Produced by Robert Connal, Wilelmina Maillière and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by the Bibliothèque nationale de France
(BnF/Gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr)





Transcriber's note: Original spellings (and their inconsistencies) have
been maintained. A few obvious printer's error have been corrected: a
list of this corrections can be found at the end of the text.




THE
STRANGER IN FRANCE:

OR,
A TOUR FROM DEVONSHIRE TO PARIS.



ILLUSTRATED BY
ENGRAVINGS IN AQUA TINTA

OF
SKETCHES, TAKEN ON THE SPOT,

BY

JOHN CARR, Esq.


LONDON:

PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, NO. 72, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD.
SOLD ALSO BY W. HANNAFORD, TOTNES.

_Bryer, Printer, Bridge Street, Black Friars._

1803.




PREFACE.


The little tour which gave birth to the following remarks, was taken
immediately after the exchange of the ratifications of a peace,
necessary, but not inglorious to my country, after a contest unexampled
in its cause, calamity, extension, vicissitudes and glory; amidst a
people who, under the influence of a political change, hitherto
unparallelled, were to be approached as an order of beings, exhibiting a
moral and political form before but little known to themselves and to
the world, in the abrupt removal of habits and sentiments which had
silently and uninterruptedly taken deep root in the soil of ages.

During a separation of ten years, we have received very little account
of this extraordinary people, which could be relied upon. Dissimilar
sensations, excited by their principles and proceedings, ever partially
and irregularly known, have depicted unaccording representations of
them, and, in the sequel, have exhibited rather a high-coloured,
fanciful delineation, than a plain and faithful resemblance of the
original. Many are the persons who have been thus misled.

These fugitive sketches, in which an attempt is made to delineate, just
as they occurred, those scenes which, to _my_ mind at least, were new
and interesting, were originally penned for the private perusal of those
whom I esteem; and by their persuasion they are now offered to the
public eye. Amongst them I must be permitted to indulge in the pride and
pleasure of enumerating William Hayley, esq. a name familiar and dear to
every elegant and polished mind. Enlightened by his emendations, and
supported by the cherishing spirit of his approval, I approach, with a
more subdued apprehension, the tribunal of public opinion; and to my
friends I dedicate this humble result of a short relaxation from the
duties of an anxious and laborious profession. If, by submitting to
their wishes, I have erred, I have only to offer, that it is my first,
and shall be my last offence.

_Totnes, August, 1802._ JOHN CARR.


[Symbol: right pointing index] The engravings which accompany this work, are
of sketches made on the spot by an untutored pencil, and are introduced
for the purpose of illustration only.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.

_Torr Abbey.--Cap of Liberty.--Anecdote of English Prejudice.--Fire
Ships.--Southampton River.--Netley Abbey._                  page 1.

CHAPTER II.

_French Emigrants.--Scene on the Quay of Southampton.--Sail for
Havre.--Aged French Priest.--Their respectable Conduct in
England.--Their Gratitude.--Make the Port of Havre.--Panic of the
Emigrants.--Landing described.--Hôtel de la Paix.--Breakfast
Knife.--Municipality._                                     p. 6.

CHAPTER III.

_Passports procured.--Coins.--Town of
Havre.--Carts.--Citoyen.--Honfleur.--Deserters.--Prefect de
Marine.--Ville de Sandwich.--French Farmers.--Sir Sydney
Smith.--Catherine de Medicis.--Light Houses.--Rafts._     p. 20.

CHAPTER IV.

_Cheap travelling to Paris.--Diligences.--French Postilions.--Spanish
Postilions.--Norman Horses.--Bolbec.--Natives of Caux.--Ivetot.--Return
of Religion.--Santerre.--Jacobin.--The Mustard-pot.--National Property._
                                                          p. 31.

CHAPTER V.

_A female french fib.--Military and Civil Procession.--Madame
G.--The Review.--Mons. l'Abbé.--Bridge of Boats.--The
Quay.--Exchange.--Theatre.--Rouen.--Cathedral.--St. Ouens.--Prince of
Waldec.--Maid of Orleans._                                p. 40.

CHAPTER VI.

_First Consul's Advertisement.--Something ridiculous.--Eggs.--Criminal
Military Tribunal.--French Female Confidence.--Town House.--Convent of
Jesuits.--Guillotine.--Governor W----._                  p. 50.

CHAPTER VII.

_Filial Piety.--St. Catharine's Mount.--Madame Phillope.--General
Ruffin's Trumpet.--Generosity.--Love Infectious.--Masons and Gardeners._
                                                         p. 62.

CHAPTER VIII.

_Early dinner.--Mante.--Frost.--Duke de Sully.--Approach the
Capital.--Norman Barrier.--Paris.--Hôtel de Rouen.--Palais Royal._
                                                         p. 72.

CHAPTER IX.

_French Reception.--Voltaire.--Restaurateur.--Consular
Guard.--Music.--Venetian Horses.--Gates of the Palace.--Gardens of
the Thuilleries.--Statues.--The faithful Vase.--The Sabine
Picture.--Monsieur Perrègaux.--Marquis de Chatelet.--Madame
Perrègaux.--Beaux and Belles of Paris._                 p. 79.

CHAPTER X.

_Large Dogs.--A Plan for becoming quickly acquainted with
Paris.--Pantheon.--Tombs of Voltaire and Rousseau.--Politeness of an
Emigrant.--The Beauty of France.--Beauty evanescent.--Place de
Carousel.--Infernal
Machine.--Fouché.--Seine.--Washerwomen.--Fisherwomen.--Baths._
                                                       p. 90.

CHAPTER XI.

_David.--Place de la Concorde.--L'Église de Madeleine.--Print-shops.--Notre
Dame.--Museum or Palace of Arts.--Hall of Statues.--Laocoon.--Belvidere
Apollo.--Socrates._
                                                       p. 101.

CHAPTER XII.

_Bonaparte.--Artillery.--Mr. Pitt.--Newspapers.--Archbishop of
Paris.--Consular Colours.--Religion.--Consular Conversion.--Madame
Bonaparte.--Consular Modesty.--Separate Beds.--A Country
Scene.--Connubial Affection.--Female Bravery._         p. 113.

CHAPTER XIII.

_Breakfast.--Warmth of French Expression.--Rustic Eloquence.--Curious
Cause assigned for the late extraordinary Frost.--Madame R----.--Paul
I.--Tivoli.--Frescati._                                p. 128.

CHAPTER XIV.

_Convent of blue Nuns.--Duchesse de Biron.--The bloody Key.--Courts of
Justice.--Public Library.--Gobelines.--Miss Linwood.--Garden of
Plants.--French Accommodation.--Boot Cleaners.--Cat and Dog
Shearers.--Monsieur S---- and Family._                p. 140.

CHAPTER XV.

_Civility of a Sentinel.--The Hall of the Legislative Assembly.--British
House of Commons.--Captain Bergeret.--The Temple.--Sir Sydney Smith's
Escape.--Colonel Phillipeaux._                       p. 150

CHAPTER XVI.

_A fashionable Poem.--Frere Rickart.--Religion.--Hôtel des
Invalides.--Hall of Victory.--Enemies' Colours.--Sulky Appearance of an
English Jack and Ensign.--Indecorum.--The aged Captain.--Military
School.--Champ de Mars.--The Garden of Mousseaux._   p. 163.

CHAPTER XVII.

_Curious Method of raising Hay.--Lucien Bonaparte's
Hôtel.--Opera.--Consular Box.--Madame Bonaparte's Box.--Feydeau
Theatre.--Belle Vue.--Versailles.--The Palace of the Petit Trianon.--The
Grounds._                                            p. 175.

CHAPTER XVIII.

_Bonaparte's Talents in Finance.--Garrick and the Madman.--Palace of the
Conservative Senate.--Process of transferring Oil Paintings from Wood to
Canvas.--The Dinner Knife.--Commodities.--Hall of the National
Convention.--The Minister Talleyrand's Levee._       p. 188.

CHAPTER XIX.

_The College of the Deaf and Dumb.--Abbé
Sicard.--Bagatelle.--Police.--Grand National Library.--Bonaparte's
Review.--Tambour Major of the Consular Regiment.--Restoration of
Artillery Colours._                                p. 201.

CHAPTER XX.

_Abbè Sieyes.--Consular Procession to the Council Chamber.--10th of
August, 1792.--Celerity of Mons. Fouche's Information.--The two
Lovers.--Cabinet of Mons. le Grand.--Self-prescribing Physician.--Bust
of Robespierre.--His Lodgings.--Corn Hall.--Museum of French
Monuments.--Revolutionary Agent.--Lovers of married Women._
                                                 p. 214.

CHAPTER XXI.

_Picturesque and Mechanical Theatre.--Filtrating and purifying
Vases.--English Jacobins.--A Farewell.--Messagerie.--MalMaison.--Forest
of Evreux.--Lower Normandy.--Caen.--Hon. T. Erskine.--A Ball.--The
Keeper of the Sachristy of Notre Dame.--The two blind
Beggars.--Ennui.--St. Lo.--Cherbourg.--England._ p. 230.

GENERAL REMARKS.                                 p. 252.

[Illustration: _Torr Abbey_]




THE STRANGER IN FRANCE




CHAPTER I.

     _Torr Abbey.--Cap of Liberty.--Anecdote of English Prejudice.--Fire
     Ships.--Southampton River.--Netley Abbey._


It was a circumstance, which will be memorable with me, as long as I
live, and pleasant to my feelings, as often as I recur to it, that part
of my intended excursion to the Continent was performed in the last ship
of war, which, after the formal confirmations of the peace, remained, of
that vast naval armament, which, from the heights of Torbay, for so many
years, presented to the astonished and admiring eye, a spectacle at once
of picturesque beauty, and national glory. It was the last attendant in
the train of retiring war.

Under the charming roof of Torr Abbey, the residence of George Cary,
esq., I passed a few days, until the Megæra was ready to sail for
Portsmouth, to be paid off, the commander of which, captain Newhouse,
very politely offered to convey my companion, captain W. Cary, and
myself, to that port.

In this beautiful spot, the gallant heroes of our navy have often found
the severe and perilous duties of the boisterous element alleviated by
attentions, which, in their splendid and cordial display, united an
elegant taste to a noble spirit of hospitality.

In the Harleian Tracts there is a short, but rather curious account
preserved of the sensation produced at the Abbey on the 5th of November,
1688, after the prince of Orange had entered the bay with his fleet, on
their passage to Brixham, where he landed:--

"The prince commanded captain M---- to search the lady Cary's house, at
Torr Abbey, for arms and horses. The lady entertaining them civilly,
said her husband was gone to Plymouth: they brought from thence some
horses, and a few arms, but gave no further disturbance to the lady or
her house."

Throughout this embarrassing interview, the lady Cary appears to have
conducted herself with great temper, dignity and resolution, whilst, on
the other hand, the chaplain of that day, whose opinions were not very
favourable to the revolution, unlike his present amiable and enlightened
successor[1], left his lady in the midst of her perplexities, and fled.

[1] Rev. John Halford.

In the Abbey, I was much pleased with an interesting, though not very
ornamental trophy of the glorious victory of Aboukir. The truckle heads
of the masts of the Aquilon, a french ship of the line, which struck to
the brave captain Lewis, in that ever memorable battle, were covered
with the bonnet rouge; one of these caps of liberty, surmounted with the
british flag, has been committed to the care of the family, by that
heroic commander, and now constitutes a temporary ornament of their
dining-room.

Here we laid in provision for our little voyage, without, however,
feeling the same apprehension, which agitated the mind of a fair damsel,
in the service of a lady of rank who formerly resided in my
neighbourhood, who, preparing to attend her mistress to the Continent,
and having heard from the jolly historians of the kitchen, that the food
in France was chiefly supplied by the croaking inhabitants of the green
and standing pool, contrived, very carefully, to carry over a piece of
homebred pork, concealed in her workbag.

Early in the morning after we set sail, we passed through the Needles,
which saved us a very considerable circuitous sail round the southern
side of the Isle of Wight, a passage which the late admiral Macbride
first successfully attempted, for vessels of war, in a ship of the line.

The vessel, in which we sailed, was a fireship; a costly instrument of
destruction, which has never been applied during the recent war, and
only once, and that unsuccessfully, during the preceding one. We had
several of them in commission, although they are confessedly of little
utility in these times, and from the immense stores of combustibles with
which they are charged, threaten only peril to the commander and his
crew.

We soon after dropped anchor, and proceeded to Portsmouth, in search of
a packet for Havre-de-Grace. In the street, our trunks were seized by
the custom-house officers, whilst conveying to the inn, but after
presenting our keys, and requesting immediate search and restoration,
they were returned to us without further annoyance. Finding that the
masters of the french packets were undetermined when they should sail,
we resolved upon immediately leaving this celebrated seaport, and
proceeding by water to Southampton, distant about twenty-four miles;
where, after a very unpleasant passage, from its blowing with
considerable violence soon after we left Portsmouth, we arrived, in a
little wherry, about twelve o'clock at night, at the Vine inn, which is
very conveniently situated for passengers by the packets.

It will not be required of me, to attempt a minute description of the
Southampton river, at a time when I expected, with some reason, as I
afterwards understood, to sink to the bottom of it. An observation very
natural to persons in our situation occurred to me all the way, viz.
that the shores seemed to be too far distant from each other, and that
had there been less water, the scenery would have been more delightful;
an observation which, however, the next day confirmed, when it presented
the safe and tranquil appearance of a mirror.

[Illustration: _Southampton._]

Finding that the packet for France was not likely to sail immediately,
we hired a boat, and proceeded down the river, to view the beautiful
ruins of Netley Abbey, in the great court of which we dined, under the
shade of aged limes, and amidst the flappings of its feathered and
restless tenantry.

As I am no great admirer of tedious details, I shall not attempt an
antiquarian history of this delightful spot. I shall leave it to more
circumstantial travellers, to enumerate the genealogies of the worthies
who occupied it at various eras, and to relate, like a monumental
entablature, when, where, and how they lived and died; it will be
sufficient to observe, that the site of this romantic abode was
granted by Henry VIII, in 1757, to a sir William Paulet, and that after
having had many merry monks for its masters, who, no doubt, performed
their matutinæ laudes and nocturnæ vigiliæ with devout exactness; that
it is at length in the possession of Mr. Dance, who has a very fine and
picturesque estate on that side of the river, of which these elegant
ruins constitute the chief ornament. The church still exhibits a
beautiful specimen of gothic architecture, but its tottering remains
will rapidly share the fate of the neighbouring pile, which time has
prostrated on the earth, and covered with his thickest shade of ivy.

Our watermen gave us a curious description of this place, and amused us
not a little with their ridiculous anacronisms.

"I tell you what," said one of them, contradicting the other, "you are
in the wrong, Bob, indeed you are wrong, don't mislead them gentlemen,
that there Abbey is in the true roman style, and was built by a man they
call----, but that's neither here nor there, I forget the name, however,
its a fine place, and universally allowed to be very old. I frequently
rows gentlefolks there, and picks up a great deal about it."

On our return the tide was at its height, the sun was setting in great
glory, the sky and water seemed blended in each other, the same red rich
tint reigned throughout, the vessels at anchor appeared suspended in the
air, the spires of the churches were tipped with the golden ray; a scene
of more beauty, richness, and tranquillity I never beheld.




CHAPTER II.

     _French Emigrants.--Scene on the Quay of Southampton.--Sail for
     Havre.--Aged French Priest.--Their respectable Conduct in
     England.--Their Gratitude.--Make the Port of Havre.--Panic of the
     Emigrants.--Landing described.--Hotel de la Paix.--Breakfast
     Knife.--Municipality._


During the whole of the second day after our arrival, the town of
Southampton was in a bustle, occasioned by the flocking in of a great
number of french emigrants, who were returning to their own country, in
consequence of a mild decree, which had been passed in their favour. The
scene was truly interesting, and the sentiment which it excited,
delightful to the heart.

A respectable curé, who dined in the same room with us at our inn, was
observed to eat very little; upon being pressed to enlarge his meal,
this amiable man said, with tears starting in his eyes, "Alas! I have no
appetite; a very short time will bring me amongst the scenes of my
nativity, my youth, and my happiness, from which a remorseless
revolution has parted me for these ten long years; I shall ask for those
who are dear to me, and find them for ever gone. Those who are left will
fill my mind with the most afflicting descriptions; no, no, I cannot
eat, my good sir."

About noon, they had deposited their baggage upon the quay, which formed
a pile of aged portmanteaus, and battered trunks. Parties remained to
protect them, previous to their embarkation. The sun was intensely hot,
they were seated under the shade of old umbrellas, which looked as if
they had been the companions of their banishment.

Their countenances appeared strongly marked with the pious character of
resignation, over which were to be seen a sweetness, and corrected
animation, which seemed to depict at once the soul's delight, of
returning to its native home, planted wherever it may be, and the regret
of leaving a nation, which, in the hour of flight and misery, had nobly
enrolled them in the list of her own children, and had covered them with
protection.

To the eternal honour of these unhappy, but excellent people, be it
said, that they have proved themselves worthy of being received in such
a sanctuary. Our country has enjoyed the benefit of their unblemished
morals, and their mild, polite, and unassuming manners, and wherever
destiny has placed them, they have industriously relieved the national
burden of their support by diffusing the knowledge of a language, which
good sense, and common interest, should long since have considered as a
valuable branch of education.

To those of my friends, who exercise the sacred functions of religion,
as established in this country, I need not offer an apology, for paying
an humble tribute of common justice to these good, and persecuted men;
who, from habit, pursue a mode of worship, a little differing in form,
but terminating in the same great and glorious centre. The enlightened
liberality of the british clergy will unite, in paying that homage to
them, which they, in my presence, have often with enthusiasm, and
rapture, offered up to the purity, and sanctity of their characters.
Many of them informed me, that they had received the most serviceable
favours from our clergy, administered with equal delicacy, and
munificence.

Amongst these groups were some females, the wives and daughters of
toulonese merchants, who left their city when lord Hood abandoned that
port. The politeness and attention, which were paid to them by the men,
were truly pleasing. It was the good breeding of elegant habits,
retaining all their softness in the midst of adversity, sweetened with
the sympathy of mutual and similar sufferings.

They had finished their dinner, and were drinking their favourite
beverage of coffee. Poor wanderers! the water was scarcely turned brown
with the few grains which remained of what they had purchased for their
journey.

I addressed them, by telling them, that I had the happiness of being a
passenger with them, in the same vessel; they said they were fortunate
to have in their company one of that nation, which would be dear to them
as long as they lived. A genteel middle aged woman offered to open a
little parcel of fresh coffee, which they had purchased in the town for
the voyage, and begged to make some for me. By her manner, she seemed to
wish me to consider it, more as the humble offering of gratitude, than
of politeness, or perhaps both were blended in the offer. In the
afternoon, their baggage was searched by the revenue officers, who, on
this occasion, exercised a liberal gentleness, which gave but little
trouble, and no pain. They who brought nothing into a country but the
recollection of their miseries, were not very likely to carry much out
of it, but the remembrance of its generosity.

At seven o'clock in the evening we were all on board, and sailed with a
gentle breeze down the river: we carried with us a good stock of
vegetables, which we procured fresh, from the admirable market of
Southampton. Upon going down into the cabin, I was struck, and at first
shocked, with seeing a very aged man, stretched at his length upon
pillows and clothes, placed on the floor, attended by two clergymen, and
some women, who, in their attentions to this apparently dying old
gentleman, seemed to have forgotten their own comfortless situation,
arising from so many persons being crowded in so small a space, for our
numbers above and below amounted to sixty. Upon inquiry, they informed
me, that the person whose appearance had so affected me, had been a
clergyman of great repute and esteem at Havre, that he was then past the
age of ninety five years, scarcely expected to survive our short voyage,
but was anxious to breathe his last in his own country. They spoke of
him, as a man who in other times, and in the fulness of his faculties,
had often from his pulpit, struck with terror and contrition, the
trembling souls of his auditors, by the force of his exalted eloquence;
who had embellished the society in which he moved, with his elegant
attainments; and who had relieved the unhappy, with an enlarged heart
and munificent hand--A mere mass of misery, and helpless infirmities,
remained of all these noble qualities!

During the early part of the night, we made but little way--behind, the
dark shadowy line of land faded in mist; before us, the moon spread a
stream of silver light upon the sea. The soft stillness of this repose
of nature was broken only by the rippling of the light wave against the
head and sides of the vessel, and by the whistling of the helmsman, who,
with the helm between his knees, and his arms crossed, alternately
watching the compass and the sail, thus invoked the presence of the
favouring breeze.

Leaving him, and some few of our unfortunate comrades, to whom the
motion of the sea was more novel than gratifying, we descended into the
steerage, (for our births in the cabin were completely occupied by
females). As we were going down the ladder, the appearance of so many
recumbent persons, faintly distinguishable by the light of a solitary
taper, reminded us of a floating catacomb; here, crawling under a cot
which contained two very corpulent priests, upon a spare cable, wrapt up
in our own great coats, we resigned ourselves to rest.

The next day, without having made much progress in our little voyage, we
arose, and assembled round the companion, which formed our breakfast
table; at dinner, we were enabled to spread a handsome table of
refreshments, to which we invited all our fellow passengers who were
capable of partaking of them, many of whom were preparing to take their
scanty meal, removed from us at the head of the vessel. For this little
act of common civility, we were afterwards abundantly repaid, by the
thankfulness of all, and the serviceable attentions of some of our
charming guests, when we landed; an instance of which I shall afterwards
have occasion to mention. The wind slackened during the day, but in the
evening it blew rather fresh, and about nine o'clock the next morning,
after a night passed something in the same way as the former, we were
awakened being informed that we were within in a league of Havre; news
by no means disagreeable, after the dead dulness of a sea calm.

