first of the public rooms are the mummies 
 and skeletons of the human species ; among the least 
 pleasing sights. One Egyptian mummy, disengaged 
 from its coffin and wrappers, is dry, dark brown, and with 
 the thighs and arms almost exiiausted of flesh. There 
 are male and female mummies of the Guanches^ the 
 ancient inhabitants of Teneriffe, white and distorted. 
 A mummy of the ancient Gauls is marked as having 
 been found near Riom.—- The art of making mummies, 
 so far from being lost, has been improved by the skill 
 of modern anatomists ; and the most perfect one yet 
 seen, though at present in a neglected state, is that 
 one of a lady, prepared by the late Dr. Sheldon, and 
 now in the museum of the late John Hunter, in Sur- 
 geons' Hall, London. An interesting description is 
 given of it in the first volume of St. Fond's travels 
 through England and Scotland. 
 
 Among the skeletons is that of the assassin of Ge- 
 neral Kleber, who held for a short time the chief com- 
 mand of the French army in Egypt. — An extensive se- 
 ries of human bones illustrates the diseases to which 
 they are subject. The skeletons which follow and 
 crowd the apartments are all clean, and comprehend 
 the greater number of quadrupeds. Those of the 
 elephant and the rhinoceros present quarries of bones ; 
 
27S 
 
 and a tall man may walk under the belly of the came- 
 leopard without stoopm^. — We see here, what com- 
 binations and forms of bones nature has employed to 
 unite strength with activity in the tiger and the lion, 
 or impart swiftness to the horse and the antelope. The 
 skeletons of birds are not so numerous as those of the 
 quadrupeds ; there are many of the amphibia, and one 
 of the crocodile ; there are also many skeletons of 
 fishes. 
 
 The wax preparations of fishes and shell fish follow, 
 constructed with the nicest arts, and displaying the 
 true colours and position of animals, which it is im- 
 possible to preserve. The anatomy of the chiton, for 
 example, is fine. Snails in wax are attached to real 
 shells, and caterpillars to leaves and branches of 
 trees. In one case the anatomy of an eg^ is display- 
 ed in twenty-four preparations, from the appearance 
 of the first speck of life, to the chicken bursting from 
 its shell. 
 
 In the last room are the foeti and monsters. The 
 wax preparations here are of the greatest beauty, and 
 on a large scale ; they embrace all parts of the hu- 
 man system, so that one may form ideas of anatomy, 
 v/ithout the disgust that attends dissections. The 
 most elegant additions are present; a child reclines 
 on a silken couch, a lady and child are placed on an 
 ornamented sofa, so as to give to this science all the 
 attractions of which it is perhaps susceptible. 
 
 In the amphitheatre there is a chemical laboratory 
 
S73 
 
 and a large lecture room. The following was the 
 arrangement of the professors in Autumn 1814. 
 
 Chemistry is divided into three courses. M. Lau- 
 gier, wxll known by several accurate analyses and 
 memoirs, gives lectures on chemistry in general, 
 thrice a week at nine o'clock in the morning. His 
 elocution is easy and rapid, and he does not use notes. 
 — Bouillon la Grange treats of chemistry applied to 
 Pharmacy, and Vauquelin on the same science ap- 
 plied to arts and manufactures. 
 
 Haiiy lectured at ten o'clock in the morning in the 
 gallery of minerals, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and 
 Fridays. He was well attended. — Des Fontaines had 
 a course of botany and vegetable physiology thrice a 
 week, at seven in the moroing ; and Jussieu, the ne- 
 phew and successor of the celebrated author of the 
 natural method, announced excursions in the fields, 
 or herborizations^ and appointed his rendezvous near 
 one of the barriers at eight o'clock. 
 
 In the extensive provinces of Zoology, St. Hilaire 
 had the mammalia and birds, Lacepede the reptiles 
 and fishes, and Delamarck the invertibral animals, in 
 which he engaged to give the true principles of a 
 Zoological theory. Count Lacepede is so unpopular 
 at present that the students would not attend him ; 
 he became in the last winter one of the meanest of 
 the public flatterers of Napoleon, and was the organ 
 of the senate during the last conscription which he 
 attempted to raise. M. Dumeril lectured in his ab- 
 sence. 
 
274i 
 
 The summer courses commence in general about 
 the 24th of May, and finish in August. The oppor- 
 tunities of study and research are great ; every thing 
 is open ; and the whole establishment not only pre- 
 sents the most extensive assemblage of objects in all 
 the departments of natural history, which the world 
 has yet seen collected in one place, but is conducted 
 with a liberality, and a just attention to the claims of 
 all, which gives an increased interest to every part 
 of its treasures. 
 
 AN ORIGINAL DESCRIPTION OF THE CONSERVATOIRE 
 DES ARTS ET METIERS. 
 
 I was admitted frequently to this collection which 
 is contained in the extensive buildings of the Abbey 
 of Saint Martin, in the street of that name. It is open 
 to the public on Sundays only. It is one of those in- 
 stitutions where there is sufficient room for the ex- 
 hibition of every article. Some idea may be formed 
 of the extent and variety of its contents from the fol- 
 lowing account of them. 
 
 In the first room, three spinning jennies and two 
 carding mills were employed in the manufacture of 
 cotton-thread, under the direction of a few workmen. 
 There are also here some spinning wheels. 
 
 On entering the second hall, the great machine for 
 cotton spinning invented by M. Vaucanson, strikes 
 
275 
 
 the eye ; though its magnitude may give it a compii» 
 cated appearance, yet its plan is rather simple. But 
 the arrangement of the bobbins upon it is such as to 
 render it, like many other machines of the same artist, 
 impracticable in the use. The construction of the 
 iron chain, which communicates motion to the whole, 
 is ingenious ; but it is now common in our own ma- 
 nufactures. 
 
 Many other machines of Vaucanson are near ; as 
 the mill he contrived for unrolling the cocoons of the 
 silk worm ; a loom for weaving tapestry paintings on 
 silken stuffs, with a painting in progress of execution; 
 machines for weaving plain and embroidered stuffs. — 
 This ingenious artist constructed several automatons, 
 of which a flute-player and a cliess-player were much 
 admired ; but I could not learn what had become of 
 them. Vaucanson, at his death, bequeathed upwards 
 of a hundred machines to the government. 
 
 The looms and carding machines of Mr. James 
 Douglas, for which a patent {brevet d^ invent ion) was 
 granted by Buonaparte in 1807, are adapted for wool- 
 len stuffs. 
 
 In the cases around this room are placed all the 
 shuttles and other subsidiary articles. They contain 
 also specimens of French manufacture in nails, toothed 
 wheels, and many other articles of wrought and cast 
 iron. 
 
 In the next apartment are some models of Chateaux, 
 a model of a palace, and one of an iron manufactory of 
 Birmingham. 
 