The appearance of the coast was high, rugged, and rocky; to use a good
marine expression, it looked ironbound all along shore. To the east,
upon an elevated point of land, are two noble light houses, of very
beautiful construction, which I shall have occasion to describe
hereafter.

At some little distance, we saw considerable flights of wild ducks. The
town and bason lie round the high western point from the lights, below
which there is a fine pebbled beach. The quays are to the right and left
within the pier, upon the latter of which there is a small round tower.
It was not the intention of our packet captain to go within the pier,
for the purpose of saving the port-anchorage dues, which amount to eight
pounds sterling, but a government boat came off, and ordered the vessel
to hawl close up to the quay, an order which was given in rather a
peremptory manner. Upon our turning the pier, we saw as we warped up to
the quay, an immense motley crowd, flocking down to view us. A panic ran
throughout our poor fellow passengers. From the noise and confusion on
shore, they expected that some recent revolution had occurred, and that
they were upon the point of experiencing all the calamities, which they
had before fled from; they looked pale and agitated upon each other,
like a timid and terrified flock of sheep, when suddenly approached by
their natural enemy the wolf. It turned out, however, that mere
curiosity, excited by the display of english colours, had assembled this
formidable rabble, and that the order which we received from the
government boat, was given for the purpose of compelling the captain to
incur, and consequently to pay, the anchorage dues. In a moment we were
beset by a parcel of men and boys, half naked, and in wooden shoes, who
hallooing and "sacre dieuing" each other most unmercifully, began,
without further ceremony, to seize upon every trunk within their reach,
which they threw into their boats lying alongside.

By a well-timed rap upon the knuckles of one of these marine
functionaries, we prevented our luggage from sharing the same fate. It
turned out, that there was a competition for carrying our trunks on
shore, for the sake of an immoderate premium, which they expected to
receive, and which occasioned our being assailed in this violent manner.
Our fellow-passengers were obliged to go on shore with these vociferous
watermen, who had the impudence and inhumanity to charge them two livres
each, for conveying them to the landing steps, a short distance of about
fifty yards. Upon their landing, we were much pleased to observe that
the people offered them neither violence nor insult. They were received
with a sullen silence, and a lane was made for them to pass into the
town. The poor old clergyman who had survived the passage, was left on
board, in the care of two benevolent persons, until he could be safely
and comfortably conveyed on shore. We soon afterwards followed our
fellow-passengers in the captain's boat, by which plan we afforded these
extortioners a piece of salutary information, very necessary to be made
known to them, that although we were english, we were not to be imposed
upon. I could not help thinking it rather unworthy of our neighbours to
exact from us such heavy port dues, when our english demands of a
similar nature, are so very trifling. For such an import, a vessel of
the republic, upon its arrival in any of the english ports, would only
pay a few shillings. Perhaps this difference will be equalized in some
shape, by the impending commercial treaty, otherwise, a considerable
partial advantage will accrue to the french from their passage packets.
Upon our landing, and entering the streets, I was a little struck with
the appearance of the women, who were habited in a coarse red camlet
jacket, with a high apron before, long flying lappets to their caps, and
were mounted upon large heavy wooden shoes, upon each of which a worsted
tuft was fixed, in rude imitation of a rose. The appearance and clatter
of these sabots, as they are called, leave upon the mind an impression
of extreme poverty and wretchedness.

They are, however, more favoured than the lower order of females in
Scotland. Upon a brisk sprightly chamber-maid entering my room one day
at an inn in Glasgow, I heard a sound which resembled the pattering of
some web-footed bird, when in the act of climbing up the miry side of a
pond. I looked down upon the feet of this bonny lassie, and found that
their only covering was procured from the mud of the high street--adieu!
to the tender eulogies of the pastoral reed! I have never thought of a
shepherdess since with pleasure.

I could not help observing the ease, dexterity, and swiftness, with
which a single man conveyed all our luggage, which was very heavy, to
the custom-house, and afterwards to the inn, in a wheelbarrow, which
differed from ours, only in being larger, and having two elastic handles
of about nine feet long. At the custom-house, notwithstanding what the
english papers have said of the conduct observed here, we were very
civilly treated, our boxes were only just opened, and some of our
packages were not examined at all. Away we had them whirled, to the
Hôtel de la Paix, the front of which looks upon the wet-dock, and is
embellished with a large board, upon which is recorded, in yellow
characters, as usual, the superior advantages of this house over every
other hôtel in Havre. Upon our arrival, we were ushered up a large dirty
staircase into a lofty room, upon the first floor, all the windows of
which were open, divided, as they always are in France, in the middle,
like folding doors; the floor was tiled, a deal table, some common rush
chairs, two very fine pier glasses, and chandeliers to correspond,
composed our motley furniture. I found it to be a good specimen of
french inns, in general. We were followed by our hostess, the porter,
two cooks, with caps on their heads, which had once been white, and
large knives in their hands, who were succeeded by two chamber-maids,
all looking in the greatest hurry and confusion, and all talking
together, with a velocity, and vehemence, which rendered the faculty of
hearing almost a misfortune. They appeared highly delighted to see us,
talked of our dress, sir Sidney Smith, the blockade, the noble english,
the peace, and a train of etceteras. At length we obtained a little
cessation, of which we immediately seized the advantage, by directing
them to show us to our bedrooms, to procure abundance of water hot and
cold, to get us a good breakfast as soon as possible, and to prepare a
good dinner for us at four o'clock. Amidst a peal of tongues, this
clamorous procession retired.

After we had performed our necessary ablutions, and had enjoyed the
luxury of fresh linen, we sat down to some excellent coffee, accompanied
with boiled milk, long, delicious rolls, and tolerably good butter, but
found no knives upon the table; which, by the by, every traveller in
France is presumed to carry with him: having mislaid my own, I requested
the maid to bring me one. The person of this damsel, would certainly
have suffered by a comparison with those fragrant flowers, to which
young poets resemble their beloved mistresses; as soon as I had
preferred my prayer, she very deliberately drew from her pocket a large
clasp knife, which, after she had wiped on her apron, she presented to
me, with a "voila monsieur." I received this dainty present, with every
mark of due obligation, accompanied, at the same time, with a resolution
not to use it, particularly as my companions (for we had two other
english gentlemen with us) had directed her to bring some others to
them. This delicate instrument was as savoury as its mistress, amongst
the various fragrancies which it emitted, garlic seemed to have the
mastery.

About twelve o'clock we went to the hall of the municipality, to procure
our passports for the interior, and found it crowded with people upon
the same errand. We made our way through them into a very handsome
antiroom, and thence, by a little further perseverance, into an inner
room, where the mayor and his officers were seated at a large table
covered with green cloth. To show what reliance is to be placed upon the
communications of english newspapers, I shall mention the following
circumstance: my companion had left England, without a passport, owing
to the repeated assurances of both the ministerial and opposition
prints, and also of a person high in administration, that none were
necessary.

The first question propounded to us by the secretary was, "citizens,
where are your passports?" I had furnished myself with one; but upon
hearing this question, I was determined not to produce it, from an
apprehension that I should cover my friend, who had none, with
suspicion, so we answered, that in England they were not required of
frenchmen, and that we had left our country with official assurances
that they would not be demanded of us here.

They replied to us, by reading a decree, which rigorously required them
of foreigners, entering upon the territories of the republic, and they
assured us, that this regulation was at that moment reciprocal with
every other power, and with England in particular. The decree of course
closed the argument. We next addressed ourselves to their politeness
(forgetting that the revolution had made sad inroads upon it) and
requested them, as we had been misled, and had no other views of
visiting the country, but those of pleasure, and improvement, that they
would be pleased to grant us our passports for the interior. To this
address, these high authorities, who seemed not much given to "the
melting mood," after making up a physiognomy, as severe, and as _iron
bound_ as their coast, laconically observed, that the laws of the
republic must be enforced, that they should write to our embassador to
know who we were, and that in the mean time they would make out our
passports for the town, the barriers of which we were not to pass.
Accordingly, a little fat gentleman, in a black coat, filled up these
official instruments, which were copied into their books, and both
signed by us; he then commenced our "signalement," which is a regular
descriptive portrait of the head of the person who has thus the honour
of sitting to the municipal portrait painters of the département de la
Seine inferieure.

This portrait is intended, as will be immediately anticipated, to afford
encreased facilities to all national guards, maréchaussées, thief
takers, &c. for placing in "durance vile" the unfortunate original,
should he violate the laws.

The signalement is added in the margin, to the passport, and also
registered in the municipal records, which, from their size, appeared to
contain a greater number of heads and faces, thus depicted, than any
museum or gallery I ever beheld.

How correct the likenesses in general are, I leave to the judgment of
others, after I have informed them, that the hazle eyes of my friend
were described "yeux bleu" in this masterly delineation.

If the dead march in Saul had been playing before us all the way, we
could not have marched more gravely, or rather sulkily, to our inn.
Before us, we had the heavy prospect of spending about ten days in this
town, not very celebrated for either beauty, or cleanliness, until the
municipality could receive an account of us, from our embassador, who
knew no more of us than they did. The other english gentlemen were in
the same predicament.

However we determined to pursue the old adage, that what is without
remedy, should be without regret, and, english like, grew very merry
over a good dinner, consisting of soups, and meat, and fowls, and fish,
and vegetables (for such is the order of a french dinner) confectionary
and a desert, accompanied with good Burgundy, and excellent Champaign.
Our misfortunes must plead our excuse, if the dinner is considered
extravagant. Uncle Toby went to sleep when he was unhappy; we solicited
consolation in another way. Our signalements afforded us much diversion,
which at length was a little augmented by a plan which I mentioned, as
likely to furnish us with the means of our liberation. After dinner I
waited upon a young gentleman who was under the care of a very
respectable merchant, to whom I had the good fortune to have letters of
introduction. Through his means I was introduced to Mons. de la M----,
who received me with great politeness. In the hurry and occupations of
very extensive commercial pursuits, this amiable old gentleman had found
leisure to indulge himself in works of taste. His noble fortune enabled
him to gratify his liberal inclinations. I found him seated in his
compting-house, which, from its handsome furniture and valuable
paintings, resembled an elegant cabinet. I stated the conduct of the
municipality towards us, and requested his assistance. After he had
shown me his apartments, a fine collection of drawings, by some of the
first masters, and some more excellent paintings, we parted, with an
assurance that he would immediately wait upon the mayor, who was his
friend, and had no doubt but that he should in the course of the next
day enable us to leave Havre when and in what manner we pleased. With
this agreeable piece of intelligence, I immediately returned to the inn,
where it induced us to drink health and success to the friendly merchant
in another bottle of champaign.




CHAPTER III.

     _Passports procured.--Coins.--Town of
     Havre.--Carts.--Citoyen.--Honfleur.--Deserters.--Prefect de
     Marine.--Ville de Sandwich.--French Farmers.--Sir Sydney
     Smith.--Catherine de Medicis.--Light Houses.--Rafts._


If Havre had been a Paradise, the feelings of restraint would have
discoloured the magic scenery, and turned the green to one barren brown.

As we could relish nothing, until we had procured our release, the first
place we visited the next morning was, once more, the residence of the
municipality, where we found that our worthy friend had previously
arranged every thing to our wishes, and upon his signing a certificate,
that we were peaceable citizens, and had no intention to overturn the
republic, our passports were made out, and upon an exchange of a little
snuff, and a few bows, we retired. The other two englishmen had their
wishes gratified, by the same lucky incident, which had assisted us.
Having changed our guineas for french money, and as in future, when
money is mentioned, it will be in the currency of the country, it
perhaps may not be unacceptable to subjoin a table of the old, and new,
and republican coins. For every guinea of full weight, which we carried
over, we received twenty-four livres, or a louis d'or, which is equal to
twenty shillings sterling, of course we lost one shilling upon every
good guinea, and more, according to the deficiency of weight. The course
of exchange and commission, with our country, I afterwards found at
Paris, to be one shilling and eight pence, in the pound sterling,
against us, but the difference will be progressively nearer par, as the
accustomed relations of commerce resume their former habits. I was
surprised to find the ancient monarchical coin in chief circulation, and
that of the republic, very confined. Scarce a pecuniary transaction can
occur, but the silent, and eloquent medallion of the unhappy monarch,
seems to remind these bewildered people of _his_ fate, and _their_ past
misfortunes. Although the country is poor, all their payments are made
in cash, this is owing to the shock given by the revolution, to
individual, and consequently to paper credit.

To comprehend their money, it must be known, although the french always
calculate by livres, as we do by pounds sterling, that the livre is no
coin, but computation.

                      MONARCHICAL COINS.

                            GOLD.
                                               _s._  _d._
A louis d'or is twenty four livres french, or  20         0  English.

                            SILVER.

A grand ecu, or six livre piece,                5         0
An ecu, or three livre piece,                   2         6
The vingt quatre sols piece,                    1         0
A douze sols piece is twelve pence french, or   0         6
A six sols piece is 6d french, or               0         3

COPPER MIXED WITH SILVER.

A deux sols, or two pence french, and one penny english, is nearly the
size of our sixpence, but is copper, with a white or silverish mixture,
twelve of these make a vingt quatre sols piece, or one shilling english.

They have also another small piece of nearly the same size and colour,
but not so white, and rather thinner, which is one sol and a half, three
halfpence french, or three farthings english.

COPPER.

A sol is like our halfpenny, value one penny french, or a halfpenny
english, twenty-four of these make an english shilling.

A deux liard piece is half a sol french, or a farthing english.

A liard is a farthing french, and of the value of half a farthing
english.

NEW COIN.

A thirty sols piece, is a very beautiful and convenient coin, worth one
shilling and three pence english, having a good impression of the late
king's head on one side, and the goddess of liberty on the other; it was
struck in the early part of the revolution.


REPUBLICAN COIN.

SILVER.

A fifteen sols piece is half of the above and very convenient.

COPPER.

A six liard is a bit of copper composition, such as the fine cannon are
made of, and is worth three sols french, or a halfpenny, and a farthing
english.

A cinq centimes is worth a halfpenny and half a farthing english.

The centimes are of the value of half farthings, five of which are equal
to the last coin, they are very small and neat.


An early knowledge of these coins, is very necessary to a stranger, on
account of the dishonest advantages which french tradesmen take of their
english customers.


To return to my narrative: finding ourselves at liberty to pursue our
route, we went from the municipality to the bureau des diligences, and
secured our places in the voiture to Rouen, for the next day.

After this necessary arrangement, we proceeded to view the town, which
is composed of long and narrow streets. The fronts of the houses, which
are lofty, are deformed by the spaces between the naked intersections of
the frame work being filled up with mortar, which gives them an
appearance of being very heavy, and very mean.

The commerce formerly carried on at Havre, was very extensive. There is
here also large manufactories for lace. The theatre is very spacious,
well arranged, and as far as we could judge by day-light, handsomely
decorated. The players did not perform during our stay. In the
vegetable market place, which was much crowded, and large, we saw at
this season of the year abundance of fine apples, as fresh in appearance
as when they were first plucked from the tree.

In our way there we were accosted by a little ragged beggar boy, who
addressed himself to our compassionate dispositions, by the appellation
of "très charitable citoyen," but finding we gave nothing, he
immediately changed it to "mon chère très charitable monsieur."

The strange uncouth expression of citoyen is generally laid aside,
except amongst the immediate officers under government, in their
official communications, who, however, renounce it in private, for the
more civilized title of "monsieur."

The principal church is a fine handsome building, and had been opened
for worship, the Sunday before we arrived: On that day the bell of the
Sabbath first sounded, during ten years of revolution, infidelity, and
bloodshed!!!

The royal arms are every where removed. They formerly constituted a very
beautiful ornament over the door of the hotel of the present prefect, at
the head of the market place, but they have been rudely beaten out by
battle axes, and replaced by rude republican emblems, which every where
(I speak of them as a decoration) seem to disfigure the buildings which
bear them. When I made this remark, I must, however, candidly confess,
that my mind very cordially accompanied my eye, and that natural
sentiment mingled with the observation. The quays, piers, and arsenal
are very fine, they, together with the docks, for small ships of war and
merchandize, were constructed under the auspices of Lewis XIV, with
whom this port was a great favourite.

We saw several groups of men at work in heavy chains. They were soldiers
who had offended. They are dressed in _red_ jackets and trowsers, which
are supposed to increase their disgrace, on account of its being the
regimental colour of their old enemy, the english. When my companion,
who wore his regimentals, passed them, they all moved their caps to him
with great respect.

The town, and consequently the commerce of Rouen, was most successfully
blockaded, for near four years, by british commanders, during the late
war, and particularly by sir Sidney Smith. It was here, when
endeavouring to cut out a vessel, which in point of value, and
consideration was unworthy of such an exposure, that this great hero,
and distinguished being was made a prisoner of war. The inhabitants, who
never speak of him, but with emotions of terror, consider this event as
the rash result of a wager conceived over wine. Those who know the
character of sir Sidney, will not impute to him such an act of _idle_
temerity. No doubt he considered the object, as included in his duty,
and it is only to be lamented, that during two lingering years of
rigorous, and cruel confinement, in the dungeons of the unhappy
sovereign, his country was bereaved of the assistances of her immortal
champion, who, in a future season, upon the shores of Acre, so nobly
filled up the gloomy chasm of suspended services, by exploits, which to
be believed, must not be _adequately_ described, and who revenged, by an
act of unrivalled glory, the long endurance of sufferings, and
indignities hateful to the magnanimous spirit of modern warfare, and
unknown to it, until displayed within the walls of a prussian
dungeon[2].

[2] The cruel imprisonment of la Fayette is alluded to.

I shall hereafter have occasion to mention this extraordinary character,
when I speak of his escape from the Temple, the real circumstances
attending which are but little known, and which I received from an
authority upon which the reader may rely.

This town is not unknown to history. At the celebrated siege of it, in
the time of Catharine de Medicis, that execrable princess, distinguished
herself by her personal intrepidity. It is said, that she landed here,
in a galley, bearing the device of the sun, with these words in greek,
"I bring light, and fine weather"--a motto which ill corresponded with
her conduct.

With great courage, such as seldom associates with cruel, and ferocious
tyrants, she here on horseback, at the head of her army, exposed herself
to the fire of the cannon, like the most veteran soldiers, and betrayed
no symptoms of fear, although the bullets flew about her in all
directions. When desired by the duke of Guise, and the constable de
Montmorenci not to expose her person so much, the brave, but sanguinary
Catharine replied, "Have I not more to lose than you, and do you think I
have not as much courage?"

The walk, through la ville de Sandwiche, to the light houses, which are
about two miles from Havre, is very pleasing. The path lay through flax
and clover fields. In this part of the country, the farmers practise an
excellent plan of rural economy, which is also used in Dorsetshire,
and some few other counties, of confining their cattle by a string to a
spot of pasture, until they have completely cleared it.

[Illustration: _Light-house at Havre_]

Upon the hill, ascending to the cliffs, are several very elegant
chateaus and gardens, belonging to the principal inhabitants of the
town.

Monsieur B----, the prefect de marine, has a beautiful residence here.
We were accidentally stopping at his gate, which was open, to view the
enchanting prospects, which it presented to us, when the polite owner
observed us, and with that amiableness, and civility, which still
distinguish the descendants of the ancient families of rank in France,
of which he is one, requested us to enter, and walked with us round his
grounds, which were disposed with great taste. He afterwards conducted
us to his elegant house, and gave us dried fruit, and excellent
burgundy, after which we walked round the village to the light houses.
From him we learnt, that the farmers here, as in England, were very
respectable, and had amassed considerable wealth during the war. The
approach to the light houses, through a row of elms, is very pleasant;
they stand upon an immense high perpendicular cliff, and are lofty
square buildings, composed of fine light brown free stone, the entrance
is handsome, over which there is a good room, containing four high
windows, and a lodging room for the people, who have the care of the
light, the glass chamber of which we reached, after ascending to a
considerable height, by a curious spiral stone stair case. The lantern
is composed, of ninety immense reflecting lamps, which are capable of
being raised or depressed with great ease by means of an iron windlass.
This large lustre, is surrounded with plates of the thickest french
glass, fixed in squares of iron, and discharges a prodigious light, in
dark nights. A furnace of coal, was formerly used, but this has been
judiciously superseded by the present invention. Round the lantern, is a
gallery with an iron balustrade, the view from this elevation upon the
beach, the entrance of the Seine, Honfleur (where our Henry III is said
to have fought the french armies, and to have distinguished himself by
his valour) the distant hills of Lower Normandy, and the ocean, is truly
grand. It brought to my mind that beautiful description of Shakspeare--

    ------------------The murmuring surge
    That on th' unnumbered idle pebbles chafes,
    Cannot be heard so high: I'll look no more,
    Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
    Topple down headlong.

We did not visit the other tower, as it was uniform with this. The woman
who has the charge of the light, was very good humoured, and very
talkative, she seemed delighted to show us every thing, and said she
preferred seeing englishmen _in_ her tower as friends, to the view she
frequently had of them _from_ it as enemies, alluding to the long, and
masterly blockade of this port by a squadron of english frigates. She
carried us to her little museum, as she called it, where she had
arranged, very neatly, a considerable collection of fossils, shells, and
petrefactions. Here she showed us with great animation, two british
cannon balls, which during the blockade, had very nearly rendered her
husband and herself, as cold and as silent as any of the petrefactions
in her collection. In this little cabinet was her bed, where amidst the
war of winds and waves, she told us she slept as sound as a _consul_.

In the basins of Havre, we saw several rafts, once so much talked of,
constructed for the real, or ostensible purpose of conveying the
invading legions of France, to the shores of Great Britain. I expected
to have seen an immense floating platform, but the vessels which we saw,
were made like brigs of an unusual breadth, with two low masts. The
sincerity of this project has been much disputed, but that the french
government expended considerable sums upon the scheme, I have no doubt.

I must not omit to mention, the admirable mode, which they have here,
and in most parts of France, of constructing their carts. They are
placed upon very high wheels, the load is generally arranged so as to
create an equipoise, and is raised by an axle, fastened near the shafts.
I was informed by a merchant, that a single horse can draw with ease
thirty-six hundred weight, in one of these carts. These animals have a
formidable appearance, owing to a strange custom which the french have,
of covering the collar, with an entire sheep's skin, which gives them
the appearance of having an enormous shaggy mane.

At night, we settled our bills which amounted to forty livres each. A
considerable charge in this country, but we had lived well, and had not
thought it worth our while, on account of the probable shortness of our
stay, to bargain for our lodging, and board, a plan generally proper to
be used by those, who mean to remain for some length of time, in any
place in France.

[Illustration: _Paris Diligence._]




CHAPTER IV.

     _Cheap travelling to Paris.--Diligences.--French
     Postilions.--Spanish Postilions.--Norman Horses.--Bolbec.--Natives
     of Caux.--Ivetot.--Return of Religion.--Santerre.--Jacobin.--The
     Mustard-pot.--National Property._


Before I proceed on my journey, I must beg leave to present a very cheap
mode of travelling to Paris, from Havre, to those who have more time at
their command than I had. It was given to me by a respectable gentleman,
and an old traveller.

                                               _Sols._
From Havre to Honfleur, by the passage-boat      10
From Honfleur to Pontaudemar, by land             3
From Pontaudemar to Labouille                     3
From Labouille to Rouen, by water                12
From Rouen to Rolleboise, by land                 6
From Rolleboise to Pontoise, by water            30
From Pontoise to Paris, by land                  30

This progress, however, is tedious and uncertain.

At day-break we seated ourselves in the diligence. All the carriages of
this description have the appearance of being the result of the earliest
efforts in the art of coach building. A more uncouth clumsy machine can
scarcely be imagined. In the front is a cabriolet fixed to the body of
the coach, for the accommodation of three passengers, who are protected
from the rain above, by the projecting roof of the coach, and in front
by two heavy curtains of leather, well oiled, and smelling somewhat
offensively, fastened to the roof. The inside, which is capacious, and
lofty, and will hold six people with great comfort, is lined with
leather padded, and surrounded with little pockets, in which the
travellers deposit their bread, snuff, night caps, and pocket
handkerchiefs, which generally enjoy each others company in the same
delicate depositary. From the roof depends a large net work, which is
generally crouded with hats, swords, and band boxes, the whole is
convenient, and when all parties are seated and arranged, the
accommodations are by no means unpleasant.

Upon the roof, on the outside, is the imperial, which is generally
filled with six or seven persons more, and a heap of luggage, which
latter also occupies the basket, and generally presents a pile, half as
high again as the coach, which is secured by ropes and chains, tightened
by a large iron windlass, which also constitutes another appendage of
this moving mass. The body of the carriage rests upon large thongs of
leather, fastened to heavy blocks of wood, instead of springs, and the
whole is drawn by seven horses. The three first are fastened to the
cross bar, the rest are in pairs, all in rope harness and tackling. The
near horse of the three first, is mounted by the postilion, in his great
jack boots, which are always placed, with much ceremony, like two tubs,
on the right side of his Rosinante, just before he ascends. These
curious protectors of his legs, are composed of wood, and iron hoops,
softened within by stuffing, and give him all the dignity of riding in a
pair of upright portmanteaus. With a long lash whip in his hand, a
dirty night cap and an old cocked hat upon his head, hallooing
alternately "à gauche, à droit," and a few occasional sacre dieus, which
seem always properly applied, and perfectly understood, the merry
postilion drives along his cattle. I must not fail to do justice to the
scientific skill with which he manages on horseback, his long and heavy
coach whip; with this commanding instrument, he can reanimate by a
touch, each halting muscle of his lagging animals, can cut off an
annoying fly, and with the loud cracking of its thong, he announces,
upon his entrance into a town, the approach of his heavy, and clattering
cavalcade. Each of these diligences is provided with a conducteur, who
rides upon the imperial, and is responsible throughout the journey, for
the comfort of the passengers and safety of the luggage. For his trouble
the passenger pays him only thirty sols for himself, and fifteen more
for the different postillions, to be divided amongst them, for these the
donor is thanked with a low bow, and many "bien obligés," in the name of
himself and his contented comrades.

Our companions proved to be some of our old friends the emigrants, who
had thrown aside their marine dishabille, and displayed the appearance
of gentlemen. We were much pleased with again meeting each other. Their
conversation upon the road was very interesting, it was filled with
sincere regret for the afflictions of their country, and with
expressions of love and gratitude towards the english. They told us many
little tales of politeness, and humanity which they had received from my
countrymen in the various towns, where their destiny had placed them.
One displayed, with amiable pride, a snuff box, which he had received as
a parting token of esteem, another a pocket book, and each was the
bearer of some little affectionate proof of merit, good conduct, or
friendship.

One of these gentlemen, the abbè de l'H----, whose face was full of
expression, tinctured with much grief, and attendant indisposition, with
a manner, and in a tone, which were truly affecting, concluded a little
narrative of some kindness which he had received, by saying, "if the
english and my country are not friends, it shall not be for want of my
prayers. I fled from France without tears, for the preservation of my
life, but when I left England, I confess it, I could not help shedding
some." They did not disgrace the generous abbè--such a nation was worthy
of such feelings.

Our horses were of the norman breed, small, stout, short, and full of
spirit, and to the honour of those who have the care of them, in
excellent condition. I was surprised to see these little animals running
away with our cumbrous machine, at the rate of six or seven miles an
hour.

We traced the desolating hand of the revolution as soon as we ascended
the first hill.

Our road lay through a charming country. Upon the sides of its
acclivities, surrounded by the most romantic scenery of woods and corn
fields, we saw ruined convents, and roofless village churches, through
the shattered casements of which the wind had free admission.

We breakfasted at a neat town called Bolbec, seven leagues from Havre,
where we had excellent coffee, butter, and rolls. All the household of
our inn looked clean, happy, and sprightly.

This is the principal town of the province of Caux, the women of which
dress their heads in a very peculiar, and in my humble opinion,
unbecoming manner. I made a hasty sketch of one of them who entered the
yard of the inn with apples for sale.

[Illustration: _A Woman of the province of Caux in Normandy._]

Such a promontory of cap and lace I never before beheld. She had been at
a village marriage that morning, and was bedecked in all her finery. The
people of this province are industrious and rich, and consequently
respectable. At the theatre at Rouen I afterwards saw, in one of the
front boxes, a lady from this country, dressed after its fashion; the
effect was so singular that it immediately induced me to distinguish
her, from the rest of the audience, but her appearance seemed to excite
no curiosity with any other person. Our breakfast cost us each fifteen
sous, to which may be added two sols more, for the maids, who waited
upon us with cheerful smiles, and habited in the full cushvois costume,
and which also entitled us to kisses and curtsies. I beg leave to oppose
our breakfast charge to the rumours which prevailed in England, that
this part of France was then in a state of famine. From this town, the
road was beautifully lined with beech, chesnut, and apple trees. The
rich yellow of the rape seed which overspread the surface of many of the
fields on each side, was very animating to the eye. From this vegetable
the country people express oil, and of the pulp of it make cakes, which
the norman horses will fatten upon. We had an early dinner at Ivetot,
five leagues distant from Bolbec. In ancient periods this miserable town
was once the capital of a separate kingdom. In our dining room were
three beds, or rather we dined in the bed room. I use the former
expression out of compliment to the pride of our little host, who
replied with some loftiness to one of our companions, who, upon entering
the room, and seeing so many accommodations for repose, exclaimed, with
the sharpness of appetite, "my good host, we want to eat, and not to
sleep;" "gentlemen," said our mortified little maitre d'hôtel, "this
chamber is the dining room, and it is thought a very good one." From its
appearance I should have believed him, had he sworn that it was the
state room of the palace of this ancient principality, of which this
wretched town was once the capital. It reminded me of an anecdote
related by an ancient english lady of fashion, when she first paid her
respects to James I, soon after his accession to the crown of England.
She mentions in her memoir, that his royal drawing room was so very
dirty, that after the levee she was obliged to recur to her comb for
relief. In plain truth, James I and his court were lousy.

Our master of the house was both cook and waiter. At dinner, amongst
several other dishes, we had some stewed beef, I requested to be
favoured with a little mustard, our host very solemnly replied, "I am
very sorry, citizen, but I have none, if you had been fortunate enough
to have been here about three weeks since, you might have had some." It
was more than I wished, so I ate my beef very contentedly without it.
With our desert we had a species of cake called brioche, composed of
egg, flour, and water; it is in high estimation in France.

It was in this town _only_ that I saw a specimen of that forlorn
wretchedness and importunity, which have been said to constitute the
general nuisance of this country.

In the shop of a brazier here, was exposed, a new leaden crucifix, about
two feet and a half high, for sale; it had been cast preparatory to the
reinauguration of the archbishop of Rouen, which was to take place upon
the next Sunday week, in the great cathedral of that city.

In consequence of the restoration of religion, the beggars, who have in
general considerable cleverness, and know how to turn new circumstances
to advantage, had just learnt a fresh mode of soliciting money, by
repeating the Lord's Prayer in French and Latin. We were treated with
this sort of importunate piety for near a mile, after we left Ivetot.

I have before mentioned, that the barbarous jargon of the revolution is
rapidly passing away. It is only here and there, that its slimy track
remains. The time is not very distant when Frenchmen wished to be known
by the name of Jacobins; it is now become an appellation of reproach,
even amongst the surviving aborigines of the revolution. As an instance
of it, a naval officer of rank and intelligence, who joined us at
Ivetot, informed us, that he had occasion, upon some matters of
business, to meet Santerre a few days before; that inhuman and vulgar
revolutionist, who commanded the national guards when they surrounded
the scaffold during the execution of their monarch. In the course of
their conversation, Santerre, speaking of a third person, exclaimed, "I
cannot bear that man; he is a Jacobin." Let all true revolutionary
republicans cry out, Bravo! at this.

This miscreant lives unnoticed, in a little village near Paris, upon a
slender income, which he has made in trade, not in the _trade of blood_;
for it appears that Robespierre was not a very liberal patron of his
servants. He kept his blood-hounds lean, and keen, and poorly fed them
with the rankest offal.

After a dusty journey, through a very rich and picturesque country, of
near eighty miles, we entered the beautiful boulevards[3] of Rouen,
about seven o'clock in the evening, which embowered us from the sun.
Their shade was delicious. I think them finer than those of Paris. The
noble elms, which compose them in four stately rows, are all nearly of
the same height. Judge of my surprise--Upon our rapidly turning the
corner of a street, as we entered the city, I suddenly found coach,
horses and all, in the aisle of an ancient catholic church. The gates
were closed upon us, and in a moment from the busy buzzing of the
streets, we were translated into the silence of shattered tombs, and the
gloom of cloisters: the only light which shone upon us, issued through
fragments of stained glass, and the apertures which were formerly filled
with it.

[3] Environs of a town, planted with stately trees.

My surprise, however, was soon quieted, by being informed, that this
church, having devolved to the nation as its property, by force of a
revolutionary decree, had been afterwards sold for stables, to one of
the owners of the Rouen diligences.

An old unsaleable cabriolet occupied the place of the altar; and the
horses were very quietly eating their oats in the sacristy!!

At the Bureau, we paid twelve livres and a half for our places and
luggage from Havre to this town.

[Illustration: _Rouen, from Mount St. Catherine._]




CHAPTER V.

     _A female french fib.--Military and Civil Procession.--Madame
     G.--The Review.--Mons. l'Abbé.--Bridge of Boats.--The
     Quay.--Exchange.--Theatre.--Rouen.--Cathedral.--St. Ouens.--Prince
     of Waldec.--Maid of Orleans._


Having collected together all our luggage, and seen it safely lodged in
a porter's wheelbarrow, Captain C. and I bade adieu to our fellow
travellers, and to these solemn and unsuitable habitations of ostlers
and horses, and proceeded through several narrow streets, lined with
lofty houses, the shops of which were all open, and the shopkeepers,
chiefly women, looked respectable and sprightly, with gay bouquets in
their bosoms, to the Hôtel de l'Europe; it is a fine inn, to which we
had been recommended at Havre, kept by Madame F----, who, with much
politeness, and many captivating movements, dressed à-la-Grec, with
immense golden earrings, approached us, and gave us a little piece of
information, not very pleasant to travellers somewhat discoloured by the
dust of a long and sultry day's journey, who wanted comfortable rooms,
fresh linen, a little coffee, and a good night's repose: her information
was, that her house was completely full, but that she would send to an
upholsterer to fit up two beds for us, in a very neat room, which she
had just papered and furnished, opposite to the porter's lodge (all the
great inns and respectable townhouses in France have great gates, and a
porter's lodge, at the entrance.) As we wished to have three rooms, we
told her, we were friends of Messrs. G----, (the principal merchants of
Rouen). She said, they were very amiable men, and were pleased to _send
all their friends to her house_ (a little french fib of Madame F----'s,
by the by, as will appear hereafter); and she was truly sorry that she
could not accommodate us better. We looked into the room, which also
looked into the street, was exposed to all its noise, and very small. So
we made our bows to Madame F----, and proceeded with our wheelbarrow to
the Hôtel de Poitiers--a rival house. It is situated in the beautiful
boulevards, which I have mentioned, and is part of a row of fine
stonebuilt houses. Upon our ringing the bell, Madame P---- presented
herself. We told her, we were just arrived at Rouen, that we had the
honour of being known to Messrs. G----, and should be happy to be placed
under her roof, and wished to have two lodging rooms and a sitting room
to ourselves. Madame P----, who possessed that sort of good and generous
heart, which nature, for its better preservation, had lodged in a
comfortable envelope of comely plumpness, observed, that Messrs. G----
were gentlemen of great respectability, were her patrons, and always
_sent their_ friends to _her_ house (a point upon which these rival
dames were at issue, but the truth was with Madame P----); that she
would do all in her power to make us happy; but at present, on account
of her house being very crowded, she could only offer us two bedrooms.
We were too tired to think of any further peregrinations of discovery;
so we entered our bed-rooms, which, like most of the chambers in France,
had brick floors without any carpetting; they were, however, clean;
and, after ordering a good fire in one of them (for the sudden and
unusual frost, which, in the beginning of summer, committed so much
ravage throughout Europe, commenced the day we had first the honour of
seeing Madame P----); and, after enjoying those comforts which weary
wanderers require, we mounted our lofty beds, and went to rest.

The next day we presented our letter, and ourselves, to Madame G----,
the amiable mother of the gentlemen I have mentioned. She received us
with great politeness, and immediately arranged a dinner party for us,
for that day. It being rather early in the morning, we were admitted
into her chamber, a common custom of receiving early visits in France.

About eleven o'clock we saw a splendid procession of all the military
and civil authorities to the hôtel[4] of the prefect, which was opposite
to our inn.

[4] Hôtel, in France, means either an inn, or private house of
consequence.

The object of this cavalcade was to congratulate the archbishop of Rouen
(who was then upon a visit to the prefect, until his own palace was
ready to receive him) on his elevation to the see.

This spectacle displayed the interference of God, in thus making the
former enemies of his worship pay homage to his ministers, after a long
reign of atheism and persecution.

About twelve o'clock, which is the hour of parade throughout the
republic, we went to the Champ de Mars, and saw a review of the 20th
regiment of chasseurs, under the command of generals St. Hiliare and
Ruffin, who, as well as the regiment, had particularly distinguished
themselves at Marengo.

The men were richly appointed, and in general well mounted. They all
wore mustachios. They were just arrived from Amiens, where, as a mark of
honour, they had been quartered during the negotiation.

The officers were superbly attired. St. Hiliare is a young man, and in
person much resembles his patron and friend, the first consul; and, they
say, in abilities also.

Some of the horses were of a dissimilar size and colour, which had a bad
effect; but I was informed, upon making the remark, that they had lost
many in battle, and had not had time properly to replace them. They were
all strong and fiery, and went through their evolutions with surprising
swiftness.

At dinner our party was very agreeable. Next to me sat a little abbè,
who appeared to be in years, but full of vivacity, and seemed to be much
esteemed by every person present. During the _time of terrour_ (as the
French emphatically call the gloomy reign of Robespierre) the blood of
this good man, who, from his wealth, piety, and munificence, possessed
considerable influence in Rouen, was sought after with keen pursuit.
Madame G---- was the saviour of his life, by concealing him, previous to
her own imprisonment, for two years, in different cellars, under her
house, which she rendered as warm and as comfortable as circumstances,
and the nature of the concealment, would allow. In one of these cells of
humane secresy, this worthy man has often eaten his solitary and
agitated meal, whilst the soldiers of the tyrant, who were quartered
upon his protectress, were carousing in the kitchen immediately above
him.

Soon after our coffee, which, in this country, immediately succeeds the
dinner, we went to view the bridge of boats, so celebrated in history.
This curious structure was contrived by an augustine friar named Michael
Bougeois, it is composed of timber, regularly paved, in squares which
contain the stories, and is 1000[5] feet in length; it commences from
the middle of the quay of Rouen, and reaches over to the Fauxbourg of
St. Sever, and carries on the communication with the country which lies
south of the city. It was begun in the year 1626, below it are the ruins
of the fine bridge of 13 arches, built by the empress Maud, daughter of
Henry I of England. This ingenious fabric rests upon 19 immense barges,
which rise and fall with the flowing and subsiding of the tide. When
vessels have occasion to pass it, a portion of the platform sufficient
to admit their passage is raised, and rolled over the other part. In the
winter, when any danger is apprehended from the large flakes of ice,
which float down the river, the whole is taken to pieces in an hour. The
expense of keeping it in repair is estimated at 10000 livres, or 400
pounds sterling per annum, and is defrayed by government, it being the
highroad to Picardy. Upon the whole, although this bridge is so much
admired, I must confess it appeared to me a heavy performance,
unsuitable to the wealth, and splendour of the city of Rouen, and below
the taste and ingenuity of modern times. A handsome light stone
structure, with a centre arch covered with a drawbridge, for the passage
of vessels of considerable burden, or a lofty flying iron bridge, would
be less expensive, more safe, and much more ornamental.

[5] The french feet are to the english as 1068 to 1000.

The view from this bridge up the Seine, upon the islands below mount St.
Catharine, is quite enchanting. Upon the quay, although it was Sunday, a
vast number of people were dancing, drinking, and attending shows and
lotteries. Here were people of various nations, parading up and down in
the habits and dresses of their respective countries, which produced
quite the effect of a masquerade. The river Seine is so deep at this
place, that ships of three hundred tons burden are moored close to the
quay, and make a very fine appearance. The exchange for the merchants is
parallel with the centre of the quay, and is a long paved building of
about 400 feet in length, open at top, having a handsome iron
balustrade, and seats towards the Seine, and a high stone wall towards
the town. Over all the great gates of the city, is written, in large
characters, "Liberty, Equality, Humanity, Fraternity or Death:" the last
two words have been painted over, but are still faintly legible.

In the evening we went to the french opera, which was very crowded. The
boxes were adorned with genteel people, and many beautiful young women.
The theatre is very large, elegant, and handsome, and the players were
good. I was struck with the ridiculous antics, and gestures of the chef
in the orchestra, a man whose office it is to beat time to the
musicians. In the municipality box which was in the centre, lined with
green silk, and gold, were two fine young women who appeared to be
ladies of fashion, and consequence; they were dressed after the antique,
in an attire which, for lightness, and scantiness I never saw equalled,
till I saw it surpassed at Paris. They appeared to be clothed only in
jewels, and a little muslin, very gracefully disposed, the latter, to
borrow a beautiful expression, had the appearance of "woven air."--From
emotions of gratitude, for the captivating display which they made, I
could not help offering a few fervent wishes, that the light of the next
day might find them preserved from the dreaded consequences of a very
bitter cold night.

Rouen, upon the whole, is a fine city, very large, and populous. It was
formerly the capital of the kingdom of Normandy. It stands upon a plain,
screened on three sides, by high, and picturesque mountains. It is near
two leagues in compass, exclusive of the fauxbourgs of St. Severs,
Cauchoise, Bouveul, St. Hiliare, Martainville and Beauvisme. Its
commerce was very celebrated, and is returning with great rapidity. Most
of the fine buildings in this city, and its environs are Anglo-Norman
antiquities, and were founded by the English before they left Normandy.

The cathedral is a grand, and awful pile of gothic architecture, built
by our William the Conqueror. It has two towers, one of which, is
surmounted by a wooden spire covered with lead, and is of the prodigious
height of 395 french feet, the other is 236 feet high.