376 
 
 In the church of the Abbey, which is entered next, 
 are deposited under a lofty roof most of the larger 
 machines. The car of one of the first balloons is sus- 
 pended from the top. The new hydraulic machines, 
 invented by M. de Manoury Dectot, are chiefly intend- 
 ed for the raising of water. A large model in brass 
 of the Ram of Mongolfier displays one of the best 
 machines ever invented for raising water ; the struc- 
 ture of the valve is peculiarly ingenious. It is to be 
 seen in action in the vicinity, at No. 15, Rue Pasto- 
 relle. 
 
 There are also various garden pumps, jets, and fire 
 engines, (one by Bramah of London :) — also various 
 fire ladders, including Regnier's ladder for entering 
 the windows of a house on fire. This ladder is very 
 strong, and from its being in slides is very portable. 
 It might be added with advantage to the fire apparatus 
 used in London, where fires are far more frequent and 
 dangerous than in Paris, in the houses of which city 
 the stone floors and thick walls easily cut off or im- 
 pede the communication of the flames. 
 
 The screw of Archimedes, of twenty feet in length, 
 is also here. The model of a coach for conveying 
 the sick, a mill for grinding and bolting the corn at 
 the same time ; various mills, ploughs, &c. 
 
 The first objects in the lower gallery are specimens 
 of earthen-Ware ; beer and oil jars, crucibles, pots, 
 water-pipes of stone, Sec. 
 
 The variety of Argand lamps is very great, and 
 many are of late introduction. Some are adapted for 
 
g7r 
 
 lighting halls and passages ; one has a brass reflector 
 behind the flame, of the form of a parabolic conoid ; 
 several elevate the oil to the burner on the hydrosta- 
 tic principle of compressed columns of air acting oft 
 columns of oil ; and the lamp on this construction, 
 which has been on sale in London during the last two 
 years, is claimed here as the invention of M. Girard 
 of Marseilles. In one elegant specimen, the oil is 
 raised by the motion of watchwork in the pedestal, a 
 patent for which was granted lo Carcel and Careau in 
 1801. The lamps which have slender circular foun- 
 tains, on a level with the flame, and serving as a sup- 
 port to the shade, are at present most in fashion in 
 Paris ; it is on this plan that the theatres and the halls 
 of hotels and palaces are chiefly lighted up. The 
 French excel in elegant shades for these lamps, made 
 of glass, silk, and paper. Their glass shades are some- 
 times decorated spheres ; and sometimes of white 
 enamel cut to neat patterns. 
 
 We next fiaci the sieves, pails, and trays used in 
 the dairies of Switzerland, with specimens of the 
 parchment used in the sieves, and a model of a churn 
 in glass. 
 
 An imperfect steam-engine is exhibited, of which 
 machine I may observe, that there is no model in the 
 whole collection which exhibits those improvements 
 by which Mr. Watt made it so peculiarly his own, and 
 contributed so essentially to the interest of his own 
 country. 
 
 The new cocks of A. Jullien are intended to pre- 
 A a 
 
vent the passage of all sediment in bottling liquorsj 
 and are constructed of pewter and tin plate. There 
 are also, by the same artist, funnels provided with 
 lids and stop-cocks, and an ingenious contrivance for 
 transferring the contents of one bottle to another, 
 without admitting any gas contained in the liquor to 
 escape. M. JuUien has also improved the syphon by 
 adding a small pump to it; a contrivance which is 
 not new. 
 
 Models of ploughs, some of which have been sent 
 from agricultural societies. In general they are more 
 carelessly executed than the other models ; there may 
 be at least seventy ; most of them complicated, and on 
 wheels ; and they are generally on too small a scale 
 to be useful even as models. 
 
 Harrows. Neat models of park gates. Model of 
 the Oreille de Charrue of President Jefferson, of 
 %vhich there is a large specimen in the Abbey. Seve- 
 ral thrashing machines, chiefly contrivances for mov- 
 ing flails in ranks, which could never answer; the 
 Scotch thrashing mill seems to be entirely unknown 
 in France. 
 
 The extensive series of machines used in the pro- 
 duction of corn and wine, is continued in several mo- 
 dels of fanners, vine presses, and mills, moved by 
 wind and water. 
 
 The next tables are covered with models of fire 
 places and furnaces. One of the first is the econo- 
 mical kitchen in the Hofiital de Sante Marie la JVeuve^ 
 at Florence, in which a small fire is employed to heat 
 
379 
 
 ten separate vessels. It has been superseded or im- 
 proved by Count Rumford, whose indefatigable exer- 
 tions have done much, in this respect, for Paris, wheie 
 the command of charcoal renders his contrivances 
 more economical than in London, where that fuel 
 cannot be procured but at too heavy an expence. 
 
 Many models of large furnaces for different manu- 
 factories, often neatly constructed of chalk, bricks, 
 Sec. Models of chemical furnaces, — economical fur- 
 naces, — portable furnaces, for cooking food for armies 
 on the march. Improved chimneys and ventilators. 
 House stoves, often of elegant forms. Specimens of 
 cinders. Improved coffee vase. 
 
 After ascending a magnificent stair-case, you enter 
 the upper gallery, which communicates with several 
 apartments. The clock placed on this stair-case is 
 remarkable for having a time-piece enclosed in a ball 
 of the pendulum. 
 
 After viewing a large model of the celebrated ma- 
 chine at Marli, which raises the water to the acque- 
 duct of Versailles, the series of trades is entered 
 upon. The principal trades and manufactures, neatly 
 executed in miniature to the smallest details, form a 
 most pleasing series of models, the value of which is 
 encreased by their being all constructed to a scale. 
 Each is so contrived as to give the exact appearance 
 of the building in which the manufacture is carried 
 on, and it is open in front to admit an easy view of the 
 whole. 
 
280 
 
 It is thus, for instance, that a brick-kiln, a breweryj 
 an oil-mill by M. Tessier, are represented in the 
 highest perfection. The refinement of nitre, from 
 its rough state in the nitre bed, to the packing of the 
 pure salt in casks. The powder-mill presents all the 
 processes of stamping, drying, and granulating the 
 chief implement of modern war. The manufacture 
 of iron presents several varieties of the forge ham- 
 mers, and modes of applying moving powers to them. 
 In another, the bar iron is rolled out into plates, ov 
 cut into rods. The plumber may view the formation 
 of sheet lead, in one model by rollers only, in ano- 
 ther by melting and pouring out the metal over an in- 
 clined plane. In the new distillery apparatus of M. 
 Adam, the brandies are made to pass through seve- 
 ral egg-shaped receivers of copper ; it is the appli- 
 cation of the chemical apparatus of M. Woolfe to dis- 
 tillation on the large scale. A chemical laboratory is 
 represented within the compass of four or five square 
 feet, every furnace and glass in miniature; and of the 
 same size are seen the manufactory of aquafortis, that 
 of lead bullets and shot, — a lime-kiln, the founders in 
 sand and clay with their moulds ready. The pottery, 
 the manufactory of stone-ware, and that of porcelain 
 in a series of work-shops ; the cabinet maker, with 
 his benches, saws, and glue pots; and the blacksmiths 
 with all the tools in order, coals and water ready, and 
 the furnace apparently tarnished by a long series of 
 operations. It adds to the excellence and the interest 
 of these models, that they want the figures of minia- 
 
S81 
 
 lure v/orkmen, which a bad taste would have intro- 
 duced into them. 
 