The additional wooden spire, and the inequality of the towers produce
rather an unfavourable effect. During the revolution, this august
edifice was converted into a sulphur and gunpowder manufactory, by which
impious prostitution, the pillars are defaced, and broken, and the whole
is blackened, and dingy.

The costly cenotaphs of white marble, enriched with valuable ornaments
containing the hearts of our Henry III, and Richard I, kings of England,
and dukes of Normandy, which were formerly placed on each side of the
grand altarpiece, were removed during the revolution.

The altarpiece is very fine. Grand preparations were making for the
inauguration of the archbishop, which was to take place the following
Sunday. There were not many people at mass; those who were present,
appeared to be chiefly composed of old women, and young children. Over
the charity box fastened to one of the pillars was a board upon which
was written in large letters "Hospices reconnoissance et prospérité à
l'homme généreux et sensible." I saw few people affected by this
benedictory appeal. I next visited the church of St. Ouens, which is not
so large as the cathedral, but surpasses that, and every other sacred
edifice I ever beheld, in point of elegance. This graceful pile, has
also had its share of sufferings, during the reign of revolutionary
barbarism. Its chaste, and elegant pillars, have been violated by the
smoke of sulphur and wood; and in many places, present to the distressed
eye, chasms, produced by massy forges, which were erected against them,
for casting ball. The costly railing of brass, gilt, which half
surrounded the altar, has been torn up, and melted into cannon. The
large circular stained window over the entrance called La Rose du
Portail is very beautiful, and wholly unimpaired. The organs in all the
churches are broken and useless. They experienced this fate, in
consequence of their having been considered as fanatical instruments
during the time of terrour. The fine organ of St. Ouens is in this
predicament, and will require much cost to repair it[6].

[6] The ornaments of the churches of England experienced a similar fate
from the commissioners of the Long Parliament, in 1643.

I cannot help admiring the good sense which in all the churches of
France is displayed, by placing the organ upon a gallery over the grand
entrance, by which the spectator has an uninterrupted view, and commands
the whole length of the interior building. In the English cathedrals, it
is always placed midway between the choir and church, by which, this
desired effect is lost.--St. Ouens is now open for worship.

In spite of all the devastations of atheistic Vandalism, this exquisite
building, like the holy cause to which it is consecrated, having
withstood the assailing storm, and elevating its meek, but magnificent
head above its enemies, is mildly ready to receive them into her bosom,
still disfigured with the traces of blind and barbarous ferocity.

Behind the altar, I met the celebrated prince of Waldec. He, who
possessed of royal honours, and ample domains, revolted in the day of
battle, from his imperial master, and joined the victorious and pursuing
foe. I beheld him in a shaded corner of one of the cloisters of St.
Ouens, in poor attire, with an old umbrella under his arm, scantily
provided for, and scarcely noticed by his _new_ friends. A melancholy,
but just example of the rewards due to treachery and desertion.

I have described these churches only generally, it cannot be expected of
me to enter into an elaborate history of them, or of any other public
edifices. The detail, if attempted, might prove dull, and is altogether
incompatible with the limited time, and nature of my excursion.

After we left St. Ouens, we visited the Square aux Vaux, where the
celebrated heroine of Lorrain, Joan d'Arc, commonly called the Maid of
Orleans was cruelly burnt at the stake, for a pretended sorceress, but
in fact to gratify the barbarous revenge of the duke of Bedford, the
then regent of France; because after signal successes, she conducted her
sovereign, Charles, in safety, to Rheims, where he was crowned, and
obtained decisive victories over the English arms. We here saw the
statue erected by the French, to the memory of this remarkable woman,
which as an object of sculpture seems to possess very little worthy of
notice.




CHAPTER VI.

     _First Consul's Advertisement.--Something
     ridiculous.--Eggs.--Criminal Military Tribunal.--French Female
     Confidence.--Town House.--Convent of
     Jesuits.--Guillotine.--Governor W----._


Upon looking up against the corner wall of a street, surrounded by
particoloured advertisements of quack medicines, wonderful cures, new
invented essences, judgments of cassation, rewards for robbers, and
bills of the opera, I beheld Bonaparte's address to the people of
France, to elect him first consul for life. I took it for granted that
the spanish proverb of "tell me with whom you are, and I will tell you
what you are," was not to be applied in this instance, on account of the
company in which the _Consular application_, by a mere fortuitous
coincidence, happened to be placed.

A circumstance occurred at this time, respecting this election, which
was rather ridiculous, and excited considerable mirth at Paris. Upon the
first appearance of the election book of the first consul, in one of the
departments, some wag, instead of subscribing his name, immediately
under the title of the page, "shall Napoleone Bonaparte be first consul
for life?" wrote the following words, "I can't tell."

This trifling affair affords rather a favourable impression of the
mildness of that government, which could inspire sufficient confidence
to hazard such a stroke of pleasantry. It reached Mal Maison with great
speed, but is said to have occasioned no other sensation there, than a
little merriment. Carnot's bold negative was a little talked of, but as
it was solitary, it was considered harmless. To the love of finery which
the french still retain to a certain degree, I could alone attribute the
gay appearance of the eggs in the market, upon which had been bestowed a
very smart stain of lilac colour. The effect was so singular that I
could not help noting it down.

On the third day after our arrival in this city, we attended the trial
of a man who belonged to one of the banditti which infest the country
round this city. The court was held in the hall of the ancient
parliament house, and was composed of three civil judges (one of whom
presided) three military judges, and two citizens. The arrangements of
the court, which was crowded, were excellent, and afforded uninterrupted
accommodations to all its members, by separate doors and passages
allotted to each, and also to the people, who were permitted to occupy
the large area in front, which gradually rose from the last seats of the
persons belonging to the court, and enabled every spectator to have a
perfect view of the whole. Appropriate moral mottoes were inscribed in
characters of gold, upon the walls. The judges wore long laced bands,
and robes of black, lined with light blue silk, with scarfs of blue and
silver fringe, and sat upon an elevated semicircular bench, raised upon
a flight of steps, placed in a large alcove, lined with tapestry. The
secretaries, and subordinate officers were seated below them. On the
left the prisoner was placed, without irons, in the custody of two
gendarmes, formerly called maréchaussées, who had their long swords
drawn. These soldiers have a very military appearance, and are a fine,
and valuable body of men. I fear the respectable impression which I
would wish to convey of them will suffer, when I inform my reader, that
they are servants of the police, and answer to our Bow-street runners.
The swiftness with which they pursue, and apprehend offenders, is
surprising. We were received with politeness, and conducted to a
convenient place for hearing, and seeing all that passed. The accusateur
general who sat on the left, wore a costume similar to that of the
judges, without the scarf. He opened the trial by relating the
circumstances, and declaiming upon the enormity of the offence, by which
it appeared that the prisoner stood charged with robbery, accompanied
with breach of hospitality; which, in that country, be the amount of the
plunder ever so trifling, is at present capital. The address of the
public accuser was very florid, and vehement, and attended by violent
gestures, occasionally graceful. The pleaders of Normandy are considered
as the most eloquent men in France, I have heard several of them, but
they appear to me, to be too impassioned. Their motions in speaking
frequently look like madness. He ransacked his language to furnish
himself with reproachful epithets against the miserable wretch by the
side of him, who with his hands in his bosom appeared to listen to him,
with great sang froid. The witnesses who were kept separate, previous to
their giving their evidence, were numerous, and proved many robberies
against him, attended with aggravated breaches of hospitality. The court
entered into proofs of offences committed by the prisoner at different
times, and upon different persons. The women who gave their testimony,
exhibited a striking distinction between the timidity of english
females, confronting the many eyes of a crowded court of justice, and
the calm self possession with which the french ladies here delivered
their unperturbed testimony. The charges were clearly proved, and the
prisoner was called upon for his defence. Undismayed, and with all the
practised hardihood of an Old Bailey felon, he calmly declared, that he
purchased the pile of booty produced in the court, for sums of money,
the amount of which, he did not then know, of persons he could not name,
and in places which he did not remember. He had no advocate. The subject
was next resumed, and closed by the official orator who opened it. The
court retired, and the criminal was reconducted to the prison behind the
hall. After an absence of about twenty minutes, a bell rang to announce
the return of the judges, the prisoner entered now, escorted by a file
of national guards, to hear his fate. The court then resumed its
sitting. The president addressed the unhappy man, very briefly,
recapitulated his offences, and read the decree of the republic upon
them, by which he doomed him to lose his head at four o'clock that
afternoon.

It was then ten minutes past one!! The face of this wretched being
presented a fine subject for the pencil. His countenance was dark,
marked, and melancholy; over it was spread the sallow tint of long
imprisonment. His beard was unshorn, and he displayed an indifference to
his fate, which not a little surprised me. He immediately retired, and
upon his return to his cell, a priest was sent for to prepare him for
his doom. At present, in the provinces, all criminal offences are tried
before military tribunals, qualified, as I have described this to be, by
a mixture of civil judges and bourgeois.

It is one of the peculiar characteristics of such tribunals, to order
immediate punishment after conviction. In the present instance, the fate
of the offender was well known, for his crimes were many, and manifest,
and as the interval allowed by military courts between the sentence, and
its fulfilment, is so very short, the administrators of the law had
postponed his trial for five months from the period of his commitment,
for the purpose of affording him an indulgent procrastination. This
mode, although arising from merciful motives, is, I am aware, open to
objection; but it would be unfair to comment upon laws, which prevailed
in times of revolution, and are permitted only to operate, until the
fine fabric of french criminal jurisprudence, which is now constructing,
shall be presented to the people. To the honour of our country, and one
of the greatest ornaments of the british bar, the honourable T. Erskine,
in the year 1789, furnished the french, with some of these great
principles of criminal law, which it was impossible to perfect during
the long æra of convulsion, and instability which followed, and which
will constitute a considerable part of that great, and humane code,
which is about to be bestowed upon the nation, and which will, no doubt,
prove to be one of the greatest blessings, which human wisdom can confer
upon human weakness.

Its foundation is nearly similar to that of our own. The great and
enlightened genius whose name I have mentioned, has provided that the
contumacy of _one_ juryman shall not be able to force the opinion of the
rest.

After the court had broken up, I visited the town house, which, before
the revolution, was the monastery of the benedictines, who, from what
appeared of the remains of their establishment, must have been
magnificently lodged, and well deserved during their existence, to bear
the name of the blessed. The two grand staircases are very fine, and
there is a noble garden behind. Upon entering the vestibule of the
council chamber, formerly the refectory, I thought I was going behind
the scenes of a theatre. It was nearly filled with allegorical banners,
pasteboard and canvas arches of triumph, altars, emblems of liberty, and
despotism, and all the scenic decorations suitable to the frenzied
orgies of a republican fête. Thank God! they appeared to be tolerably
well covered with dust and cobwebs. At the end of this noble room,
seated upon a high pedestal, was the goddess of liberty, beautifully
executed in marble. "Look at that sanguinary prostitute," cried Mons.
G----, to me, pointing to the statue, "for years have we had liberty and
bloodshed, _thank Heaven!_ we are now no longer _free_." Upon which, he
wrote his name in the first consul's book, which was here lying open,
upon a table, for the purpose of receiving the suffrages of the
department.

The laconic irony, and manner of the speaker, afforded me a tolerably
good display of the nature of the blessings conferred upon the french,
by their late political philosophy.

From this place I proceeded to the ci-devant convent of the jesuits,
built by one of the munificent dukes de Bourbon. It is a magnificent
oblong stone building. In the centre of the court was a tree of liberty,
which, like almost all the other trees, dedicated to that goddess, which
I saw, looked blighted, and sickly. I mention it as a fact, without
alluding to any political sentiment whatever. It is a remark in frequent
use in France, that the caps of liberty are without heads, and the trees
of liberty without root. The poplar has been selected from all the other
trees of the forest, for this distinguished honour, from a whimsical
synonymy of its name with that of the people. In french, the poplar is
called peuplier, and the word peuple signifies people. This fine
building is now converted into an university of learning, and the fine
arts. From the number of the students, I should suppose the fashionable
fervour of study had not as yet reached Rouen.

The professor of philosophy, with great politeness sent a young man to
show me the museum of pictures, for which purpose the church of the
jesuits, is at present used. There are several paintings in it, the only
fine one, was a dying Jesus by Vandyke, which was exquisite. Upon my
expressing my admiration, a young student near me said "oui monsieur
c'est très jolie." This misapplied remark, from an easy and natural
combination of sound, could not fail of seeming a little singular as
applied to such a subject, but every thing that pleases in France is
très jolie. From this painting, I was, by importunity, led to view the
other parts of the collection, which were composed of large pictures, by
french masters; and so natural is local prejudice, every where, that I
was almost held down, before the works of the _best artists of Rouen_,
upon which, as I am at liberty _here_, I shall beg to make no comment.

In the students' room, below, were some paintings curious, and valuable
only, from their great antiquity, and a few good copies by the pupils. A
picture was pointed out to me as a very fine thing, the subject was a
fat little cherub, with a full flowing wig, fiddling to St. Francis, who
from his gloomy appearance seemed not to possess half the musical genius
of a dancing bear.

Upon my return through the market place, I beheld the miserable wretch,
at whose trial I was present in the morning, led out to execution. He
was seated upon the bottom of a cart, stripped above to his shirt, which
was folded back, his arms were pinioned close behind, and his hair was
closely cropped, to prevent the stroke of the fatal knife from being
impeded. A priest was seated in a chair beside him. As the object of my
excursion was to contemplate the manners of the people, I summoned
resolution to view this gloomy and painful spectacle, which seemed to
excite but little sensation in the market place, where its petty traffic
and concerns proceeded with their accustomed activity, and the women at
their stalls, which extended to the foot of the scaffold, appeared to be
impressed only with the solicitude of selling their vegetables to the
highest bidder. A small body of the national guards, and a few boys and
idlers surrounded the fatal spot. The guillotine, painted red, was
placed upon a scaffold, of about five feet high. As soon as the criminal
ascended the upper step which led to it he mounted, by the direction of
the executioner, a little board, like a shutter, raised upright to
receive him, to which he was strapped, turned down flat, and run into a
small ring of iron half opened and made to admit the neck, the top part
of which was then closed upon it, a black leather curtain was placed
before the head, from which a valve depended, which communicated to a
tub, placed under the scaffold to receive the blood, the executioner
then touched a long thin iron rod, connected with the top of the
instrument, and in a moment the axe descended, which was in the form of
a square, cut diagonally, heavily charged with lead. The executioner and
his assistants placed the body in a shell, half filled with saw dust,
which was almost completely stained over with the brown blood of former
executions; they then picked up the head, from a bag into which it had
fallen, within the curtain, and having placed it in the same gloomy
depository, lowered the whole down to the sextons, who covering it with
a pall bore it off to the place of burial.

The velocity of this mode of execution can alone recommend it. The pangs
of death are passed almost in the same moment, which presents to the
terrified eye of the sufferer the frightful apparatus of his disgraceful
dissolution. It is a dreary subject to discuss; but surely it is a
matter of deep regret, that in England, criminals doomed to die, from
the uncertain and lingering nature of their annihilation, are seen
writhing in the convulsions of death during a period dreadful to think
of. It is said, that at the late memorable execution of an african
governor for murder, the miserable delinquent was beheld for _fifteen
minutes_ struggling with the torments of his untimely fate! The
guillotine is far preferable to the savage mode, formerly used in
France, of breaking the criminal upon the wheel, and leaving him
afterwards to perish in the most poignant agonies.

As I have alluded to the fate of governor W----, I will conclude this
chapter by relating an anecdote of the terror and infatuation of guilt,
displayed in the conduct of this wretched man, in the _presence_ of a
friend of mine, from whom I received it--A few years before he suffered,
fatigued with life, and pursued by poverty, and the frightful
remembrance of his offences, then almost forgotten by the world, he left
the south of France for Calais, with an intention of passing over to
England, to offer himself up to its laws, not without the cherished hope
that a lapse of twenty years had swept away all evidence of his guilt.

At the time of his arrival at this port town, the hotel in which Madame
H---- was waiting for a packet to Dover was very crowded--the landlord
requested of her, that she would be pleased to permit two gentlemen, who
were going to England, to take some refreshment in her room; these
persons proved to be the unfortunate Brooks, a king's messenger, charged
with important dispatches to his court, and governor W----. The latter
was dressed like a decayed gentleman, and bore about him all the
indications of his extreme condition. They had not been seated at the
table long, before the latter informed the former, with evident marks of
perturbation, that his name was W----, that having been charged in
England with offences, which, if true, subjected him to heavy
punishment, he was anxious to place himself at the disposal of its laws,
and requested of him, as he was an english messenger, that he would
consider him as his prisoner, and take charge of him.

The messenger, who was much surprised by the application told him, that
he could not upon such a representation take him into custody, unless he
had an order from the duke of Portland's office to that effect, and that
in order to obtain it, it would be proper for him to write his name,
that it might be compared with his hand writing in the office of the
secretary at war, which he offered to carry over with him. Governor
W---- still pressed him to take him into custody, the messenger more
strongly declined it, by informing him that he was the bearer of
dispatches of great importance to his court, that he must immediately
cross the Channel, and should hazard a passage, although the weather
looked lowering, in an open boat, as no packets had arrived, and that
consequently it was altogether impossible to take him over, but again
requested him to write his name, for the purpose already mentioned; the
governor consented, pens and paper were brought, but the hand of the
murderer shook so dreadfully, that he could _not write it_, and in an
agony of mind, bordering upon frenzy, he rushed out of the room, and
immediately left the town.

The messenger entered the boat, and set sail; a storm quickly followed,
_the boat sunk in sight of the pier_, and all on board but one of the
watermen, perished!!!

The great disposer of human destiny, in vindication of his eternal
justice, rescued the life of this infatuated delinquent from the waves,
and from a sudden death, to resign him to the public and merited doom of
the laws.




CHAPTER VII.

     _Filial Piety.--St. Catharine's Mount.--Madame Phillope.--General
     Ruffin's Trumpet.--Generosity.--Love Infectious.--Masons and
     Gardeners._


I have before had occasion to mention the humane conduct of Madame G----
towards the persecuted abbè; she soon afterwards, with the principal
ladies of the city, fell under the displeasure of Robespierre, and his
agents. Their only crime was wealth, honourably acquired. A committee,
composed of the most worthless people of Rouen, was formed, who, in the
name of, and for the use of the nation, seized upon the valuable stock
of Messrs. G----, who were natives of France. In one night, by
torchlight, their extensive warehouses were sacked, and all their stores
were forcibly sold in the public marketplace to the best bidder: the
plundered merchants were paid the amount of the sale in assignats, in a
paper currency which then bore an enormous discount, and shortly
afterwards retained only the value of the paper upon which the national
note was written. In short, in a few hours an honourable family, nobly
allied, were despoiled of property to the amount of 25,000_l._ sterling.
Other merchants shared the same fate. This act of robbery was followed
by an act of cruelty. Madame G----, the mother, who was born in England,
and who married a French gentleman of large fortune, whom she survived,
of a delicate frame and advanced in years, was committed to prison,
where, with many other female sufferers, she was closely confined for
eleven months, during which time she was compelled to endure all sorts
of privations. After the committee of rapine had settled their black
account, and had remitted the guilty balance to their employers, the
latter, in a letter of "friendly collusion, and fraudulent familiarity,"
after passing a few revolutionary jokes upon what had occurred, observed
that the G----s seemed to bleed very freely, and that as it was likely
they must have credit with many persons to a large amount, directed
their obedient and active banditti to order these devoted gentlemen to
draw, and to deliver to them, their draughts upon all such persons who
stood indebted to their extensive concern. In the words of a celebrated
orator[7], "Though they had shaken the tree till nothing remained upon
the leafless branches, yet a new flight was on the wing, to watch the
first buddings of its prosperity, and to nip every hope of future
foliage and fruit."

[7] Vide Sheridan's oration against Hastings upon the Begum charge.

The G----s expected this visit, and, by an ingenious, and justified
expedient, prevented their perdition from becoming decisive.

Soon after the gates of the prison were closed upon Madame G----, her
eldest son, a man of commanding person, and eloquent address, in
defiance of every friendly, and of every affectionate entreaty, flew to
Paris.

It was in the evening of the last winter which beheld its snows
crimsoned with revolutionary carnage, when he presented himself,
undismayed, before that committee, whose horrible nature will be better
described by merely relating the names of its members, then sitting,
than by the most animated and elaborate delineations of all its deadly
deeds of rapine and of blood. At a table, covered with green cloth,
shabbily lighted, in one of the committee rooms of the national
assembly, were seated Robespierre, Collot d'Herbois, Carnot, and David.
They were occupied in filling up the lists for the _permanent_
guillotine, erected very near them, in la Place de la Revolution, which
the executioners were then clearing of its gore, and preparing for the
next day's butchery. In this devoted capital more blood had, during that
day, streamed upon the scaffold, than on any one day during the
revolution.

The terrified inhabitants, in darkness, in remote recesses of their
desolate houses, were silently offering up a prayer to the great God of
Mercy to release them, in a way most suitable to his wisdom, from such
scenes of deep dismay, and remorseless slaughter.

Robespierre, as usual, was dressed with great neatness and gayety; the
_savage_ was generally _scented_, whilst his associates were habited, en
Jacobin, in the squalid, filthy fashion of that era of the revolution,
in the dress of blackguards.