 Upon the same range of tables lie some fine com- 
 plicated locks, presented to Louis XVI. with inscrip- 
 tions in verse. He himself was fond of this art, but 
 none of his workmanship appears here. After Vy-ards 
 we come to the French Telegraph, and three others, 
 one of which, invented by Baron Edelerantz of Swe- 
 den, in 1794, bears a close resemblance to that used 
 by our own Admiralty. 
 
 In continuing onwards I reckoned twenty-three pile 
 engines; several saw-mills for wood, and one for 
 marble. A truck for conveying statues to a distance 
 without injury may be supposed to have been a deside- 
 ratum; it is followed by at least a hundred models of 
 carts, waggons, and wheel-barrows ; a great variety 
 of capstans and windlasses ; models of boats, some 
 with attempts to move the oars by wheels ; and a de- 
 sign for a coach, the body of which, being suspend- 
 ed by ropes below the beam, is in no danger of be- 
 ing overturned. Chinese houses and a Chinese pa- 
 goda. 
 
 It would be impossible to give an account of all the 
 manufactures which are displayed under the head of 
 Sfiecimens of French Industry, The utmost freedom 
 is allowed in examining them, and every article is 
 exposed. 
 
 The specimens of glass and porcelain crowd one 
 table, but they are chiefly of old manufacture, and 
 have been since excelled. In the manufacture of fine 
 Aa 2 
 
fibit glass, in wliidi the Frencb were so kn^ defr- 
 cient} thef certainly now equal us ; vad m giving to it 
 elegant forms, borrowed firoiii the antiqae, and in 
 cutting it, I should certainly not hesitate to say that 
 they excel us. My oi»ni€» is formed from Tiewng 
 the articles of crystal in the P^ais Royai, and tbe 
 manufactory of cut crystal in the Rue MontorgveiL 
 
 The manu^Lcture of paper hangings, &om shreds 
 of wool, by Robert, is exhibited in modeL This ar- 
 ticle has a good texture, and Sowers, &c. are imprint- 
 ed on it, bat it is too high priced to be in much ose 
 HI Pans. Many rolumes are filled with specimens €S 
 Ju^OTTt fieints^ of the common kinds ; and the large 
 mannfactore of these, on the Boulevards, is, as usual 
 in the French manufactories, a most lively scene of 
 talking, industry, and ingenuity. Many of their pa- 
 pers are surpassed by ours, but theirs are feur cheaper. 
 
 This large collection includes specimens of new 
 prmting types, by Lf,^er^ the nephew and successor 
 of DidoC These letters are beautifully sharp, and 
 the ink admirable. The splendid folio editions of 
 Racine, Moliere, &c. by Didot, rival the best produc- 
 tions of Bulmer's or BeQsley's presses, as fiir as the 
 paper and the ink are considered ; but the French let- 
 ter-founders have not attended so much as ours to 
 giving to their types good proportions ; even the latent 
 are long and narrow, and want that roundness of shape 
 that distinguishes ours. 
 
 Writing types, by Henry Didot ; a kind of Icttet 
 which is much used in France. 
 
283 
 
 Brichot^s ornamental letters and ornamentSj formed 
 of fine laminae of steel. They shine splendidly, and 
 have a good effect on trinkets. 
 
 After specimens of sabres, come the artificial legs 
 and arms, with much propriety ; artificial eyes are in 
 great variety. 
 
 There are here also several stocking frames, all 
 the machines and silk manufactures of Lyons, spin- 
 ning wheels, specimens of carded cotton, in a series 
 of bottles, to illustrate the progress of the manufac- 
 ture in France. 
 
 Specimens are given of fans of mother of pearl, 
 and of shining laminae of steel. Models of pulpit&. 
 Models to facilitate the study of perspective. Fine 
 balances of beautiful workmanship, and the utmost 
 simplicity of design* It would appear from one of 
 these, constructed by Deveiiie^ that after all the com- 
 plicated contrivances for accurate weighing, the sim- 
 plest may be so constructed as to produce the most 
 accurate results, and without too great a loss of time. 
 The balance of M. Deveine has for its beam a plain 
 straight bar of steel, elevated on a column of brass,^ 
 and moving on planes of crystal ; the extremities of 
 the bar move across graduated arcs of mother of pearl, 
 and are adjusted by micrometer screws. The scales 
 are of platina, supported by wires of the same mate- 
 rial, and one inch in diameter. Balances of equal 
 simplicity have been often constructed of late years 
 In London. 
 
 In the middle of the room, which contains this bar- 
 
284 
 
 lanccj is a magnifiGent and complicated turning iatlie 
 [Tour a Guilloc/icr) by Mercklein, a German artist. 
 Specimens of the work in ivory done by it are around. 
 Under glass cases are examples of Chinese turned 
 work, and a proportion of the spheres within spheres, 
 Sec. Small clocks with gridiron pendulums. Two 
 bronze figures of Frederic the Great, on horseback. 
 Portable barometer. Loadstone, bearing a weight of 
 100 lbs. A large clock with an organ attached, and 
 having a glass spliere at top marked with the con- 
 stellations, and a small orrery moving in the centre. 
 
 Such is a view of the principal articles in the Con- 
 servatoire des Arts et Metiers^ an immense reposito- 
 ry. It naturally suggested many remarks, with some 
 of w^hich I shall conclude this article. 
 
 It is impossible, after viewing the Conservatoire 
 in the slightest manner, to deny to the French a large 
 share of mechanical ingenuity ; a quality in which 
 their artists are only excelled by those of England, 
 and perhaps of Germany. But we find their genius 
 in this branch of the useful arts exercised chiefly 
 on the most trifling objects; they have improved 
 every article of bijouterie to the highest pitch of ex- 
 cellence, but they have done little or nothing for the 
 plough or the ste«m- engine. Their useful inven- 
 tions, too, bear very often a character the reverse of 
 that simple structure which it should be the aim of 
 every mechanist to attain, as the highest excellence 
 of his art, and the proudest triumph of his genius. 
 The justice of these remarks will, I think, be appa- 
 
385 
 
 rent from the inspection of innumerable articles in the 
 Conservatory. 
 
 London does not exhibit at present any collection 
 which approaches in extent or interest to the Conser- 
 vatory. The Society of Arts possesses, indeed, a con- 
 siderable collection of models, on which their premi* 
 vims have been bestowed, and I am happy in having 
 this opportunity of acknowledging the frank and obli- 
 ging manner in which Doctor Taylor, the secretary, 
 explains every thing that is interesting in the Society's 
 apartments, to every gentleman who waits upon him, 
 although unprovided with any introduction. But the 
 British could present a much finer collection than the 
 French metropolis, and at a warning of a few days 
 only, were any patriotic individual, or the Society 
 above mentioned, to make the attempt. It might be 
 made ; for as it is by collecting the productions of 
 nature that new analogies and relations are discovered 
 between them, and new properties unfolded, so by 
 bringing together into one focus all the productions of 
 English manufacture, and every machine upon which 
 English genius and industry have been employed, new 
 ideas would undoubtedly be struck out by those who 
 viewed a collection which would be without a rival in 
 the world. It might combine whatever was rare or 
 expensive, with the more common and useful pro- 
 ducts which contribute to the comforts or the neces- 
 sary luxuries of life. 
 