Mr. G---- bowed, and addressed them very respectfully. "I am come,
citizens, before you," said this amiable son, "to implore the release of
my mother; she is pining in the prison of Rouen, without having
committed any offence; she is in years; and if her confinement
continues, her children whose fortunes have been placed at the disposal
of the national exigencies, will have to lament her death; grant the
prayer of her son, restore, I conjure you, by all the rights of nature,
restore her to her afflicted family." Robespierre looked obliquely at
him, and with his accustomed sharpness, interrupted him from proceeding
further, by exclaiming, "what right have _you_ to appear before us,
miscreant? you are an agent of Pitt and Cobourg (the then common phrase
of reproach) you shall be sent to the guillotine--Why are you not at the
frontiers?" Monsieur G----, unappalled, replied, "give me my mother, and
I will be there to morrow, I am ready instantly to spill my blood, if it
must be the price of _her_ discharge." Robespierre, whose savage soul
was occasionally moved by sights of heroic virtue, seemed impressed by
this brave and unusual address. He paused, and after whispering a few
words to his associates, wrote the discharge, and handing it over to a
soldier, for the successful petitioner, he fiercely told him to retire.

Mr. G---- instantly set out for Rouen, where, after a long, and severe
journey, he arrived, exhausted with fatigue, and agitation of mind;
without refreshment, this excellent man flew to the gates of the prison,
which contained his mother, and presented the discharge to the gaoler,
who drily, with a brutal grin, informed him, that a trick had been
played off upon him, that he had just received a counter order, which he
held in his hand, and refused to release her!!!

It turned out, that immediately after Mr. G---- had left the committee
room, the relenting disposition, which he had momentarily awakened in
the barbarous breast of Robespierre, had subsided.

The generous sentiment was of a short, and sickly growth, and withered
under the gloomy, fatal shade of his sanguinary nature. A chasseur had
been dispatched with the counterorder, who passed the exulting, but
deluded G---- on the road.

A short time after this, and a few days before Madame G----, and
her unhappy companions were to have perished on the scaffold, the
gates of their prison flew open, the world was released from a
monster--Robespierre was no more.

This interesting recital I received from one of the amiable sufferers,
in our way to St. Catharine's Mount. The story afforded a melancholy
contrast to the rich and cheerful scenes about us.

From the attic story of a lofty house, built under this celebrated
cliff, we ascended that part of it, which, upon the road to Paris, is
only accessible in this manner. When we reached the top, the prospect
was indeed superb; on one side we traced for miles, the romantic
meanders of the Seine, every where forming little islands of poplars;
before us, melting away in the horizon, were the blue mountains of Lower
Normandy; at their feet, a variegated display of meadows, forests, corn
fields, and vineyards; immediately below us, the city of Rouen, and its
beautiful suburbs. This delicious, and expanded prospect, we enjoyed
upon a seat erected near a little oratory, which is built upon the top
of the mountain, resting, at one end, upon the pedestal of a cross,
which, in the times of the revolution, had been shattered and
overturned.

From this place, before dinner, we proceeded to la Montagne; a wild and
hilly country, lying opposite to St. Catharine's. Here we were overtaken
by a storm, upon which, a curé, who had observed us from his little
cottage, not far distant, and who had been very lately reinstated in the
cure of the church, in the neighbouring village, came out to us, with an
umbrella, and invited us to dinner. Upon our return to our inn, to
dress, we were annoyed by a nuisance which had before frequently
assailed us. I knew a man, who in a moment of ill humour, vented rather
a revengeful wish that the next neighbour of his enemy might have a
child, who was fond of a _whistle_ and a _drum_! A more insufferable
nuisance was destined for us; the person who lodged in the next room to
mine, was a beginner (and a dull one too) upon the _trumpet_. It was
general Ruffin, whom I have mentioned before, forcing from this brazen
tube, sounds which certainly would have set a kennel of hounds in a cry
of agony, and were almost calculated to disturb the repose of the dead.
General Ruffin, in all other respects, was a very polite, and indeed a
very _quiet_ young man, and a brave warrior; but in the display of his
passion for music, I fear he mistook either his talent or his
instrument. At one time we thought of inviting him to dine with us, that
we might have a little respite, but after debating the matter well over,
we conceived that to entertain an italian hero, as he ought to be
received by those who admire valour even in an enemy, was purchasing
silence at a very advanced price, so we submitted to the evil with that
resignation which generally follows the incurable absence of a remedy.
We now addressed ourselves to Madame P----, to know how long the general
had learned the trumpet, and whether his leisure hours were generally
occupied in this way. Madame P. was, strange to tell, not very able to
afford us much information upon the subject. She was under the influence
of love. The natural tranquillity of her disposition, was improved by
the prospect of connubial happiness, which, although a widow, and
touching the frontier of her eight and thirtieth year, she shortly
expected to receive from the son of a neighbouring architect, who was
then a minor. In this blissful frame of mind, our fair hostess scarcely
knew when the trumpet of general R---- sounded. Her soul was in harmony
with all the world, and it was not in the power of the demon of discord,
nor even of this annoying brazen tube, to disturb her. Madame P---- well
deserved to be blessed with such equanimity, and if _she_ liked it, with
such a lover, for she was a generous and good creature.

A gentleman to whom I was afterwards introduced, when the revolution
began to grow hot, fled with his lady and his children into a foreign
country, where, upon the relics of a shattered fortune he remained,
until things wore a better aspect, and enabled him, with a prospect of
safety, to return to his native country. In better times, upon his
annual visits to a noble chateau, and large estates which he once
possessed in this part of Normandy, he was accustomed to stop at the
Hôtel de Poitiers. His equipage was then splendid, and suitable to his
affluent circumstances. Upon his return to France, this gentleman,
harassed by losses, and fatigued by sickness, arrived with his
accomplished lady, and their elegant children, in a hired cabriole, at
the gate of Madame P----. As soon as their name was announced, the
grateful hostess presented herself before them, and kissing the
children, burst into tears of joy; when she had recovered herself, she
addressed her old patron, by expressing her hopes, that he had amended
his fortune abroad, and was now returning to enjoy himself in
tranquillity at home. "Alas! my good Madame P----," said this worthy
gentleman, "we left our country, as you know, to save our lives, we have
subsisted upon the remains of our fortune ever since, and have sustained
heavy and cruel losses; we have been taken prisoners upon our passage,
and are now returning to our home, if any is left to us, to solicit some
reparation for our sufferings. Times are altered, Madame P----, you must
not now consider me as formerly, when I expended the gifts of Providence
in a manner which I hope was not altogether unworthy of the bounty which
showered them upon me, we must bow down to such dispensations, you see I
am candid with you; we are fatigued, and want refreshment, give us, my
good landlady, a little plain dinner, such as is suitable to our present
condition."

Madame P---- was so much affected, that she could make no reply, and
left the room.

Immediately all the kitchen was in a bustle, every pot and pan were
placed in instant requisition, the chamber-maids were sent to the
neighbouring confectioners for cakes, and the porter was dispatched all
over the city for the choicest fruits. In a short time a noble dinner
was served up to this unfortunate family, followed by confectionary,
fruits, and burgundy. When the repast was over, Mons. O---- ordered his
bill, and his cabriole to be got ready. Madame P----entered, and in the
most amiable manner requested him, as she had exceeded his orders, to
consider the dinner as a little acknowledgement of her sense of his past
favours; money, though earnestly pressed upon her, she would not
receive.

The whole of this interesting party were moved to tears, by this little
act of nature and generosity. When they entered their carriage, they
found in it bouquets of flowers, and boxes of cakes for the little
children. No doubt Madame P----moved lighter that day, than she ever did
in her life, and perhaps found the remembrance of her conduct upon the
occasion almost as exquisite as the hours of love, which she appeared
most happily to enjoy, when we had the honour of being under her roof.

Monsieur O---- could not help exhibiting much feeling, when he related
this little event to me. I must not fail to mention that all the house
seemed, for the moment, infected with the happy disease of the mistress.
General Ruffin's valet de chambre was in love with Dorothée, our
chamber-maid; the porter was pining for a little black eyed grisette,
who sold prints and pastry, in a stall opposite; and the ostler was
eternally quarrelling with the chef de cuisine, who repelled him from
the kitchen, which, in the person of the assistant cook, a plump rosy
norman girl, contained all the treasure of his soul--love and
negligence reigned throughout the household. We rang the bells, and
sacre dieu'd, but all in vain, we suffered great inconvenience, _but who
could be angry?_ In the course of our walks, and conversations, with the
workmen, whom we met, we found that most of the masons, and gardeners of
Rouen, had fought in the memorable, bloody, and decisive battle of
Marengo, at which it appears that a great part of the military of
France, within four or five hundred miles of the capital, were present.
The change they presented was worthy of observation; we saw men
sun-browned in campaigns, and enured to all the ferocity of war, at the
sound of peace assuming all the tranquil habits of ingenious industry,
or rustic simplicity. Some of them were occupied in forming the
shapeless stone into graceful embellishments for elegant houses, and
others in disposing, with botanic taste, the fragrant parterre. After
spending four very delightful days in this agreeable city, I bade adieu
to my very worthy companion, captain W. C----, whose intention it was to
spend some time here, and those friends, from whom I had received great
attention and hospitalities, and wishing the amiable Madame P---- many
happy years, and receiving from her the same assurances of civility,
about seven o'clock in the evening I seated myself in the diligence for
Paris, and in a comfortable corner of it, after we had passed the pavé,
resigned myself to sleep.




CHAPTER VIII.

     _Early dinner.--Mante.--Frost.--Duke de Sully.--Approach the
     Capital.--Norman Barrier.--Paris.--Hôtel de Rouen.--Palais Royal._


At day break, the appearance of the country in all directions was
delightful. The faint eastern blush of early morn, threw a mild,
refreshing light over the moist and dew-dripping scenery.

The spirit of our immortal bard, awaking from the bosom of nature,
seemed to exclaim--

    ------------Look love, what envious streaks
    Do lace the severing clouds, in yonder east;
    Night's candles are burnt out; and jocund Day
    Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

About eight o'clock in the morning, we arrived at Mante, a picturesque
town, built upon a fertile mountain, at the base of which the Seine
flowed along, rippling against its many islands of beautiful poplars. At
this hour, upon our alighting at the inn, we found a regular dinner
ready, consisting of soups, meats, fowls, and confectionary. To the no
small surprise of the host, I expressed a wish to have some breakfast,
and at length, after much difficulty, procured some coffee and rolls.

The rest of the party, with great composure, tucked their napkins in the
buttonholes of their waistcoats, and applied themselves to the good
things before them, with very active address. What a happy race of
people! ready for every thing, and at all times; they scarcely know the
meaning of inconvenience.

In the midst of difficulty, they find accommodation; with them, every
thing seems in harmony. After paying thirty sols for my repast, a charge
which announced our approach to the capital, I walked on, and made my
way to the bridge over another winding of the Seine, at the bottom of
the town; which is a light, and elegant structure. The houses along the
sides of the river are handsome, and delightfully situated. The
principal church is a fine gothic building, but is rapidly hastening to
decay; some of its pinnacles are destroyed, and all its windows broken
in.

A small chapel, in the street opposite, which had an appearance of
considerable elegance, was converted into a slaughter-house. Embosomed
in woods, on the other side of the bridge, is a fine chateau, formerly
belonging to the count d'Adhemar; here, while enjoying the enchanting
prospect about me, I heard the jingling approach of our heavy diligence,
in which, having reseated myself, we proceeded upon a fine high road,
through thick rows of walnut, cherry, mulberry, and apple trees, for
several miles, on each side of which, were vineyards, upon whose
promising vintage, the frost had committed sad devastation. For a vast
extent, they appeared blackened and burnt up. It was said that France
sustained a loss of two millions sterling, by this unusual visitation.

In the course of our journey, I experienced in the conduct of one of our
two female companions, an occurrence, allied to that, which is related
by Sterne, of Madame de Rambouillet, by which he very justly illustrates
the happy ease, with which the french ladies prevent themselves from
ever suffering by inconvenient notions of delicacy.

A few miles from Mante, on the borders of the Seine, we passed one of
the venerable chateaus of the celebrated duke de Sully, the faithful,
able, and upright minister, of Henry IV of France, one of those great
geniuses, who only at distant æras of time, are permitted to shine out
amongst the race of men. Historians unite in observing that the duke
performed all the duties of an active and upright minister, under a
master, who exercised all the offices of a great and good king; after
whose unhappy fate, this excellent man retired from the busy scenes of
the world, and covered with time and honours expired in the
eighty-second year of his age in the year 1641, at his castle of
Villebon. The house is plain, and large. The grounds are disposed after
the fashion of ancient times.

As we approached the capital, the country looked very rich and
luxuriant. We passed through the forest of St. Germains, where there is
a noble palace, built upon a lofty mountain. The forest abounds with
game, and formerly afforded the delights of the chase to the royal
Nimrods of France. Its numerous green alleys are between two and three
miles long, and in the form of radii unite in a centre. The forest and
park extend to the barrier, through which, we immediately entered the
town of St. Germains, distant from Paris about twelve miles, which is a
large and populous place, and in former periods, during the royal
residence, was rich and flourishing, but having participated in the
blessings of the revolution, presents an appearance of considerable
poverty, and squalid decay. Here we changed horses for the last post,
and ran down a fine, broad paved, royal road through rows of stately
elms, upon an inclined plane, until the distant, and wide, but clear
display of majestic domes, awful towers, and lofty spires, informed us
that we approached the capital. I could not help comparing them with
their cloud-capped brethren of London, over whose dim-discovered heads,
a floating mass of unhealthy smoke, for ever suspends its heavy length
of gloom. Our carriage stopped at the Norman Barrier, which is the grand
entrance to Paris, and here presents a magnificent prospect to the eye.
The barrier is formed of two very large, and noble military stone
lodges, having porticoes, on all sides, supported by massy doric
pillars. These buildings were given to the nation, by the national
assembly in the year 1792, and are separated from each other, by a range
of iron gates, adorned with republican emblems. Upon a gentle declivity;
through quadruple rows of elms, at the distance of a mile and a half,
the gigantic statues of la Place de la Concorde (ci-devant, de la
Revolution) appear; beyond which, the gardens, and the palace of the
Thuilleries, upon the centre tower of which, the tricoloured flag was
waving, form the back scene of this splendid spectacle. Before we
entered la Place de la Concorde, we passed on each side of us, the
beautiful, and favourite walks of the parisians, called les Champs
Elysées, and afterwards, on our left, the elegant palace of the
Garde-meuble; where we entered the streets of Paris, and soon afterwards
alighted at the bureau of the diligences; from which place, I took a
fiacre (a hackney coach) and about six o'clock in the evening presented
myself to the _mistress_ of the hôtel de Rouen, for the women of France
generally transact all the masculine duties of the house. To this hotel
I was recommended by Messrs. G----, upon mentioning whose name, I was
very politely shown up to a suite of pleasant apartments, consisting of
an antiroom, bedroom, and dressing-room, the two latter were charmingly
situated, the windows of which, looked out upon an agreeable garden
belonging to the palace of the Louvre. For these rooms I paid the
moderate price of three livres a day. Here, after enjoying those
comforts which travellers after long journies, require, and a good
dinner into the bargain, about nine o'clock at night I sallied out to
the Palais Royal, a superb palace built by the late duke d'Orleans, who
when he was erecting it, publickly boasted, that he would make it one of
the greatest brothels in Europe, in which prediction he succeeded, to
the full consummation of his abominable wishes. This palace is now the
property of the nation. The grand entrance is from the Rue St. Honorè, a
long street, something resembling the Piccadilly of London, but
destitute, like all the other streets of Paris, of that ample breadth,
and paved footway, for the accommodation of pedestrian passengers, which
give such a decided superiority to the streets of the capital of
England. After passing through two noble courts, I entered the piazza,
of this amazing pile; which is built of stone, upon arches, supported
by corinthian pilasters. Its form is an oblong square, with gardens, and
walks in the centre. The whole is considered to be, about one thousand
four hundred feet long, and three hundred feet broad. The finest shops
of Paris for jewellery, watches, clocks, mantuamakers, restaurateurs[8],
china, magazines, &c., form the back of the piazza, which on all the
sides, of this immense fabric, affords a very fine promenade. These
shops once made a part of the speculation, of their mercenary, and
abandoned master, to whom they each paid a rent after the rate of two or
three hundred pounds sterling per annum. This place presents a scene of
profligate voluptuousness, not to be equalled upon any spot in Europe.
Women of character are almost afraid to appear here at noon day; and a
stranger would conceive, that at night, he saw before him, one third of
the beauty of Paris.

[8] Restaurateur is now universally used instead of traiteur.

Under the roof of this palace are two theatres, museums of curiosities,
the tribunate, gaming houses, billiard rooms, buillotte clubs, ball
rooms, &c., all opening into the gardens, the windows of which threw,
from their numerous lamps, and lustres, a stream of gay and gaudy light
upon the walks below, and afforded the appearance of a perpetual
illumination. At the bottom was a large pavilion, finely illuminated, in
which were groups of people regaling themselves with lemonade, and ices.
Upon this spot, in the early part of the revolution, the celebrated
Camille Desmoulins used to declaim against the abuses of the old
government, to all the idle and disaffected of Paris. It is said that
the liveries of the duc d'Orleans gave birth to the republican colours,
which used to be displayed in the hats of his auditors, who in point of
respectability resembled the motley reformers of Chalk Farm. From the
carousing rooms under ground, the ear was filled with the sounds of
music, and the buzzing of crowds; in short, such a scene of midnight
revelry and dissipation I never before beheld.

Upon my return to my hôtel, I was a little surprised to find the streets
of this gay city so meanly lighted. Lamps placed at gloomy distances
from each other, suspended by cords, from lofty poles, furnish the only
means of directing the footsteps of the nocturnal wanderer.




CHAPTER IX.

     _French Reception.--Voltaire.--Restaurateur.--Consular
     Guard.--Music.--Venetian Horses.--Gates of the Palace.--Gardens of
     the Thuilleries.--Statues.--The faithful Vase.--The Sabine
     Picture.--Monsieur Perrègaux.--Marquis de Chatelet.--Madame
     Perrègaux.--Beaux and Belles of Paris._


I forgot, in my last chapter, to mention that I paid for my place, and
luggage in the diligence, from Rouen to Paris, a distance of ninety
miles, twenty-three livres and eighteen sols. The next morning after my
arrival, and a good night's repose in a sopha bed, constructed after the
french fashion, which was very lofty, and handsome, and very
comfortable, I waited upon my accomplished friend, Madame H----, in the
Rue Florentine. I had the honour of knowing her when in England, from
very early years; I found her with her elegant and accomplished
daughter, in a suite of large rooms, very handsomely furnished after the
_antique_, which gives to the present fashionable furniture of France,
its form and character. These rooms composed a floor of a noble stone
built house, which contained several other families; such is the
customary mode of being lodged in the capital. She received me in the
most charming manner, and had expected me for some days, previous to my
arrival, and was that evening going to her country house at Passi, a few
miles from Paris, whither she pressed me to accompany her, but I
declined it, on account of the short time which I had before me to
spend in Paris. Madame H---- was not only a beauty, but a woman of wit
and learning, and had accordingly admitted Voltaire amongst the number
of her household gods; the arch old cynic, with his deathlike sarcastic
face, admirably represented, by a small whole length porcelain statue,
occupied the centre of her chimney piece. Upon finding that I was
disposed to remain in town, she recommended me to a restaurateur, in the
gardens of the Thuilleries, one of the first eating houses in Paris, for
society, and entertainment, to the master of which she sent her servant,
with my name, to inform him, that she had recommended an english
gentleman of her acquaintance to his house, and requested that an
english servant in his service might attend to me, when I dined there.
This was a little valuable civility, truly french. This house has been
lately built under the auspices of the first consul, from a design,
approved of by his own exquisite taste; he has permitted the entrance to
open into the gardens of the consular palace. The whole is from a model
of one of the little palaces of the Herculaneum, it is upon a small
scale, built of a fine white stone, it contains a centre, with a
portico, supported by doric pillars, and two long wings. The front is
upon the terrace of the gardens, and commands an enchanting view of all
its beautiful walks and statues. On the ground floor the house is
divided into three long and spacious apartments, opening into each other
through centre arches, and which are redoubled upon the view by immense
pier glasses at each end. The first room is for dinner parties, the next
for ices, and the third for coffee. In the middle is a flying
staircase, lined on each side with orange trees, which ascends into a
suite of upper dinner rooms, all of which are admirably painted after
the taste of the Herculaneum, and are almost lined with costly pier
glasses.

My fair countrywomen would perhaps be a little surprised to be told,
that elegant women, of the first respectability, superbly dressed for
the promenade, dine here with their friends in the public room, a custom
which renders the scene delightful, and removes from it the accustomed
impressions of grossness. Upon entering, the guest is presented with a
dinner chart, handsomely printed, enumerating the different dishes
provided for that day, with their respective prices affixed. All the
people who frequent this place are considered highly respectable. The
visitor is furnished with ice for his water decanters, with the best
attendance at dinner, and with all the english and foreign newspapers. I
always dined here when I was not engaged. After parting from Madame
H----, who intended returning to town the next day, I went to see the
consular guard relieved at the Thuilleries. About five companies of this
distinguished regiment assemble in the gardens, exactly at five minutes
before twelve o'clock, and, preceded by their fine band of music, march
through the hall of the palace, and form the line in the grand court
yard before it, where they are joined by a squadron of horse. Their
uniform is blue, with broad white facings.

The consular guard were in a little disgrace, and were not permitted to
do the entire duty of the palace at this time, nor during several
succeeding days, as a mark of the first consul's displeasure, which had
been excited by some unguarded expression of the common men, respecting
his conduct, and which, to the jealous ear of a new created and untried
authority, sounded like the tone of disaffection. Only the cavalry were
allowed to mount guard, the infantry were, provisionally, superseded by
a detachment from a fine regiment of hussars. On account of the
shortness of this parade, which is always dismissed precisely at ten
minutes past twelve o'clock, it is not much attended. The band is very
fine, they had a turkish military instrument, which I never heard
before, and was used instead of triangles. It was in the shape of four
canopies, like the roofs of chinese temples, one above another,
lessening as they ascended, made of thin plates of brass, and fringed
with very little brass bells, it was supported by a sliding rod which
dropped into a handle, out of which, when it was intended to be sounded,
it was suddenly jerked by the musician, and produced a good effect with
the other instruments. The tambour major is remarked for his noble
appearance, and for the proportions of his person, which is very
handsome: his full dress uniform on the grand parade is the most
splendid thing, I ever beheld. The corps of pioneers who precede the
regiment, have a singular appearance. These men are rather above six
feet high, and proportionably made, they wear fierce mustachios, and
long black beards, lofty bear skin caps, broad white leathern aprons,
which almost touch their chins, and over their shoulders carry enormous
hatchets. Their strange costume seemed to unite the dissimilar
characters of high priest, and warrior. They looked like _military
magi_. The common men made a very martial appearance. Their officers
wore english riding boots, which had an unmilitary effect. Paris at
present exhibits all the appearances of a city in a state of siege. The
consular palace resembles a line of magnificent barracks, at the
balconies, and upon the terraces of which, soldiers are every where to
be seen lounging. This palace is partitioned between the first and
second consuls, the third principal magistrate resides in a palace near
the Louvre, opposite to the Thuilleries. The four colossal brazen
horses, called the venetian horses, which have been brought from Venice,
are mounted upon lofty pedestals, on each side of the gates of the grand
court yard of the palace. When the roman emperor Constantine founded
Constantinople, he attached these exquisite statues to the chariot of
the Sun in the hippodromus, or circus, and when that capital was taken
possession of by the venetian and french crusading armies, in 1206, the
venetians obtained possession of them, amongst many other inestimable
curiosities, and placed these horses in four niches over the great door
of the church of St. Marco. Respecting their previous history, authors
very much differ; some assert that they were cast by the great statuary
Lysippus, in Alexander's time, others that they were raised over the
triumphal arch of Augustus, others of Nero, and thence removed to the
triumphal arch of Constantine, from which he carried them to his own
capital.

They are said to be composed of bronze and gold, which much resembles
the famous composition of the corinthian brass. Although these statues
are of an enormous size, they are too diminutive for the vast pile of
building which they adorn. The same remark applies to the entrance
gates, of massy iron, which have just been raised by the directions of
the first consul. The tricolour flag, mounted upon the centre dome of
the palace, is also too small. From the court yard I entered the
gardens, which are very beautiful, and about seven o'clock in the
evening, form one of the favourite and fashionable walks of the
parisians. They are disposed in regular promenades, in which are many
fine casts from the ancient statues, which adorn the hall of antiques,
and on each side are noble orange trees, which grow in vast moveable
cases; many of these exotics are twenty feet high. Until lately many of
the antiques were placed here, but Bonaparte, with his accustomed
judgment and veneration for the arts, has had them removed into the
grand national collection, and has supplied their places by these
beautiful copies, amongst which I particularly distinguished those of
Hippomanes, and Atalanta, for the beauty of their proportions, and the
exquisite elucidation of their story. Here are also some fine basins of
water, in the middle of which are jets d'eau. The gravel walks of the
gardens are watered every morning in hot weather, and centinels are
stationed at every avenue, to preserve order: no person is admitted who
is the carrier of a parcel, however small. Here are groups of people to
be seen, every morning, reading the prints of the day, in the refreshing
coolness of the shade. For the use of a chair in the gardens, of which
there are some hundreds, the proprietor is thankful for the smallest
coin of the republic. At the bottom of the steps, leading to the
terrace, in front of the palace, are some beautiful vases, of an immense
size, which are raised about twelve feet from the ground: in one of
them, which was pointed out to me, an unpopular and persecuted Parisian
saved nearly all his property, during the revolution. A short time
before the massacre of the 10th of August, 1792, when the domiciliary
visits became frequent and keen, this man, during a dark night, stole,
unobserved by the guards, into the garden, with a bag under his arm,
containing almost all his treasure; he made his way to the vase, which,
from the palace, is on the right hand, next to the Feuillans, and, after
some difficulty, committed the whole to the capacious bosom of the
faithful depositary: this done, he retreated in safety; and when the
time of terrour was passed, fearful that he should not be able to raise
his bag from the deep bottom of the urn without a discovery, which might
have rendered the circumstance suspicious, and perhaps hazardous to him,
he presented himself before the minister of the police, verified the
narrative of the facts, and was placed in the quiet possession of his
property, which in this manner had remained undisturbed during all that
frightful period. From the gardens I went to the exhibition of David's
celebrated painting of the suspension of the battle between the Sabines
and the Romans, produced by the wives of the latter rushing, with their
children in their arms, between the approaching warriors. David is
deservedly considered as the first living artist in France, and this
splendid picture is worthy of his pencil. It is upon an immense scale.
All the Figures (of which there are many) are as large as life. The
principal female raising her terrified infant, and the two chief
combatants, are inimitable. I was informed, by good authority, that the
court of Russia had offered 7000_l._ sterling for it, an unexampled
price for any modern painting! but that David, who is very rich, felt a
reluctance in parting with it, to the emperor, on account of the climate
of Russia being unfavourable to colour.

From this beautiful painting, I went to pay my respects to Mons. O----,
who resided at the further end of Paris, upon whom I had a letter of
credit. Upon my arriving at his hotel, I was informed by the porter that
his master was at his chateau, about ten miles in the country, with his
family, where he lay extremely ill. This news rendered it necessary for
me to leave Paris for a day and a night at least.

From Mons. O---- I went to Mr. Perregaux, the rich banker and
legislator, to whom I had letters of introduction. He lives in the Rue
Mont Blanc, a street, the place of residence of the principal bankers,
and is next door neighbour to his rival Mons. R----, whose lady has
occasioned some little conversation. Mons. P----'s hotel is very superb.
His chief clerks occupy rooms elegantly fitted up, and decorated with
fine paintings. He received me in a very handsome manner, in a beautiful
little cabinet, adorned with some excellent, and costly paintings. After
many polite expressions from him, I laughingly informed him of the
dilemma in which I was placed by the unexpected absence of Mons. O----;
upon which Mons. P---- in the most friendly manner told me that the
letters which I had brought were from persons whom he highly esteemed;
and that Mr. O---- was also his friend; that as it might prove
inconvenient for me to wait upon him in the country, he begged to have
the pleasure of furnishing me with whatever money I wanted, upon my own
draughts. I felt this act of politeness and liberality very forcibly,
which I of course declined, as I wished not only to take up what money I
wanted in a regular manner, but I was desirous of seeing Mr. O----, who
was represented to me as a very amiable man, and his family as elegant
and accomplished. I was much charmed with the generous conduct of Mons.
P----, from whom I afterwards received great attentions, and who is much
beloved by the English. I felt it a pleasurable duty not to confine the
knowledge of such an act of liberality to the spot where it was so
handsomely manifested. The sessions of the legislative assembly had
closed the day before my arrival, a circumstance I much regretted, as
through his means I should have been enabled to have attended their
sittings. The bankers of France are immensely rich, and almost command
the treasury of the nation. Mons. P----, with the well-timed, silent
submission of the flexible reed, in the fable, has survived the
revolutionary storm, which by a good, but guiltless policy, has passed
over him, without leaving one stain upon his honourable character, and
has operated, like the slime of the Egyptian inundation, only to
fructify, and increase his fortunes. He once however narrowly escaped.
In the time of Robespierre, the Marquis de Chatelet, a few nights before
his execution, attempted to corrupt his guards, and told them, if they
would release him, Mons. P---- would give them a draft to any amount
which they might choose then to name. The centinels rejected the bribe,
and informed their sanguinary employer of the offer, who had the books
of Mons. P---- investigated: he was in no shape concerned in the
attempted escape; but hearing, with extraordinary swiftness, that the
marquis, whose banker he had been, and to whom an inconsiderable balance
was then due, had implicated him in this manner, he instantly with
dexterity, removed the page which contained the last account of the
unhappy nobleman, and also his own destiny, and thus saved his life.
Mons. P---- is a widower; his daughter, an only child, is married to a
wealthy general, a man of great bravery, and beloved by Bonaparte.

I dined this day at the Restaurateur's in the Thuilleries, and found the
effect of Madame H----'s charming civility to me. There were some
beautiful women present, dressed after the antique, a fashion
successfully introduced by David. This extraordinary genius was desirous
of dressing the beaux of Paris after the same model; but they politely
declined it, alleging that if Mons. David would at the same time create
another climate, warmer, and more regular for them, they would then
submit the matter to a committee of fashion. The women, though said, in
point of corporal sufferance, to be able to endure less than men, were
enchanted with the design of the artist, and, without approaching a
single degree nearer to the sun, unmindful of colds, consumptions, and
death, have assumed a dress, if such it can be called, the airiness of
which to the eye of fancy, looked like the mist of incense, undulating
over a display of beauty and symmetry, only to be rivalled by those
exquisite models of grecian taste which first furnished them with these
new ideas of personal decoration.

The French ladies every morning anoint their heads with the antique oil,
scented; their sidelocks are formed into small circles, which just touch
the bosom; and the hair behind is rolled into a rose, by which they
produce a perfect copy of the ancient bust.




CHAPTER X.

     _Large Dogs.--A Plan for becoming quickly acquainted with
     Paris.--Pantheon.--Tombs of Voltaire and Rousseau.--Politeness of
     an Emigrant.--The Beauty of France.--Beauty evanescent.--Place de
     Carousel.--Infernal
     Machine.--Fouché.--Seine.--Washerwomen.--Fisherwomen.--Baths._


In the streets of Paris, I every where saw an unusual number of very
large, fierce looking dogs, partaking of the breed of the newfoundland,
and british bulldog. During the time of terrour, these brave and
faithful animals were in much request, and are said to have given the
alarm of danger, and saved, in several instances, the lives and property
of their masters, by their accustomed fidelity. Upon my arrival in this
great capital, I was of course desirous of becoming acquainted with its
leading features as soon as possible, for the purpose of being enabled
to explore my way to any part of it, without a guide. The scheme which I
thought of, for this purpose, answered my wishes, and therefore I may
presume to submit it to others.

On the second day after my arrival, I purchased a map of Paris, hired a
fiacre, and drove to the Pantheon. Upon the top gallery which surmounts
its lofty and magnificent dome, I made a survey of the city, which lay
below me, like the chart with which I compared it. The clouds passed
swiftly over my head, and from the shape of the dome, impressed me with
an idea of moving in the air, upon the top, instead of the bottom of a
balloon. I easily attained my object, by tracing the churches, the
temple, the abbey, the palaces, large buildings, and the course and
islands of the river, after which I seldom had occasion to retrace my
steps, when I was roving about, unaccompanied. On account of no coal
being used in Paris, the prospect was perfectly clear, and the air is
consequently salubrious. The Pantheon, or church of St. Genevieve, is a
magnificent building from the designs of Mons. Soufflet, one of the
first architects of France: it was intended to be the rival of the St.
Paul's of London; but, though a very noble edifice, it must fail of
exciting any emotions of jealousy amongst the admirers of that national
building. It is a magnificent pile, and when completed, is destined to
be the principal place of worship, and is at present the mausoleum of
the deceased great men of France. Upon the entablature over the portico
is written, in immense characters, "AUX GRANDS HOMMES--LA PATRIE
RECONNOISANTE." Parallel with the grand entrance, are colossal statues,
representing the virtues imputed to a republic. Soon after the
completion of the inner dome, about two years since, one of the main
supporting pillars was crushed in several places by the pressure. The
defective column has been removed, and until it can be replaced, its
proportion of weight is sustained by a most ingenious and complicated
wooden structure. Upon the spot where the altar is to be erected, I saw
another goddess of liberty, with her usual appendages carved in wood,
and painted, and raised by the order of Robespierre, for a grand
revolutionary fête, which he intended to have given, in this church,
upon the very day in which he perished. The interior dome is covered
with two larger ones, each of which is supported by separate pillars,
and pilasters, and the whole is constructed of stone only. The interior
of the lower dome is covered with the most beautiful carvings in stone.
The peristyle, or circular colonnade round the lower part of the
exterior of the dome, is very fine, but I must confess, I do not like an
ancient fashion which the french have just revived in their construction
of these pillars, of making the thickest part of the column a little
below the centre, and lessening in size to the base. Under this immense
fabric are spacious vaults, well lighted; supported by doric pillars,
the depositaries of the illustrious dead of France. At present there are
only two personages whose relics are honoured with this gloomy
distinction. Rousseau and Voltaire very quietly repose by the side of
each other. Their remains are contained in two separate tombs, which are
constructed of wood, and are embellished with various inscriptions.
Hamlet's remark over the grave of Ophelia, strongly occurred to me.

"Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of
merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? not one now to mock
your own grinning? quite chapfallen?"

At either end of the tomb of Jean Jacques, are two hands, darting out of
the gates of death, supporting lighted torches, and below, (it is a
little singular) are inscriptions illustrating the _peaceful_, and
benevolent virtues of the enclosed defunct!

Peace to their manes! may they enjoy more repose, than that troubled
world which their extraordinary, yet different talents seemed equally
destined to embellish and to embroil, though it would be difficult to
name any two modern writers, who have expressed, with more eloquence, a
cordial love of peace, and a zealous desire to promote the interests of
humanity!!

The church of St. Genevieve is entirely composed of stone and iron, of
the latter very little is used. It has already cost the nation very near
two millions sterling. As I was returning from the Pantheon, I was
addressed by one of our emigrant companions, to whom I have before
alluded. He had just arrived in Paris, intended staying about a month,
and then returning to Toulon. He warmly made me an offer of his
services, and during my stay here, sent every morning to know if he
should attend me as a friendly guide, to conduct me to any place which I
might wish to see, or to prevent me from suffering any imposition from
tradesmen. His attentions to me were always agreeable, and sometimes
serviceable, and strongly impressed upon my mind, the policy, as well as
the pleasure, of treating every being with civility, even where first
appearances are not favourable, and where an expectation of meeting the
party again is not probable. In the course of the day I was introduced
to Madame B----, who resides, by permission of the first consul, in a
suite of elegant apartments in the Louvre, which have been granted to
her on account of her merits and genius, and also in consideration of
the losses which she has sustained by the revolution. In her study she
presented me to Mademoiselle T----, the then celebrated beauty of
Paris; her portrait by David, had afforded much conversation in the
fashionable circles; she was then copying, with great taste, from the
antique, which is generally the morning's occupation of the french
ladies of fashion. She is certainly a very handsome young woman: but I
think if the painter of France was to visit a certain western county of
England, he would discover as many attractions for the display of his
admirable pencil, as were at this time to be found in the study of
Madame B----. When we left her, Madame B----asked me what I thought of
her; I candidly made the above remark to her, "Ah!" said she, "you
should have seen her about a month since, she was then the prettiest
creature in all France;" how so, has she suffered from indisposition?
"oh no," replied Madame B----, smilingly, "but a _month_, you know,
makes a considerable difference upon the face of beauty."

I was much obliged to Madame B---- for the remark, which is greatly
within an observation which I have frequently made, on the evanescent
nature of youthful beauty. Madame B----'s calculations of the given
progress of decay, were eighteen times more swift than mine. The subject
of our conversation, and the busts by which we were surrounded,
naturally led us to talk of the french ladies, and they reminded us,
though _slightly_, of their present _dress_. Madame B----entered into a
particular account of the decorations of a lady of fashion in France. I
have not patience enough to enumerate them here, except that the wife of
a fournisseur will not hesitate paying from three to four hundred pounds
for a Cachemire shawl, nor from four to five hundred pounds for a laced
gown, nor a much larger sum for diamonds cut like pearls, and threaded.
In this costly manner, does the ingenuity of art, and the prodigality of
wealth do homage to the elegance of nature. The entrance to Madame
B----'s apartments seemed at first, a little singular and unsuitable,
but I soon found that it was no unusual circumstance, after groping
through dirty passages, and up filthy staircases to enter a noble hall
and splendid rooms.

Upon leaving Madame B---- I passed the Place de Carousel, and saw the
ruins of the houses, which suffered by the explosion of the infernal
machine, which afforded so much conversation in the world at the time,
by which the first consul was intended to have been destroyed in his way
to the National Institute of Music. This affair has been somewhat
involved in mystery. It is now well known that Monsieur Fouché, at the
head of the police, was acquainted with this conspiracy from its first
conception, and by his vigilant agents, was informed of the daily
progress made in the construction of this destructive instrument, of the
plan of which he had even a copy. The conspirators proceeded with
perfect confidence, and as they thought with perfect security. Three
days before it was quite completed, and ready for its fell purpose, from
some surprise or dread of detection, they changed their place of
meeting, and in one night removed the machine from the spot where it had
been usually deposited. The penetrating eye of the police lost sight of
them. Fouché, and his followers exercised their unrivalled talents for
pursuit and discovery to no purpose. The baffled minister then waited
upon Bonaparte, to whom he had regularly imparted the result of every
day's information respecting it, and told him that he could no longer
trace the traiterous instrument of his assassination, and requested him,
as he knew it must be completed by this time, not to go to any public
places, until he had regained a knowledge of it. Bonaparte replied, that
fear only made cowards, and conspirators brave, and that he had
unalterably determined to go with his accustomed equipage to the
National Concert that very evening. At the usual hour the first consul
set off undismayed from the Thuilleries, a description of the machine,
which was made to resemble a water cask, being first given to the
coachman, servants, and guards. As they proceeded, the advance guard
passed it unobserved, but the coachman discovered it just as the
consular carriage was on a parallel with it; instantly the dexterous and
faithful charioteer lashed his horses into full speed, and turned the
corner of the Rue Marcem. In one moment after, the terrible machine
exploded, and covered the street with ruins. The thunder of its
discharge shook the houses of Paris, and was heard at a considerable
distance in the country. The first consul arrived in safety at the Hall
of Music, and with every appearance of perfect tranquillity, entered his
box amidst the acclamations of the crowded multitude. The range of
buildings which was shattered by the explosion, has long offended the
eye of taste, and presented a gloomy, and very inconvenient obstruction
to the grand entrance of the palace. Bonaparte, with his usual judgment,
which converts every event into some good, immediately after this
affair, purchased the houses which were damaged, and the whole of this
scene of ruins and rubbish is removing with all possible expedition, to
the great improvement of this grand approach.

Whilst I was strolling along the banks of the Seine, I could not help
remarking that it would suffer much by a comparison with the Thames, so
finely described by sir John Denham--

    Though deep, yet clear, though gentle yet not dull:
    Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.

The Seine is narrow, and very dirty; its waters, which are finely
filtrated when drawn from the fountains of Paris, produce an aperient
effect upon strangers, who are generally cautioned not to drink much of
them at a time.

The tide does not reach further than several miles below Paris; to this
cause I can alone attribute, though perhaps the reason is insufficient,
that the river is never rendered gay by the passing, and repassing of
beautiful pleasure boats, to the delights of which the parisians seem
total strangers. Its shores are sadly disfigured by a number of black,
gloomy, and unwieldy sheds, which are erected upon barges, for the
accommodation of the washerwomen, who, by their mode of washing, which
is, by rubbing the linen in the river water, and beating it with large
flat pieces of wood, resembling battledores, until the dirt, and
generally a portion of the linen retire together, make a noise very
similar to that of shipwrights caulking a vessel. This is an abominable
nuisance, and renders the view up the river, from the centre of the Pont
de la Concorde, the most complete mélange of filth and finery, meanness
and magnificence I ever beheld. Whilst I am speaking of these valuable,
but noisy dames, I must mention that their services are chiefly confined
to strangers, and the humbler class of parisians. The genteel families
of France are annoyed by the unpleasant domestic occurrence of washing,
when in town only once, and when in the country only twice in the course
of the year. Their magazines of clothes are of course immense, for the
reception and arrangement of which several rooms in their houses are
always allotted. It is the intention of the first consul gradually to
unkennel this clattering race of females, when it can be done with
safety. To force them to the tub, and to put them into the suds too
suddenly, might, from their influence amongst the lower classes of
citizens, be followed by consequences not very congenial to the repose
of the government.

To show of what importance the ladies of the lower class in Paris are, I
shall relate a little anecdote of Bonaparte, in which he is considered
to have exhibited as much bravery as he ever displayed in the field of
battle.