 It was at one time expected, that the Royal Institu- 
 tion would have formed and opened to the public a 
 
S86 
 
 collection of models of useful machines, and imple- 
 ments of trade ; but it has never been done, although 
 it was one of the chief reasons assigned for the esta- 
 blishment of that institution by its founders. A few 
 articles only were procured, which lie amid the dark- 
 ness and dust of its apartments. 
 
 The French manufactures have been often inter- 
 rupted ; — wars have cut off or diverted the channels 
 of encouragement ; much uncertainty arose from the 
 patronage of their government being bestowed or 
 withheld ; there was often a want of that capital which 
 enables the British merchant to effect so much ; and 
 the general disposition of their nation led them too 
 often to erect splendid and lofty buildings, at great 
 expense, instead of resorting, like us, to what were 
 useful and convenient only. 
 
 These are, I think, the chief, if not all the causes, 
 which have prevented the French from becoming a 
 great manufacturing nation. There are still, how- 
 ever, some branches in which they rival, or excel us. 
 
 The tapestry of the Gcbelins was never attempted 
 in England, but on one occasion partially, when it 
 failed. This manufacture may be viewed by the aid 
 of a ticket from the general director of the arts at 
 Paris. I found there an extensive suite of buildings, 
 in which very little was going on, and a small labor- 
 atory, in whicli some of the fine colours were pre- 
 pared, and experiments made on dyeing. The ma- 
 nufacture itself languishes, and appears to be kept 
 up rather as a part of the government state than on 
 
S87 
 
 account of its utility. Those who have viewed the 
 admirable exhibition of Miss Linwood, will not see 
 any thing much finer in the Gobelins. The looms 
 have a much greater simplicity than one would have 
 expected from seeing results that require apparently 
 such complicated means. 
 
 The manufacture of plate-glasses at St. Gobin is in 
 full action : they are polished in Paris ; and from their 
 cheapness, size, and excellence, are far more abun- 
 dant in every house in France, than similar mirrors 
 are with us. In porcelain, a single glance at a Pari- 
 sian window is sufficient to establish their pre-emi- 
 nence, as far as the finest china, rich in gold and 
 painting, is concerned : — one sees every where bril- 
 liant vases decorated with the finest designs ; and 
 some of the master-pieces of the Italian school are 
 copied with spirit on fiat pannels, or on vases which 
 are often four feet in height. The Worcester manu- 
 factory has, I doubt not, produced specimens which 
 rival the French, both in the beauty of the material 
 and the value of the decorations ; but the cheapness 
 of the French china allows of its being seen every 
 where. It must be added, that on the inferior kinds 
 of porcelain they are far behind us ; these are soft, 
 badly formed, and destitute of all comfort. In the 
 manufacture of velvets, they have long excelled. In 
 cottons they have made considerable steps ; but their 
 coarse articles are too high priced to come into com- 
 petition with ours ; and, in fine ones, they are still 
 almost entirely deficient. They have learned to give 
 
288 
 
 an extreme neatness and finish to their fire-arms and 
 philosophical instruments, and particularly to their 
 clocks and time-pieces, which are now of great ele- 
 gance, and accompanied by designs infinitely varied, 
 and executed in bronze, white marble, and gilt brass. 
 Elegant skeleton clocks, with gridiron pendulums, 
 and the newer detached escassements, form pleasing 
 ornaments in mostofthe public buildings in this city. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF PARISIAN FETES. 
 
 Whtu fetes are given in Paris by the government, 
 I soon found that I was by no means to understand 
 literally the descriptions which were given of them in 
 the newspapers of the following day, where the most 
 trifling efi'ects were extolled in pompous language. 
 The fete of the fifteenth of August was of a religious 
 nature only, and therefore the theatres and balls were 
 only a little more crowded than is usual on ordinary 
 days. The fete of the 25Lh had a few more temporal 
 circumstances mixed with the spiritual. A plenary 
 indulgence was published in the bills on the doors of 
 the churches; salvoes of artillery were fired on the 
 evening of the 24th, to announce the commencement 
 of the fete, and the Royal family appeared on the 
 balcony of the Thuilleries to receive the applauses of 
 the crowd below. On the next morning, the cannon 
 continued to fire : there was a court at the Thuille- 
 
289 
 
 ties; and in the evening a concert, to which admis» 
 sion was easily obtained by English gentlemen on their 
 sending to the palace for tickets; and the theatres 
 were open to the public gratis. After reading the order 
 of the minister of the police, for illuminating the front 
 of every house, I expected a brilliant display, but was 
 disappointed. I repaired after the concert to the Pont 
 Royale^ as the spot where the superior blaze thrown 
 on the elegant buildings which line the quays could 
 be viewed to most advantage ; but not a light appear- 
 ed in the Louvre or in the Thuilleries and its garden ; 
 single rows only graced the palaces of the Deputies 
 and the Arts, and the gates of the Mint and hotels 
 adjoining ; but no greater lustre was thrown on the 
 waters of the Seine by the whole illumination, than 
 one sees on the Thames, when it is viewed from the 
 Adelphi on a dark evening. A few boards hung with 
 lights appeared before the gates of the Luxei^nburgh, 
 and some hotels, but in most of the principal streets 
 scarcely one was to be seen. However, next day 
 every house in the city was described in the journals 
 as having been illuminated from the first to the sixth 
 floor. A good example of this people; they describe 
 well, and, ignorant of the comforts and the splendour 
 of other nations, they feed their thoughts with their 
 own vanity, and esteem Paris as the first city of the 
 world, in spite ol' its wooden shoes, and its filthy 
 streets. I could not perceive, on this occasion, a 
 single glass lamp, or a transparency, or one instance 
 of the public spirit of individuals ; a few saucers of 
 
 B b 
 
mo 
 
 clay, filled with coarse tallow, and provided with 
 thick wicks, form the only mode of illumination adopt- 
 ed here, exhaling as disagreeable an odour, and hav- 
 ing nearly the same appearance with the lamps in 
 Clare and Leadenhall markets. Of an infinity of glass 
 lamps, arranged in elegant devices, and sparkling 
 with green, crimson, and topaz fires, to which the 
 agitation of the air around communicates a waving 
 effect, such as was often presented by Carlton-house 
 during the late rejoicings, they do not seem to 
 have any conception. 
 