The poissardes, whose name alone will awaken some emotion in the mind of
the reader, from its horrible union with the barbarous massacres which
discoloured the capital with blood during the revolution, have been from
time immemorial accustomed, upon any great and fortunate event, to send
a deputation of their sisterhood to the kings and ministers of France,
and since the revolution to the various rulers of the republic, to ofter
their congratulations, accompanied by a large bouquet of flowers. Upon
the elevation of Bonaparte to the supreme authority of France,
according to custom, they sent a select number from their body to
present him with their good wishes, and usual fragrant donation. The
first consul sternly received them, and after rejecting their nosegay,
fiercely told them to retire, and in future to attend to their husbands,
their children, and their fisheries, and never more to attempt an
interference in matters relating to the state. Upon which he ordered the
pages in waiting to close the door upon them. He thought no doubt that
"Omnium manibus res humanæ egent: paucorum capita sufficiunt."--"Human
affairs require the hands of all, whilst the heads of few are
sufficient."

These formidable dames, so celebrated for their ferocity, retired
chagrined and chapfallen from the presence of the imperious consul, and
have not attempted to force either their congratulations, or their
bouquets upon any of the public functionaries since that period. Such a
repulse as this, offered to a body of people, more formidable from their
influence than the lazzaroni of Naples, would in all human probability
have cost any one of the kings of France his crown. I received this
anecdote from the brother of one of the ministers of France to whom this
country is much indebted. Before the high daring of Bonaparte, every
difficulty seems to droop, and die.

Near the Pont de la Concorde is a handsome, and ornamental building,
which is erected upon barges, and contains near three hundred cold and
tepid baths, for men and women. It is surrounded by a wooden terrace,
which forms an agreeable walk upon the water, and is decorated with
shrubs, orange trees, and flowers, on each side.

This place is very grateful in a climate which, in summer, is intensely
warm. There are other public baths, but this is chiefly resorted to by
people of respectability. The price is very moderate, thirty sols.




CHAPTER XI.

     _David.--Place de la Concorde.--L'Église de
     Madeleine.--Print-shops.--Notre Dame.--Museum or Palace of
     Arts.--Hall of Statues.--Laocoon.--Belvidere Apollo.--Socrates._


During my stay in Paris I visited the gallery of David. This celebrated
artist has amassed a fortune of upwards of two hundred thousand pounds,
and is permitted by his great patron, and friend Bonaparte, to occupy
the corner wing of the old palace, from which every other man of genius
and science, who was entitled to reside there, has been removed to other
places, in order to make room for the reception of the grand National
Library, which the first consul intends to have deposited there. His
apartments are very magnificent, and furnished in that taste, which he
has, by the influence of his fame, and his elegance of design, so
widely, and successfully diffused. Whilst I was seated in his rooms, I
could not help fancying myself a contemporary of the most tasteful times
of Greece. Tunics and robes were carelessly but gracefully thrown over
the antique chairs, which were surrounded by elegant statues, and
ancient libraries, so disposed, as to perfect the classical illusion. I
found David in his garden, putting in the back ground of a painting. He
wore a dirty robe, and an old hat. His eyes are dark and penetrating,
and beam with the lustre of genius. His collection of paintings and
statues, and many of his own studies, afforded a perfect banquet. He
was then occupied in drawing a fine portrait of Bonaparte. The presence
of David covered the gratification with gloom. Before me, in the bosom
of that art, which is said, with her divine associates, to soften the
souls of men, I beheld the remorseless judge of his sovereign, the
destroyer of his brethren in art, and the enthusiast and confidential
friend of Robespierre. David's political life is too well known. During
the late scenes of horror, he was asked by an acquaintance, how many
heads had fallen upon the scaffold that day, to which he is said coolly
to have replied, "_only one hundred and twenty!!_ The heads of twenty
thousand more must fall before the great work of philosophy can be
accomplished."

It is related of him, that during the reign of the Mountain, he carried
his portfolio to the front of the scaffold, to catch the last emotions
of expiring nature, from the victims of his revolutionary rage.

He directed and presided at the splendid funeral solemnities of
Lepelletier, who was assassinated by Paris, in which his taste and
intimate knowledge of the ceremonies of the ancients, on similar
occasions, were eminently displayed.

Farewell, David! when years have rolled away, and time has mellowed the
works of thy sublime pencil, mayst thou be remembered only as _their_
creator; may thy fame repose herself upon the tableau of the dying
Socrates, and the miraculous passage of the Alpine hero, may the
ensanguined records of thy political frenzy, moulder away, and may
science, who knew not blood till thou wert known, whose pure, and
hallowed inspirations have made men happier, and better, till thou wert
born, implore for thee forgiveness, and whilst, with rapture she points
to the immortal images of thy divine genius, may she cover with an
impenetrable pall, the pale, and shuddering, and bleeding victims of thy
sanguinary soul!

The great abilities of this man, have alone enabled him to survive the
revolution, which, strange to relate, has, throughout its ravages,
preserved a veneration for science, and, in general, protected her
distinguished followers. Bonaparte, who possesses great taste "that
instinct superior to study, surer than reasoning, and more rapid than
reflection," entertains the greatest admiration for the genius of David,
and always consults him in the arrangement of his paintings and statues.
All the costumes of government have been designed by this artist.

David is not without his adherents. He has many pupils, the sons of
respectable, and some of them, of noble families residing in different
parts of Europe. They are said to be much attached to him, and have
formed themselves into a military corps, for the purpose of occasionally
doing honour to him, and were lately on the point of revenging an insult
which had been offered to his person, in a manner, which, if
perpetrated, would have required the interest of their master to have
saved them from the scaffold.

But neither the gracious protection of consular favour, nor the
splendour of unrivalled abilities, can restore their polluted possessor,
to the affections and endearments of social intercourse. Humanity has
drawn a _sable circle_ round him. He leads the life of a proscribed
exile, in the very centre of the gayest city in Europe. In the gloomy
shade of unchosen seclusion, he passes his ungladdened hours, in the
hope of covering his guilt with his glory, and of presenting to
posterity, by the energies of his unequalled genius, some atonement for
the havoc, and ruin of that political hurricane, of which he directed
the fury, and befriended the desolations, against every contemporary
object that nature had endeared, and virtue consecrated.

After leaving the gallery of David, I visited la Place de la Concorde.
This ill fated spot, from its spaciousness, and beauty of situation, has
always been the theatre of the great fêtes of the nation, as well as the
scene of its greatest calamities. When the nuptials of the late king and
queen were celebrated, the magnificent fireworks, shows, and
illuminations which followed, were here displayed. During the
exhibition, a numerous banditti, from Normandy, broke in upon the vast
assemblage of spectators: owing to the confusion which followed, and the
fall of some of the scaffolding, the supporters of which were sawed
through by these wretches, the disorder became dreadful, and universal;
many were crushed to death, and some hundreds of the people, whilst
endeavouring to make their escape, were stabbed, and robbed. The king
and queen, as a mark of their deep regret, ordered the dead to be
entombed in the new burial ground of l'Église de Madeleine, then
erecting at the entrance of the Boulevard des Italiens, in the
neighbourhood of the palace, under the immediate inspection and
patronage of the sovereign. This building was never finished, and still
presents to the eye, a naked pile of lofty walls and columns. Alas! the
gloomy auguries which followed this fatal spectacle, were too truly
realized. On _that_ spot perished the monarch and his queen, and the
flower of the french nobility, and many of the virtuous and enlightened
men of France, and in _this_ cemetery, their unhonoured remains were
thrown, amidst heaps of headless victims, into promiscuous graves of
unslacked lime!

How inscrutable are the ways of destiny!

This spot, which, from its enchanting scenery, is calculated only to
recall, or to inspire the most tender, and generous, and elegant
sentiments, which has been the favoured resort of so many kings, and the
scene of every gorgeous spectacle, was doomed to become the human
shambles of the brave and good, and the Golgotha of the guillotine! In
the centre, is an oblong square railing, which encloses the exact spot
where formerly stood that instrument of death, which was voted permanent
by its remorseless employers.

A temporary model in wood, of a lofty superb monument, two hundred feet
high, intended to be erected in honour of Bonaparte and the battle of
Marengo, was raised in this place, for his approval, but from policy or
modesty, he declined this distinguished mark of public approbation. I
was a little surprised to observe, in the windows of the principal print
shops, prints exposed to sale, representing the late king, in his full
robes of state, under which was written, Le Restaurateur de la liberté,
(an equivoque, no doubt) and the parting interview between that unhappy
sovereign and his queen and family in the temple, upon the morning of
his execution.

This little circumstance will show the confidence which the present
rulers feel in the strength and security of the present government; for
such representations are certainly calculated to excite feelings, and to
restore impressions which might prove a little hazardous to both, were
they less powerfully supported.

I was also one morning a little surprised, by hearing from my window,
the exhilarating song of "Rule Britannia" played upon a hand organ; upon
looking down into the street, I beheld a Savoyard very composedly
turning the handle of his musical machine, as he moved along, and a
french officer humming the tune after him. Both were, no doubt, ignorant
of the nationality of the song, though not of the truth of its
sentiment.

In the course of one of my morning walks, I went to the metropolitan
abbey of Notre Dame, which is situated at the end of a large island in
the Seine, which forms a part of Paris, and is filled with long narrow
streets. It is a fine gothic pile, but in my humble opinion, much
inferior to our Westminster abbey, and to the great churches of Rouen.

From this building I visited, with a large party, the celebrated museum,
or palace of the arts, which I afterwards generally frequented every
other day.

This inestimable collection contains one thousand and thirty paintings,
which are considered to be the chefs d'oeuvre of the great ancient
masters, and is a treasury of human art and genius, unknown to the most
renowned of former ages, and far surpassing every other institution of
the same nature, in the present times.

The first apartment is about the size of the exhibition room of
Somerset house, and lighted as that is, from above. It contains several
exquisite paintings, which have been presented to Bonaparte by the
princes, and rulers of those states which have been either subdued by
his arms, or have cultivated his alliance. The parisians call this
apartment Bonaparte's nosegay. The most costly pictures in the room, are
from the gallery of the grand duke of Tuscany. Amongst so many works,
all exquisite and beautiful, it is almost temerity to attempt to select,
but if I might be permitted to name those which pleased me most, I
should particularize the Ecce Homo, by Cigoli Ludovico Cardi.

The breast of the mild and benevolent Saviour, striped with the bruises
of recent punishment, and his heavenly countenance, benignly looking
forgiveness upon his executioners, are beautifully delineated.
L'Annonciation, by Gentileschi, in which the divine look of the angel,
the graceful plumage of his wings, and the drapery of the virgin, are
incomparable. La Sagesse chassant les Vices, which is a very ancient and
curious painting, by Andrea Mantegna, in which the figure of Idleness,
without arms, is wonderfully conceived. Les Noces de Cana, by Paul
Veronese, which is considered to be the best of his works. It is the
largest painting I ever beheld. The figures which are seated at the
banquet, are chiefly the portraits of contemporary royal personages of
different nations. From this room we passed into the gallery of the
Louvre.

I cannot adequately describe the first impressions which were awakened,
upon my first entering it, and contemplating such a galaxy of art and
genius. This room is one thousand two hundred feet long, and is lined
with the finest paintings of the french, flemish, and italian schools,
and is divided by a curious double painting upon slate, placed upon a
pedestal in the middle of the room, which represents the front and back
view of the same figures.

The first division of this hall contains the finest works of le Brun,
many of which are upon an immense scale. L'Hyver ou le Deluge, by
Poussin, is truly sublime, but is unfortunately placed in a bad light.
There are also some beautiful marine paintings, by Verney. Les
Religieuses, by Philipe de Champagne, is justly celebrated for the
principal figure of the dying nun. Vue de Chevet d'une eglise, by
Emanuel de Witte, is an exquisite little cabinet picture, in which the
effect of a ray of light shining through a painted window, upon a
column, is inimitable, and the perspective is very fine. There are here
also some of the finest works of Wouvermans, and a charming picture by
Teniers. La Vierge, l'enfant Jesus, la Madeleine, et St. Jerome, by
Antoine Allegri Correge, is considered to be a picture of great beauty
and value. There are also some glorious paintings by Reubens. I have
thus briefly selected these pictures from the rest, hoping, at the same
time, that it will not be inferred that those which I have not named, of
which it would be impossible to offer a description without filling a
bulky volume, are inferior to the works which I have presumed to
mention. The recording pen must rival that matchless pencil, which has
thus adorned the walls of the Museum, before it can do justice to such a
magnificent collection.

This exhibition is public three days in the week, and at other times is
open to students and to strangers, upon their producing their passports.
On public days, all descriptions of persons are here to be seen. The
contemplation of such a mixture is not altogether uninteresting.

The sun-browned rugged plebeian, whose mind, by the influence of an
unexampled political change, has been long alienated from all the noble
feelings which religion and humanity inspire, is here seen, with his
arms rudely folded over his breast, softening into pity, before the
struggling and sinking sufferers of a deluged world, or silently
imbibing from the divine resigned countenance of the crucified Saviour,
a hope of unperishable bliss, beyond the grave. Who will condemn a
policy by which ignorance becomes enlightened, profligacy penitent, and
which, as by stealth, imparts to the relenting bosom of ferocity the
subdued, and social dispositions of _true_ fraternity?

To amuse, may be necessary to the present government of France, but
surely to supplant the wild abandoned principles of a barbarous
revolution, with _new_ impressions, created by an unreserved display of
the finest and most persuasive images of resigned suffering, heroic
virtue, or elegant beauty, cannot be deemed unworthy of the ruler of a
great people.

At this place, as well as at all the other national exhibitions, no
money for admission is required or expected. No person is admitted with
a stick, and guards attend to preserve the pictures from injury, and the
exhibition from riot. The gallery of the Louvre is at present,
unfortunately, badly lighted throughout, owing to the light issuing
chiefly on one side, from long windows. This inconvenience, however, is
soon to be remedied; by observing the same manner of lighting, as in the
adjoining apartment.

From the museum, we descended into la Salle des Antiques, which contains
all the treasury of grecian and roman statuary. The first object to
which we hastened, was the statue of Laocoon, for so many ages, and by
so many writers admired and celebrated. This superb specimen of grecian
sculpture, is supposed to be the united production of Polydorus,
Athenodorus, and Agesander, but its great antiquity renders its history
somewhat dubious. In the beginning of the sixteenth century it was
discovered at Rome amongst the ruins of the palace of Titus, and
deposited in the Farnese palace, whence it has been removed to Paris, by
the orders of Bonaparte, after the conquest of Italy. It represents
Laocoon, the priest of Apollo and Neptune, and his two sons writhing in
the folds of two hideous serpents. The reader will remember the
beautiful lines of Virgil upon the subject,

    "----------------et primum parva duorum
    Corpora natorum serpens amplexus uterque
    Implicat, et miseros morsu depascitur artus.
    Post, ipsum auxilio subeuntem ac tela ferentem
    Corripiunt, spirisque ligant ingentibus: et jam
    Bis medium amplexi, bis collo squamea circum
    Terga dati, superant capite et cervicibus altis.
    Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos--"

Or, in the english habit which Dryden has given them,

    "And first around the tender boys they wind,
    Then with their sharpen'd fangs, their limbs and bodies grind.
    The wretched father, running to their aid,
    With pious haste, but vain, they next invade:
    Twice round his waist the winding volumes roll'd,
    And twice about his gasping throat they fold.
    The priest, thus doubly chok'd, their crests divide,
    And tow'ring o'er his head in triumphs ride.
    With both his hands he labours at the knots--"

Pliny mentions this statue as the admiration of the age in which he
flourished.

I fear that I shall be guilty of a sort of profanation when I remark,
that the figures of the two sons of Laocoon appear to exhibit rather
more marks of maturity, and strength of muscle than are natural to their
size, and to the supposed tenderness of their age. It is, however, a
glorious work of art.

We next beheld the Belvidere Apollo. This statue, in my humble opinion,
surpasses every other in the collection. All the divinity of a god beams
through this unrivalled perfection of form. It is impossible to impart
the impressions which it inspires. The rivetted beholder is ready to
exclaim, with Adam, when he first discerns the approach of Raphael,

    "--------------behold what glorious shape
    Comes this way moving: seems another morn,
    Risen on mid-noon; some great behest from Heav'n."

The imagination cannot form such an union of grace and strength. During
my stay in Paris, I frequently visited this distinguished statue, and
discovered fresh subjects of amazement, and admiration as often as I
gazed upon it. One of its remarkable beauties, is its exquisite
expression of motion. Its aerial appearance perpetually excites the idea
of its being unstationary, and unsupported. As it would be a rash, and
vain attempt to give a complete description of this matchless image, I
must, reluctantly, leave it, to inform my reader, that on the other side
of the Hall are the original Diana (which is wonderfully fine) and
several very beautiful Venuses. The Venus de Medicis is not here. There
are also some fine whole length statues of roman magistrates, in their
curule chairs.

In the Temple of the Muses, are exquisite busts of Homer and Socrates.
Pliny informs us that the ancient world possessed no original bust of
the former. That of the latter seems to have been chisseled to represent
the celebrated athenian before he had obtained his philosophical triumph
over those vices, which a distinguished physiognomist of his time once
imputed to him from the character of his features.




CHAPTER XII.

     _Bonaparte.--Artillery.--Mr. Pitt--Newspapers.--Archbishop of
     Paris.--Consular Colours.--Religion.--Consular Conversion.--Madame
     Bonaparte.--Consular Modesty.--Separate Beds.--A Country
     Scene.--Connubial Affection.--Female Bravery._


A little anecdote is related of Bonaparte, which unfolded the bold, and
daring character of this extraordinary man in early life: when he was
about fifteen years of age, and a cadet in the military school at
Paris--by the by, the small distance between this seminary and his
present palace, and the swiftness of his elevation, afford a curious
coincidence--in the vast plain of the Champ de Mars, the court, and the
parisians were assembled to witness the ascent of a balloon. Bonaparte
made his way through the crowd, and unperceived, entered the inner
fence, which contained the apparatus for inflating the silken globe. It
was then very nearly filled, and restrained from its flight by the last
cord only. The young cadet requested the aeronaut to permit him to mount
the car with him; which request was immediately refused, from an
apprehension that the feelings of the boy might embarrass the
experiment. Bonaparte is reported to have exclaimed, "I am young, it is
true, but I neither fear the powers of earth, nor of air," and sternly
added, "will you let me ascend?" The aeronaut, a little offended at his
obtrusion, sharply replied, "No, Sir, I will not; I beg that you will
retire." Upon which the little enraged officer, drew a small sabre,
which he wore with his uniform, instantly cut the balloon in several
places, and destroyed the curious apparatus, which the aeronaut had
constructed, with infinite labour and ingenuity, for the purpose of
trying the possibility of aerial navigation.

Paris was almost unpeopled this day, to view the spectacle. The
disappointment of the populace, which was said to have exceeded seven
hundred thousand persons, became violent and universal. The king sent to
know the reason of the tumult, when the story was related to him, the
good humoured monarch laughed heartily, and said, "Upon my word that
impetuous boy, will make a brave officer."--The devoted king little
thought that he was speaking of his successor.--The young offender was
put under arrest, and confined for four days.

This man is certainly the phenomenon of the present times. It is a
circumstance worthy of remark, that the artillery has furnished France
with most of its present distinguished heroes, who have also been bred
up in the same military school with Bonaparte. A short time before my
arrival at Paris, this great genius, who displays a perfect knowledge of
mankind, and particularly of the people over whom he rules, discovered
that the parisians, from a familiarity with his person, and from his
lady and his family having occasionally joined in their parties of
amusement, began to lose that degree of awe and respect for him, which
he so well knows how to appreciate, as well as to inspire. In
consequence of this, he gradually retired from every circle of fashion,
and was at this period, almost as inaccessible as a chinese emperor.
The same line of conduct was also adopted by the principal officers of
government. He resided almost wholly at Mal Maison, except on state
days, when only those strangers were permitted to be introduced to him,
who had satisfired the ambassadors of their respective nations, that
they had been previously presented at their own courts. If Bonaparte is
spared from the stroke of the assassin, or the prætorian caprice of the
army, for any length of time, he will have it in his power to augment
the services which he has already afforded to the republic, by
rebuilding the political edifice of France, with many meliorations, for
which some materials may be collected from her own ruins, and some from
the tried and approved constitutions of other countries. If his ambition
will permit him to discharge this great undertaking faithfully, in a
manner uniform with that glory which he has acquired in the field, and
influenced only by the noble desire of giving rational liberty, and
practicable happiness to the people over whom he sways, they will in
return, without jealousy or regret, behold the being to whose wisdom and
moderation they will be thus indebted, led to the highest seat amongst
them--they will confer those sanctions upon his well merited
distinction, without which all authority is but disastrous usurpation--a
comet's blaze, flaming in a _night of dismay_, and _setting in gloom_.

The dignity of such a legislator will be self-maintained, and lasting.
Upon him, the grateful french will confer those unforced, unpurchased
suffrages, which will _prevent_ that fate, which, in their absence, the
subtilty of policy, the fascinations of address, the charm of
corruption, and even the terror of the bayonet can only
_postpone_.--Yes, Bonaparte! millions of suffering beings, raising
themselves from the dust, in which a barbarous revolution has prostrated
them, look up to thee for liberty, protection, and repose. They _will_
not look to thee in vain. The retiring storm still flashing its
lessening flame, and rolling its distant thunders will teach thee, _were
it necessary_, not to force them to remeasure their vengeance by their
wrongs.

In Paris, the achievements of the first consul are not much talked of,
so true is the old adage, that no man is a hero to his own domestic. The
beauties of a colossal statue, must be contemplated at a distance.