 On Monday the 29th of August, the King went in 
 state to dine at the Hotel de Filler having accepted 
 the invitation of the city of Paris. On this occasion 
 great preparations were made by the government for 
 the celebration of a fete, and they certainly far ex- 
 celled those which had been exhibited on the day of 
 St. Louis, but whether the difference arose from not 
 wishing to honour that saint too highly, or from an in» 
 tention, undoubtedly laudable, of separating the reli- 
 gious from the civic festivals, I am not certain. In 
 the morning, detachments of the guards and military 
 were moving in various directions to their destina- 
 tions ; by mid-day the quays were crowded, and I met 
 many of the lower orders returning from the Chamfis 
 Elysees^ laden with eatables and wine which had been 
 scrambled for there ; and as a Frenchman seldom 
 shares in any pleasure in which his wife and children 
 do not partake, it was not unpleasing to view them 
 sitting down to the banquet thus provided at the 
 
291 
 
 doors of their houses ; a striking contrast to the soli- 
 tary tippling of the English peasantry. I witnessed 
 no examples of intoxication, though there were ma- 
 ny enlivening cries of Vive le Roi, which brought to 
 my recollection the story of the Parisian, who, having 
 procured a chicken as his share of the viands given 
 at the coronation of Buonaparte, held it up with an 
 air of extacy, as he paced the streets, exclaiming, 
 Vive VEmfiereur ! Honv tender it is /-—When these 
 distributions of food are carried to any great extent, 
 as they were by the Emperors of Rome, they must 
 always be regarded as signs of a despotic govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Combats on the Seine took place between two and 
 four o'clock ; the quays and garden walks of the 
 Thuilleries were crowded to excess, and, as usual, no 
 carriages were allowed to pass through the principal 
 streets. The greatest order prevailed; for tnough 
 robberies are not unfrequent in Paris, pick-pockets 
 are rare, and indeed can scarcely be said to exist. 
 The intimate intermixture of soldiers in every crowd 
 or collection of people, however small, and the conse- 
 quent certainty of immediate detection, render their 
 profession extremely precarious, and prevent one 
 from feeling the same anxiety about pockets or 
 watches, as when surrounded by the London popu- 
 lace. — The sports on the river, between the Pont 
 Royaly and the Font Louis XVI. consisted in wrest- 
 ling matches, between the individuals of the opposing 
 crews ; and 1 soon left them, to walk in the garden of 
 
292 
 
 the Thuilleries, which was filled with company. Be- 
 tween four and five, twelve or fourteen carriages, 
 each drawn by eight light grey horses, entered the 
 court of the palace, and soon afterwards the royal 
 procession set off' for the Hotel dc Vilky passing 
 through Buonaparte's Arch of Triunfiph, and along 
 the quay of the Louvre. The King, on this occa- 
 sion, sat in the coach with his brother, and the Duke 
 and Duchess of Angouleme : he is so unwieldy from 
 his corpulence, and so affected with weakness in his 
 feet, as to require the support of a staff even in the 
 carriage. There was no want of applause on this oc- 
 casion : Vive le Roij Vii^e Madame^ resounded from all 
 parts of the crowd. They proceeded along the quays 
 to the Hotel de Ville, The streets had a thin coating 
 of sand, and a few table-cloths and wreaths of flow- 
 ers were suspended from some of the houses on the 
 quays, which gave occasion to the newspapers to say, 
 Iiat ali the houses on the line of the procession were 
 covered with splendid tapestry. 
 
 Having gone in the evening to Neuilly, to view the 
 bridge there, which is celebrated for the flatness pf 
 its arches, I returned through the barrier, down the 
 grand avenue and the Elysian Fields. Every thing 
 now wore an air of joy and splendour. A large star 
 kindled on the Triumphal Arch at the barrier, was a 
 fine object from the avenue below : more than thirty 
 orchestras supplied the dancers around them with 
 music ; the walks were crowded with stalls of toys 
 and refreshments; jugglers, merry-andrews, and 
 
^93 
 
 rope-dancers, had been put in requisition; and a 
 biaze of ten thousand lights threw animation over the 
 whole. No tree wanted its lamp, and single and dou- 
 ble rows of them were hung between all the trees in 
 the principal avenues, the leaves of which shone 
 with soft and pleasing tints of green. On passing 
 the place of Louis XV. a splendid appearance was 
 exhibited by the palace of the deputies, the portico 
 of which, together with its flight of steps, was deco- 
 rated with rows of lights, which brought forth the 
 beauty of its fine architecture, and softened it by the 
 yellow hue of their flames. Of the two elegant 
 buildings opposite, only one was illuminated. In the 
 garden of the Thuilleries the jets threw up their 
 streams amid the blaze of lampions, arranged in tri- 
 angular or pyramidal forms. Wherever the eye 
 turned, the illuminated foliage of the trees, the wa- 
 ter falling, and the facade of the palace, produced a 
 degree of enchantment, which would have been com- 
 plete, had the Thuilleries itself been lighted up ; but 
 in it or the Louvre no lamps appeared. As I went 
 onwards, alor.g the quays, towards the Hotel de Filicy 
 the palaces and hotels diminished in splendour ; a 
 single row of lamps only encircled the top of the 
 towers of Notre Dame ; but the Place de Greve was 
 adorned with triumphal arches, which with the front 
 of ihe hotel were liung with small lanterns of glass. 
 On penetrating into the surrounding streets, few or 
 no lights appeared, nor were any transparencies exhi- 
 bited, such as London abounds with on similar occa- 
 B b 2 
 
29* 
 
 sions, the illumination being almost entirely confined 
 to the edifices of the government. A little before ten, 
 the King left the Hotel de Ville to return to the pa- 
 lace, escorted by long trains of cavalry, and passing 
 along the quays, which were lined with troops. The 
 procession had a fine effect by torch-light, as it en- 
 tered by the eastern facade of the Louvre, through 
 the gates of decorated brass, and sculptured arches. 
 
 When the King reached the Thuilleries, a rocket 
 was sent up as the signal for the fire-works on the 
 Pont Louis XVI. to commence. They began imme- 
 diately ; rockets and bombs ascended in quick suc- 
 cession; wheels revolved, offering a variety of 
 changes; a row of gerbes, arranged on the parapet, 
 threw their sparks into the Seine, and produced the 
 exact resemblance of a cataract of fire, rolling down 
 its waves in succession; a temple in the centre of 
 the bridge shone out with the motto A la Concorde ; 
 and the expansion of a large flight of rockets, and 
 the noise of an artificial volcano, completed the scene. 
 The whole was finished in a quarter of an hour ^ and 
 the crowd was just beginning to move away, when 
 Garnerin rose up slowly from the eastern side of the 
 city, in a balloon. A circle of bright flames burnt 
 around his car, which were soon extinp:uished ; but he 
 continued to be visible for some time by the light of 
 the full moon ; The crowd immediately separated and 
 returned to their homes; and by eleven the streets 
 -©f Paris were as deserted as they always are at that 
 hour. 
 
295 
 
 Though this fete might have satisfied the Pari* 
 sians, yet these amusements are so frequent that they 
 are jaded with them, and their huzzas becoma far 
 fainter than ours. Were it possible for the govern- 
 ment to discourage them gradually, or discontinue a 
 part of them, it would be a wise and prudent mea- 
 sure. At present they expect two or three in the 
 month; and the poorest persons appear to forget 
 their own misery in the grandeur of these spectacles* 
 S® it has always been the case with them. If their 
 king or their emperor is well lodged, if his palaces 
 are more superb, and his state greater than those of 
 any other European sovereign, they are satisfied, and 
 are content with their own hovels, their stair-cases 
 common to every thing, and their streets, where they 
 may be run down by the first carriage. In what rap- 
 tures do they speak of the gilding of the royal apart- 
 ments, or the splendour of the gardens of the Thuil- 
 leries J How well Buonaparte understood their cha- 
 racter, and despised them, appeared from many cir- 
 cumstances in his conduct and his speeches. He ob- 
 served towards them the same regimen which Louis 
 XIV. had done ; and as that monarch gave orders for 
 brighter illuminations the more severe the defeats 
 which his arms received from Marlborough, so Buo- 
 naparte kept up the Parisians at a full state of ex- 
 ckement. If a victory had been gained in Austria or 
 Russia, the news was kept back by the government 
 for two or three days, and unfavourable reports spread 
 in the mean time, that the truth might burst upon 
 
^96 
 
 them with greater eclat, fi^om the effect of the con- 
 trast. Nor did the fetes ever intermit, since the 
 events of Moscow and Leipsic, but on the contrary, 
 increased in splendour. The foolish Parisians begin 
 already to complain of the want of the roar of can- 
 non which announced his victories ; they lament the 
 rich trappings and equipages of his dukes and counts^ 
 and the discontinuance of his reviews in the court of 
 the Thuilleries ; and they are no longer fed with the 
 compliments he paid them, as the cafiital of the great 
 Tiation^ and (if la grande jienBee^ as they term it, had 
 been completed) of the civilized world. The capital 
 of the world ! Whatever superiority may arise to 
 Paris from its possessing the. chief works of sculp- 
 ture and painting, and from the magnificent extent of 
 some of its buildings, little glory can accrue to its in- 
 habitants. As they rattled their own chains over the 
 heads of the neighbouring nations, and threatened 
 them with a slavery which they themselves had not 
 the courage to shake off, their vanity led them to be- 
 lieve that they were the best examples of the human 
 race. But the history of no people has ever record- 
 ed such an instance of debasement as that which I 
 am about to mention. At Rouen and Paris, I occa- 
 sionally observed French gentlemen wearing coats of 
 a bright puce colour, and many coachmen in the lat- 
 ter city were also .provided with them; the singulari- 
 ty of the hue prompted me to enquire its name often- 
 er than once, and J have always received the same an^ 
 3wer — it was la coi^leur de la c — a du JRoi de R^rne. 
 
297 
 
 This was the fashionable tint for the last two years, 
 and was sold publicly under that appellation. Little 
 can be immediately expected from a people who de- 
 base themselves voluntarily in a manner of which, as 
 well as of their atrocities, neither ancient or modern 
 timesj — the records of savage or civilized men, — have 
 afforded any example. 
 
 In the same style nearly are they going on at pre- 
 sent in their addresses to the Royal family ; they strive 
 to outdo the language in which they spoke of the 
 destiny and the providence of the Emperor. Exam- 
 ples may be found in the late presentation to the king 
 of two of the teeth of Henry IV.; and in the request 
 transmitted to the Duchess of Angouleme by the city 
 of Nismes, that she would be pleased to give a soa 
 to the French, in which case the said city will present 
 a silver image of the weight of the expected infant, 
 as an offering to the Virgin. But though many per- 
 sons in France, indeed I believe the greater number, 
 laugh at all these as much as Englishmen can do, 
 yet how many of its miseries does France owe to this 
 union of politics with religion? Louis XVIIL speaks 
 in his proclamations of the piety which never ceased 
 to animate his ancestors I^ouis XIV. and XV. If you 
 look into any of the sermons preached before Louis 
 XV. and Louis XVL and his queen, you may observe 
 how, in language which it is almost improper to re- 
 peat, adulation poisons the fountain of truth, and in- 
 sults that eternal Being whom they dared to invoke. 
 
^ 398 
 
 Iq fine, you will see how the worship of tlieir Qod 
 became subordinate to that of their kings. 
 
 JLN ACCOUNT OF THE RECEPTION OF THE BOURBONS 
 AT THE OPERA. 
 
 I was present at the opera on the 23d of August, 
 during the first representation of a new piece, intend- 
 ed to inculcate sentiments of affection and attachment 
 to the Bourbons, and entitled, Pelage^ or The King 
 and the Peace, in two acts. The story is founded on 
 the restoration of a Spanish sovereign to the throne of 
 his ancestors, after a victory over the Moors, in the 
 8th century. The Due de Berri arrived before its 
 commencement ; and during the* last part of Labou* 
 reurs Cliinois he was greeted loudly by the house, to 
 which he bowed repeatedly ; and when the curtain 
 fell, the air Henri Quatre was called for and encored. 
 During the performance of Pelage^ many sentiments, 
 intended by the author to be applied to the present 
 change, were applauded, particularly the following : 
 
 Elle vient parmi vous desarmer la vengeance, 
 "Legitimer la gloire, ennobler I'esperance, 
 Et sous des traits cheres, retracer a vos yeux 
 I/Image des vertus dont s'honnorent lea cieux. 
 
 There appeared no want of loudness or enthusiasm 
 in the pit on the occasion. The spectacle itself was 
 
S99 
 
 grand, particularly in the artificial groupings of the 
 dancers, and the terminating scenery of the second 
 act, which was of an allegorical nature, intended to 
 illustrate the union of the French with the Virtues, 
 under the shade of the peace just concluded. The 
 allegory was so framed as to present an epitome of 
 the Revolution :— Hope came first, rejoicing, follow- 
 ed by the Genius of the Arts; but with these Volup- 
 tuousness and the Pleasures entwined themselves, and 
 Glory, under the form of a girl, crowned with laurels. 
 Soon Folly led on troops of Bacchantes to join, and 
 riot and disorders ensued ; the stage was darkened, 
 and the scene dropt amid the noise of thunder. Dis- 
 cord arose in front from the lower regions, clad in a 
 dress of black and pale blue, waving a torch, and fol- 
 lowed by Envy and Vengeance dashing their poinards 
 around, and dancing wildly among a crowd of demons. 
 When the tempest calmed, they retired, and Peace 
 arose, surrounded by a glory, and waving white lilies, 
 with angels hovering round, and a choir in the sky 
 behind, singing hymns of joy, and dancing in the 
 clouds. Beyond these appeared other, choirs, and as 
 the whole ascended slov/ly, the words, Vive le Roi 
 began to blaze in the upper sky; and the curtain dropt 
 amid the thunders of applause, which the splendour of 
 the spectacle called forth. 
 
300 
 
 A DESCRIPTION OF THE PLACE DU COMBAT. 
 
 There is a singular amusement to be seen in Pa- 
 ris ; it is a faint image of the amphitheatre at Rome 
 under the emperors, when hundreds of lions, tygers, 
 elephants, and other animals were turned loose into 
 the arena to fight with one another in the presence of 
 the Roman people. On these occasions each emperor 
 was desirous of excelling his predecessor; and thus, 
 some of the animals that now appear but rarely in Eu- 
 rope, were brought to Rome in abundance ; such as 
 crocodiles and hippopotami of the Nile, the one and 
 two horned rhinoceros, and the cameleopard from the 
 interior of Africa. Now Paris, the modern Rome, 
 has an exhibition of this kind; but, indeed, ^' shorn 
 "of its beams." A little beyond the Barriere St. 
 Martin, on the north side of the city, there is an en- 
 closure formed of low edifices, termed the Place du 
 Combat, where exhibitions are given once or twice a 
 month. I witnessed one of these; but it was rather of 
 a tedious and trifling nature. The spectators sat in a 
 covered gallery, v/hich surrounded a square, open to 
 the air above, and of some extent ; around it were 
 the dens of some of the more ferocious beasts, such 
 as wolves, Sec. ; and on the outside were fifty or sixty 
 dog-kennels, the inhabitants of which kept up a con- 
 stant and loud yelping noise. There were many set- 
 to's of dogs, chiefly mastiffs; they were often desti- 
 
801 
 
 tute of courage. Bull dogs of the pure English breeds 
 they had none. I mean that species which has a glo- 
 bular head, and never barks, but only emits a low 
 snarl ; all those exhibited here could bark. To these 
 succeeded the baiting of a wolf, from the Ardennes; 
 next bull-baiting ; and then a combat between a bull 
 and a bear. A hog chaced round the arena by dogs 
 appeared to afford some amusement; but a Spanish 
 jack-ass defended himself successfully against the at- 
 tacks of half a dozen mastiffs. He wisely retreated 
 into a corner of the square, in which he steadfastly re- 
 mained, and by the quickness of the blows which he 
 administered on all sides, soon compelled his oppo- 
 nents to desist. The whole concluded with some 
 ludicrous and trifling scenes, of forcing a bear to 
 climb to the top of a pole, and then annoying him 
 with iire-works, fixed to a circular frame of wood 
 made to hoist up until it nearly came in contact with 
 the animal's body. These being set fire to, the whiz- 
 zing noise and explosions, produced such terror in 
 bruin, that, afraid to jump at once from his elevated 
 situation, he durst not tempt the fiery circle beneath 
 him by sliding down the pole, and thus his odd and 
 clumsy motions afforded much merriment to the Pari« 
 sians. 
 
 Such exhibitions as this must always be considered 
 as tormenting animals to no purpose but that of curi- 
 osity. They are not even justifiable as to animals 
 which are in their nature cruel and enemies to man t 
 all that Qan be said for them is^ that it is useful to 
 
 c c 
 
302 
 
 know the iiiodes in which some animals exert their 
 strength, and the powers of that sagacity and instinct 
 with which nature has furnished them. 
 
 ORIGINAL DESCRIPTION OF THE CATACOMBS. 
 
 To descend into these sepulchres, to carry life and 
 language, and the realities of existence into these 
 dark abodes, to pass through the remains of millions 
 of t)eings of cur own kind, present a scene of the 
 deepest interest, and one which arrests and improves 
 the mind. 
 
 The catacombs of Paris are probably the largest 
 in the world, excelling in extent those of Rome, Na- 
 ples, and Malta. Even those of Thebes, interesting 
 as they are from their paintings, and their connection 
 with a people so learned and civilized as the ancient 
 Egyptians, must yield to those of Paris, as far as the 
 immense mass of mortal remains only is considered. 
 The latter overwhelm the mind, and chain it down to 
 peculiar trains of thought. 
 
 Proceeding by the Observatory to the southern ex- 
 tremity of the city, I reached the Barrier d'Enfer, 
 behind the buildings of which a stair-case, descend- 
 ing through a circular wall, conducts to the cata- 
 combs. The conductor examined the billets of ad- 
 mission, without which no person is allowed by the 
 government to visit these subterraneous passsiges. 
 
303 
 
 We went down seventeen steps, and stopt at a land- 
 ing-place, where each of the company was furnished 
 with a wax-light. Hence we descended seventy steps, 
 forming altogether a depth of fifty-four French feet, 
 or 175,356 metres. Immediately on reaching the 
 ottom, we began to traverse a long and winding pas- 
 sage or gallery, cut out of the rock, perfectly dry, 
 white, and clean. Our course was guided by a black 
 line traced on the roof; many passages led off on all 
 sides, several of which were filled up to prevent ac- 
 cidents. The excavations extend beneath the whole 
 of the southern half of Paris, and under a small part 
 of the northern division across the Seine. They are 
 the quarries whence the city was built; the stone is 
 a soft calcareous agregate or marl, crowded with or- 
 ganic remains, of which shells form the principle part. 
 Notices appearing on the walls indicated the direc- 
 tion of our route, by that of the aqueduct of Arcueii 
 above. I soon become chill in this long gallery, which 
 was too narrow to allow of more than one passing 
 abreast, and was generally not higher in the roof than 
 six or seven feet. In some parts stalactetical con- 
 cretions exuded, and gave a^glittering lustre to the 
 walls. 
 
 After proceeding on\vard3 for half a mile, we reach™ 
 ed a place where the side walls terminated, and many 
 low pillars of stone, left by the workmen, disclosed 
 passages in every direction. Soon after we arrived 
 at a door, which was unlocked, and conducted us to 
 the proper enclosure of the bones. We passed on 
 
304 
 
 amid long avenues of bones, which are employed to 
 form linings to the walls, and occasionally came to 
 chambers with neat porticos, higher in the roof, and 
 containing elegantly plain sarcophagi, small altars, 
 vases, and inscriptions. These chambers, as well as 
 the galleries connecting them, were lined from the 
 roof to the Soor with bones. In front, the bones of 
 the arms and thighs were closely laid with their ends 
 projecting; and rows of skulls continued uninter- 
 ruptedly in long horizontal lines, at equal distances 
 between them ; behind, the other bones were placed 
 to a considerable length. There was no sensible 
 smell; and the bones preserve their dark hues, con- 
 trasting strongly with the white stone of the floor, and 
 the roof. The sight was melancholy in the extreme; 
 in w^hatever direction the eye turned, it rested on 
 these rows of skulls. I was passing amid the remains 
 of more than three millions of human beings, closely 
 piled, without distinction of rich or poor, friend or 
 enemy, bad or good. With the bones, the most in- 
 destructible part of the human frame, the mind is ac- 
 customed, from natural associations, to connect strong- 
 er ideas of identity than with the more perishable 
 part; and hence thoughts of hope, immortality, and 
 judgment arise. These are nourished and increas- 
 ed by the inscriptions around, many of which are ap- 
 propriate. 
 
 Sicut unda dies nostri fluxerunt. 
 Silence etres mortels, 
 Vaines grandeurs silence. 
 
305 
 
 Optima quaeque dies miseris mortalibus jcvi 
 Prima fugit ; subeunt morbi, tristisque senectus^ 
 Et labor, et durze rapit inclementia mortis. 
 
 Virgil, Georg, iii. 66* 
 
 Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 8cc. 
 
 Virg. id, 
 
 I admired the delicacy displayed in the apartment 
 appropriated to the remains of the unfortunate vic- 
 tims of one of the most accursed scenes of the Revo- 
 lution. Their bones are concealed from view behind 
 a wall, which is painted black : 
 
 D. M. 
 II. et III. 
 
 Sep™b^ 
 M DCC XCIL 
 
 Another tablet, 
 
 lei sent inhumes 
 LXXXVn. metres cubes 
 D'ossemens recueillis 
 Dans le cemetrie des Innocents 
 Du 19 Janvier au 19 Mars, 1811, 
 
 recalls the history of this immense deposit of mortal 
 remains. The cemeteries situated within the walls 
 of Paris, that of the Innocents, St. Benoit, 8cc. having 
 become unwholesome from the accumulation of dead, 
 all the bones which they contained were removed to 
 the catacombs between the- year 1786 and the pre- 
 sent time. This transportation, carried on by the 
 various governments of the country, still continues, 
 c c 2 
 
306 
 
 The present burying grounds are beyond the walls? 
 in retired situations, and the scites of the old ones 
 have been occupied as markets or squares. 
 
 The idea of measuring human remains by cubic 
 metres is somewhat revolting. But far more so are 
 those inscriptions which doubt or deny the immor- 
 tality of the soul, and exclude the hopes afforded by 
 nature and religion i 
 
 Omne consuramatum est. 
 
 Tout est consumme. 
 
 Quaeris quo jaceas post obi turn— loco quo non 
 
 fata jacent. 
 
 Seneca, 
 
 Ortus cuncta suos repetunt, matremque requirunt, 
 Et redit ad nihilum quod nihil ante fuit. 
 
 These were intermingled with better hopes : 
 
 Ossa arida, audite verbum Dei. 
 
 Hie ultra metas requiescant, beatem spem 
 
 expectantes. 
 
 Some shall rise to everlasting life, some to shame and 
 contempt. 
 
 The respect due to the remains of the dead is in- 
 Gulcated from Homer. The sentence in Latin is, 
 
 Nefas est mortuis insultare. 
 
 Nothing could be more gloomy to the mind, or 
 more unsuitable to the nature of the place, than this 
 confusion of creeds. If hope leaves us, we are of all 
 beings the most miserable; and the doubts and fears 
 
307 
 
 of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, and the more daring 
 impieties of modern infidels, should not be allowed to 
 usurp places in a Christian cemetry. Here too they 
 were placed with the sanction of the government, as 
 if on purpose to render indecisive, as far as in its 
 power, the hope of that immortality which is one of 
 the noblest prerogatives of our being. 
 
 In one chamber bones were laid out in shelves on 
 the walls ; and in others, small altars of thigh bones 
 were surmounted by solitary skulls. The minutes 
 lengthened out as I walked through the extended 
 series of passages and apartments : this was not the 
 place where meditation " could think down hours to 
 moments." 
 
 We returned by a similar black line on the low 
 roof, and ascended a stair similar to that by which 
 we had entered, but at a considerable distance from 
 it. The eye seized with pleasure the first beam of 
 light which entered through the chink ; the sun was 
 dazzling, and never did the creation appear more 
 lovely. After crossing some fields I re-entered the 
 city by the Barriere de la Sante^ and pursued my 
 way by the solitary Boulevards to the Jardin des 
 PI antes. 
 
308 
 
 LETTEPw FROM PARI5, PUBLISHED IK THE ENGLISH 
 >-EWSPAPERS. 
 
 The following extract of a letter written from Pa- 
 ris, and inserted in some of our pablic papers, is un- 
 derstood to be from the pen of an Irishman of dbtin- 
 guisfaed abilities and station. It may serve to shew 
 
 that the author of the foregoing work is not singular 
 
 Lathe unfavc " ' ' he takes of the state of French 
 manners .ind ^. .....p.^s. It was observed of it, thatit 
 
 was "evidcn:ly the picture of one extreme drawn by 
 a masterly but incontinent hand, and with an eye much 
 more attractable, we suspect, by the gaudier and 
 fouler objects of notice than by the sober and more 
 redeeming. It may serve, however, as a proper set- 
 off to the other extreme,^ — and, at a due distance be- 
 tween the two, a proper idea may be entertained of 
 this singular people, who, for such a length of time, 
 under King and Emperor, under smooth tyrants and 
 rough, have done and chattered so much, apparently 
 to so little purpose.*' The letter, or at least such 
 part of it as appeared in print, commences as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " I fear war will soon unfold her tattered banners 
 on the continent. This poor country is in a deplora- 
 ble state — a ruined noblesse — a femished clergy — ^a 
 state of smothered war between the upstarts and the 
 restored — their finances most distressed — the milita- 
 ry spirit divided— the most opposite opinions as to 
 
309 
 
 the lasting of the present form of things— every thing 
 unhinged — yet I really sympathize with this worried, 
 amiable, and perhaps contemptible people ; so full of 
 talent and vice — so frivolous, so inconstant and prone 
 to change — so ferocious too in their fickleness ; about 
 six revolutions within twenty years, and as fresh as 
 ever for a new dance. 
 
 These strange vicissitudes of man draw tears, but 
 they also teach wisdom. I never found my mind so 
 completely a magic lantern — such a rapid succession 
 of disjointed images^ — ^the past, the present, the fu- 
 ture possibly. One ought not to be hasty in taking 
 up bad impressions, and I need not say that three 
 weeks can give but little room for observation; but 
 from what I do see and learn from others, who have 
 seen long and deeply, I have conceived the worst idea 
 of social Paris* 
 
 "Every thing on the surface is horrible; beastli- 
 nesses, which with us do not exist. They actually 
 seem, in talk and practice, to cultivate a familiarity 
 with nastiness. In every public place they are spit- 
 ting on your shoes, in your plate, almost in your mouth. 
 Such community of secretions is scarcely to be borne ; 
 then the contrast makes it worse, gaudiness more 
 striking by filth ; the splendid palace for the ruleri 
 the hovel and the sink for the ruled ; the fine box for 
 the despot, the pigeon holes for the people ! And it 
 strikes me with sadness that the women can be little 
 more than the figurantes, receiving a mock reverence 
 merely to carry on the drama; but neither cherished 
 
310 
 
 nor respected. How vile the feeling and the taste 
 that can degrade them from being the real directors 
 and mistresses of man, to be the mere soubrettes of 
 society, gilded and smart, and dexterous and vicious. 
 Even before the Revolution, manners were bad enough, 
 but many causes since have rubbed off the gilding. 
 The exile of the nobles, the succession of low men to 
 power; and more than all the elevation of plebeian 
 soldiers to high rank, promoting, of course, their 
 trulls to a station where manners and morals were un- 
 der their influence ; and this added to the horrible 
 example set by Buonaparte himself in his own inte- 
 rior. Add to this, what must have sent down the 
 contagion to the still lower orders — the cGnscri/uicn 
 —the wretched men, marrying without preference, 
 merely to avoid the army, and then running into that 
 army to escape their ill chosen partners. All these 
 causes must have conspired to make a frightful car- 
 nage in manners and morals too. In shortj I am per- 
 suaded, that a single monster has done more to de- 
 moralize and uncivilize this country, than a century 
 can repair.*' 
 
 THE END. 
 
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