The french at present work, walk, eat, drink, and sleep in tranquillity,
and what is of more consequence to them, they dance in security, to
which may be added, that their taxes are neither very heavy, nor
oppressive. In every party which I entered, I found the late minister of
Great Britain was the prevailing subject of curiosity. I was overpowered
with questions respecting this great man, which in their minute detail,
extended to ascertain what was the colour of his eye, the shape of his
nose, and whether in a morning he wore hussar boots, or shoes. This
little circumstance could not fail of proving pleasant to an englishman.
They informed me, that throughout the war, they regularly read in their
own diurnal prints, our parliamentary debates, and the general outline
of most of our political schemes, which were furnished by people in the
pay of the french government, who resided in England notwithstanding the
severity of the legislative, and the vigilance of the executive
authorities. Whilst I am mentioning the subject of newspaper
intercourse, I cannot help lamenting, that since the renewal of national
friendship, the public prints of both countries are not more under the
influence of cordiality and good humour.

The liberty of the press is the palladium of reason, the distributor of
light and learning, the public and undismayed assertor of interdicted
truth. It is the body and the _honour guard_ of civil and political
liberty. Where the laws halt with dread, the freedom of the press
advances, and with the subtle activity of conscience, penetrates the
fortified recesses and writes its _fearful sentence on the palace wall_
of recoiling tyrants. As an englishman, my expiring sigh should be
breathed for its preservation; but as an admirer of social repose and
national liberality, I regret to see its noble energies engaged in the
degrading service of fretful spleen, and ungenerous animadversion. When
the horizon is no longer blackened with the smoke of the battle, it is
unworthy of two mighty empires to carry on an ignoble war of words. If
peace is their wish, let them manifest the great and enlightened
sentiment in all its purity, and disdain to irritate each other by acts
of petulant and provoking recrimination.

A short time preceding my arrival in France, Bonaparte had rendered
himself very popular amongst the constitutional clergy, by a well timed
compliment to the metropolitan archbishop. The first consul gave a
grand dinner to this dignified prelate, and to several of his brethren.
After the entertainment, Bonaparte addressed the archbishop by
observing, that as he had given directions for the repairing of the
archiepiscopal palace, he should very much like to take a ride in the
archbishop's carriage, to see the progress which the workmen had made.
The prelate bowed to the first consul, and informed him that he had no
carriage, otherwise he should be much flattered by conducting him
thither. Bonaparte good humouredly said, "how can that be? your coach
has been waiting at the gate this half hour," and immediately led the
venerable archbishop down the steps of the Thuilleries, where he found a
plain handsome carriage, with a valuable pair of horses, and a coachman,
and footmen dressed in the livery which Bonaparte had just before
informed him would be allotted to him, when his establishment was
completed. The whole was a present from the private purse of the first
consul. Upon their arrival at the palace, the archbishop was agreeably
surprised by finding that the most minute, and liberal attention had
been paid to his comfort and accommodation.

The clergy seem to be in favour with Bonaparte. When he assisted in the
last spring at the inauguration of the archbishop of Paris, in the
metropolitan church of Notre Dame, and gave to the restoration of
religion "all the circumstance of pomp" and military parade, he was
desirous of having the colours of his regiment consecrated by the holy
prelate, and submitted his wishes to his soldiers. A few days
afterwards, a deputation waited upon their general in chief, with this
reply, "Our banners have already been consecrated by the blood of our
enemies at Marengo; the benediction of a priest cannot render them more
sacred in our eyes, nor more animating in the time of battle." Bonaparte
prudently submitted himself to their prætorian resolution, and the
consular colours remain to this hour in the same _unchristianlike_
condition, as when they first waved at the head of their victorious
legions. This anecdote will in some degree prove a fact which,
notwithstanding the counter reports of english newspapers, I found every
where confirmed, that although religion is _new_ to the french, yet that
the novelty has at present but little charm for them. I had frequent
opportunity of making this remark, as well in the capital as in the
departments of the republic through which I passed. In Paris, the
Sabbath can only be considered as a day of dissipation to the lovers of
gayety, and a day of unusual profit to the man of trade. Here, it is
true, upon particular festival days, considerable bodies of people are
to be seen in the act of worship, but curiosity, and the love of show
assemble them together, if it was otherwise their attendance would be
more numerous and regular. The first consul does not seem to possess
much fashionable influence over the french in matters of religion,
otherwise, as he has the credit of attending mass, with very pious
punctuality, in his private chapel at Mal Maison, it might be rather
expected, that devotion would become a little more familiar to the
people.

Upon another subject, the _profession_ of the chief magistrate has been
equally unfortunate. To the few ladies who are admitted into his social
circles, he has declared himself an enemy to that dress, or undress (I
am puzzled to know what to call it) which his friend, David, has, so
successfully, recommended, for the purpose of displaying, with the least
possible restraint, the fine proportions of the female form. Madame
Bonaparte, who is considered to be in as good a state of subordination
to her _young_ husband, as the consular regiment is to their _young_
general, contrives to exhibit her elegant person to great advantage; by
adopting a judicious and graceful medium of dress, by which she
tastefully avoids a load of decoration, which repels the eye by too
dense a covering, and that questionable airiness of ornament which, by
its gracious and unrestrained display, deprives the imagination of more
than half its pleasures. Bonaparte is said not to be indifferent to
those affections which do honour to the breast which cherishes them, nor
to the morals of the people whom he governs.

It is well known that in France, in the house of a new fashionable
couple, _separate chambers_ are always reserved for the _faithful_ pair,
which after the solemnities of marriage very seldom remain long
unoccupied. The first consul considers such separations as unfriendly to
morals. A few months since, by a well timed display of assumed
ignorance, he endeavoured to give fashion to a sentiment which may in
time reduce the number of these _family accommodations_. The noble
palace of St. Cloud was at this time preparing for him; the principal
architect requested of him to point out in what part of the palace he
would wish to have his separate sleeping room. "I do not know what you
mean," said the young imperial philosopher, "crimes only divide the
husband from his wife. Make as many bed rooms as you please, but only
_one_ for me and Madame Bonaparte."

I must now quit the dazzling splendour of imperial virtues for the more
tranquil, but not less fascinating appearance of retired and modest
merit.

It was in the afternoon of one of the finest days in June, when Madame
O----, with her nephew, a very amiable young man, called in their
carriage and took me to the chateau of her husband, to whom I had
letters of introduction. After passing through a charming country for
nine miles, adorned on each side with gardens and country houses, we
arrived at the pleasant village of la Reine. As soon as we entered it,
the sight of the carriage, and of their benefactress, seemed to enliven
the faces of the villagers, who were seated in picturesque groupes at
the doors of their cottages. Such animated looks were not lighted up by
curiosity, for they had seen Madame O---- a thousand and a thousand
times, but because they had seldom seen her without experiencing some
endearing proof of her bountiful heart. We left the village to the
right, and proceeded through a private road, lined with stately walnut
trees, of nearly a mile in length, which led to Monsieur O----'s. It was
evening; the sky was cloudless, the sun was setting in great glory, and
covered the face of this romantic country with the richest glow. Near
the gate of a shrubbery I beheld a very handsome boy, whose appearance
at once bespoke him to be the son of a gentleman, the animated smile of
Madame O----, immediately convinced me that it was her son; "see," said
the delighted mother, "it is my little gardener;" the little graceful
rustic had a small spade in his hand, which he threw down, and ran to
us. We alighted at the entrance of the garden, into which we entered,
under a beautiful covered treillage, lined with jessamine and
honeysuckles. At the end were two elegant young women, waiting, with
delight, to receive their mother, from whom they had been separated only
a few hours. With this charming family I entered the house, which was
handsome but plain. The hospitable owner rose from his sofa, and, after
embracing his elegant lady with great affection, he received me with all
the expressions and warmth of a long friendship. Soon afterwards his
servant (a faithful indian) entered, and spread upon the table, Madeira,
Burgundy, and dried fruits. It was intensely hot: the great window at
the end of the room in which we were sitting, opened into the gardens,
which appeared to be very beautiful, and abounded with nightingales,
which were then most sweetly singing. "They are my little musicians,"
said Monsieur O----, "we have made a pleasant bargain together, I give
them crumbs of bread and my bowers to range in, and they give me this
charming music every evening."

Monsieur O---- was an invalide, the revolution, poignant vexations,
heavy losses, and a painful separation from his native country, for the
preservation of his life, and that of his family, had undermined his
health. Grief had made sad inroads upon a delicate constitution. It was
his good fortune to be the husband of one of the finest, and most
amiable women in France, and the father of an affectionate, beautiful,
and accomplished family. His circumstances had been once splendid; they
were then respectable, but he had passed through events which threatened
his _all_. Those sufferings which generous souls sustain for the sake of
others, not for themselves, had alone destroyed the resemblance which
once existed between this excellent man and his admirable portrait,
which, at the further end of the room, presented the healthy glow, and
fine proportions of manly beauty. He expressed to me, in the most
charming manner, his regret, that indisposition confined him to the
country, and prevented him from receiving me in Paris suitable to his
own wishes, and to those claims which I had upon his attentions, by the
letters of introduction which I had brought to him; but added, that he
should furnish me with letters to some of his friends in town, who would
be happy to supply his absence, and to make Paris agreeable to me.
Monsieur O---- was as good as his word.

This amiable gentleman possessed a countenance of great genius, and a
mind full of intelligence.

After an elegant supper, when his lady and daughters had withdrawn, he
entered into a very interesting account of his country, of the
revolution, and of his flight for the salvation of himself and family. A
tolerably good opinion may be formed of the devastation which have been
produced by the late republican government, by the following
circumstance, which Monsieur O---- assured me, on the word of a man of
honour, was correct.

His section in Paris was composed of one thousand three hundred persons,
of rank and fortune, of whom only five had escaped the slaughter of the
guillotine!!

Madame O---- and her charming family, seemed wholly to occupy his heart
and affections.

He spoke of his lady with all the tender eulogium of a young lover.
Their union was entirely from attachment, and had been resisted on the
part of Madame O----, when he first addressed her, only because her
fortune was humble, compared with his. He informed me, and I must not
suppress the story, that in the time of blood, this amiable woman, who
is remarkable for the delicacy of her mind, and for the beauty and
majesty of her person, displayed a degree of coolness and courage,
which, in the field of battle, would have covered the hero with laurels.
One evening, a short period before the family left France, a party of
those murderers, who were sent for by Robespierre, from the frontiers
which divide France from Italy, and who were by that archfiend employed
in all the butcheries, and massacres of Paris, entered the peaceful
village of la Reine, in search of Monsieur O----. His lady saw them
advancing, and anticipating their errand, had just time to give her
husband intelligence of their approach, who left his chateau by a back
door, and secreted himself in the house of a neighbour. Madame O----,
with perfect composure, went out to meet them, and received them in the
most gracious manner. They sternly demanded Mons. O----, she informed
them that he had left the country, and after engaging them in
conversation, she conducted them into her drawing room, and regaled them
with her best wines, and made her servants attend upon them with unusual
deference and ceremony. Their appearance was altogether horrible, they
wore leather aprons, which were sprinkled all over with blood, they had
large horse pistols in their belts, and a dirk and sabre by their sides.
Their looks were full of ferocity, and they spoke a harsh dissonant
patois language. Over their cups, they talked about the bloody business
of that day's occupation, in the course of which they drew out their
dirks, and wiped from their handles, clots of blood and hair. Madame
O---- sat with them, undismayed by their frightful deportment. After
drinking several bottles of Champaign and Burgundy, these savages began
to grow good humoured, and seemed to be completely fascinated by the
amiable and unembarrassed, and hospitable behaviour of their fair
landlady. After carousing till midnight, they pressed her to retire,
observing that they had been received so handsomely that they were
convinced Monsieur O---- had been misrepresented, and was no enemy to
the _good cause_; they added that they found the wines excellent, and
after drinking two or three bottles more, they would leave the house,
without causing her any reason to regret their admission.

Madame O----, with all the appearance of perfect tranquillity and
confidence in their promises, wished her unwelcome visitors a good
night, and after visiting her children in their rooms, she threw herself
upon her bed, with a loaded pistol in each hand, and, overwhelmed with
suppressed agony and agitation, she _soundly_ slept till she was called
by her servants, two hours after these wretches had left the house. He
related also another instance of that resolution which is not
unfrequently exhibited by women, when those generous affections, for
which they are so justly celebrated, are menaced with danger. About the
same period, two of the children of Monsieur O---- were in Paris at
school: A rumour had reached him, that the teachers of the seminary in
which they were placed, had offended the government, and were likely to
be butchered, and that the carnage which was expected to take place,
might, in its undistinguishing fury, extend to the pupils. Immediately
upon receiving this intelligence, Monsieur O---- ordered his carriage,
for the purpose of proceeding to town. Madame O---- implored of him to
permit her to accompany him; in vain did he beseech her to remain at
home; the picture of danger which he painted, only rendered her more
determined. She mounted the carriage, and seated herself by the side of
her husband. When they reached Paris, they were stopped in the middle of
the street St. Honoré, by the massacre of a large number of prisoners
who had just been taken out of a church which had been converted into a
prison. Their ears were pierced with screams. Many of the miserable
victims were cut down, clinging to the windows of their carriage. During
the dreadful delays which they suffered in passing through this street,
Madame O---- discovered no sensations of alarm, but stedfastly fixed her
eyes upon the back of the coach box, to avoid, as much as possible,
observing the butcheries which were perpetrating on each side of her.

Had she been observed to close her eyes, or to set back in the carriage,
she would have excited a suspicion, which, no doubt, would have proved
fatal to her. At length she reached the school which contained her
children, where she found the rumour which they had received was without
foundation; she calmly conducted them to the carriage, and during their
gloomy return through Paris, betrayed no emotions; but as soon as they
had passed the barrier, and were once more in safety upon the road to
their peaceful chateau, the exulting mother, in an agony of joy, pressed
her children to her bosom, and in a state of mind wrought up to frenzy,
arrived at her own house, in convulsions of ghastly laughter. Monsieur
O---- never spoke of this charming woman, without exhibiting the
strongest emotions of regard. He said, that in sickness she suffered no
one to attend upon him but herself, that in all his afflictions she had
supported him, and that she mitigated the deep melancholy which the
sufferings of his country, and his own privations, had fixed upon him,
by the well-timed sallies of her elegant fancy, or by the charms of her
various accomplishments.

I found myself a gainer in the article of delight, by leaving the gayest
metropolis that Europe can present to a traveller, for the sake of
visiting such a family.




CHAPTER XIII.

     _Breakfast.--Warmth of French Expression.--Rustic
     Eloquence.--Curious Cause assigned for the late extraordinary
     Frost.--Madame R----.--Paul I.--Tivoli.--Frescati._


In the morning we breakfasted in the drawing room, in which the
murderous myrmidons of Robespierre had been regaled. It was beautifully
situated. Its windows looked into a grove which Monsieur O---- had
formed of valuable american shrubs. His youngest daughter, a beautiful
little girl of about five years of age, rather hastily entered the room
with a pair of tame wood pigeons in her hands, which, in her eagerness
to bring to her father, she had too forcibly pressed, who very gently
told her, it was cruel to hurt her little favourites, more particularly
as they were a species of bird which was remarkable for its unoffending
innocence. The little creature burst into tears, "my little Harriet, why
do you weep?" said her father, kissing her white forehead, and pressing
her to him. "Why do you rebuke me?" said the little sufferer, "when you
know I love you so much that I could kiss your naked heart."

I mention this circumstance, to show how early in life, the french
children imbibe the most charming expressions, by which their more
mature conversation is rendered so peculiarly captivating. During our
repast, a circumstance occurred, which produced an unusual vivacity
amongst all the party, and afforded a specimen of the talent and
pleasantry of the french country people. The gardener entered, with the
paper, and letters of the day. Amongst them, was a letter which had been
opened, appeared very much disordered, and ought to have been received
upon the preceding day. Monsieur O----seemed much displeased, and called
upon his man to explain the matter. The gardener, who possessed a
countenance which beamed with animation and good humour, made a low bow,
and without appearing to be, in the least degree, disconcerted,
proceeded to unfold the affair, with the most playful ingenuity. He
stated that the dairy maid was very pretty, that she made every body in
love with her, and was very much in love herself, that she was
accustomed to receive a great number of billet doux, which, on account
of her education having been very far below her incomparable merits, she
was not able to understand, without the assistance of Nicolene, the
groom, who was her confident, and amanuensis; that on the day before, he
gave her the letter in question, with directions to carry it to his
master, that under the influence of that thoughtful absence which is
said to attend the advanced stages of the tender passion, she soon
afterwards conceived that it was no other than a customary homage from
one of her many admirers, upon which she committed the supposed
depositary of tender sighs and brittle vows, to the warm custody of her
glowing bosom, than which, the gardener, (who at this moment saw his
master's eyes were engaged by the _sullied_ appearance of the letter)
declared that nothing was fairer; he again proceeded, by observing,
that in the course of the preceding evening, as she was stooping to
adjust her stool in the meadow, the cow kicked, and the epistle tumbled
into the milk pail; that she afterwards dried it by the kitchen fire,
and gave it, for the reasons before assigned, to her confidential friend
to explain to her, who soon discovered it to be a letter of business,
addressed to his master, instead of an impassioned love ditty for the
tender Marie; that, finally, all the principals concerned in this
unhappy affair were overwhelmed with distress, on account of the sad
disaster, and that the kitchen had lost all its vivacity ever since. No
advocate could have pleaded more eloquently. All the family, from its
chief, to little Harriet, whose tears were not yet dried, were in a
continued fit of laughing. The gardener, whose face very largely partook
of the gaiety which he had so successfully excited, was commissioned, by
his amiable master, to tell the distressed dairy maid, that love always
carried his pardon in his hand for all his offences, and that he
cheerfully forgave her, but directed the gardener, to prevent a
recurrence of similar accidents, not again to trust her with his letters
until the tender disease was radically removed. The rustic orator
gracefully bowed; and left us to finish our breakfast with increased
good humour, and to carry forgiveness and consolation to poor Marie and
all her condoling friends in the kitchen. Before we had completed our
repast, a little deformed elderly lady made her appearance, whose
religion had been shaken by the revolution, into a crazy and gloomy
superstition. She had scarcely seated herself, before she began a very
rapid and voluble comment upon the change of the times, and the
devastations which the late extraordinary frost had committed upon the
vineyards of France, which she positively asserted, with the confidence
which only the arrival of her tutelar saint with the intelligence ought
to have inspired, was sent as an _appropriate_ judgment upon the
republic, to punish it, for suffering the ladies of Paris to go so
thinly clothed. Monsieur O---- heard her very patiently throughout, and
then observed, that the ways of Heaven were inscrutable, that human
ingenuity was baffled, in attempting to draw inferences from its
visitations, and that it did not appear to him at least, that an offence
which was assuredly calculated to inspire sensations of warmth and
tenderness, was _appropriately_ punished by a chastisement of an
_opposite_ tendency, to which he added, that some moralists who indulged
in an endeavour to connect causes and effects, might think it rather
incompatible with their notions of eternal equity, to endeavour to
clothe the ladies, by stripping the land to nakedness--here the old lady
could not help smiling. Her amicable adversary pursued the advantage
which his pleasantry had produced, by informing her, that
prognostications had been for a long period discountenanced, and that
formerly when the ancient augurs, after the ceremonies of their
successful illusions were over, met each other by accident in the
street, impressed by the ridiculous remembrance of their impositions,
they could not help laughing in each other's faces. Madame V----laughed
too; upon which Monsieur O----, very good humouredly told her, that as a
soothsayer, she certainly would not have smiled, unless she intended to
retire for ever from the office. Previous to my taking leave of
Monsieur O----and his charming family, we walked in the gardens, where
our conversation turned upon the extraordinary genius, who in the
character of first consul of the french, unites a force, and extent of
sway unknown to the kings of France, from their first appearance, to the
final extinction of monarchy.

He told me that he had the honour of knowing him with intimacy from his
youth, and extolled, with high eulogy, his splendid abilities, and the
great services which he had rendered France. He also related several
amiable anecdotes of the minister Talleyrand, who, when in America, had
lived with him a considerable time under the same roof.

At length the cabriolet, which was to bear me from this little Paradise,
approached the gate, and the moment arrived when I was to part with one
of the most charming families to be found in the bosom of the republic.

As Monsieur O---- pressed me by one hand, and placed that of his little
Harriet in my other, a tear of exquisite tenderness rolled down his
cheek, it seemed to express that we should never meet again on this side
the grave. Excellent being! if it must be so, if wasting and unsparing
sickness is destined to tear thee ere long from those who delight thine
eye, and soothe thine heart in the midst of its sorrows, may the angel
of peace smile upon thee in thy last moments, and bear thy mild and
generous, and patient spirit, to the realms of eternal repose! Adieu!
dear family of la Reine.

Upon my return to Paris, I proceeded to the hotel of Monsieur R----.
Curiosity led me to view the house, and the celebrated bed of his lady,
who was then in London.

The little vanities and eccentricities of this elegant and hospitable
woman, will find immediate forgiveness, when it is known that she is now
very young, and was married, when a spoiled child of the age of
fourteen, to her present husband. She is one of David's most
enthusiastic admirers, and has carried the rage for grecian undress, to
an extremity, which, even in the capital, left her without a follower.

In the public walks of the Champs Elysées, she one evening presented
herself in a dress which almost rivalled the robes of Paradise; the
parisians, who are remarkable for their politeness to women, and are not
remarkable for scrupulous sentiments of delicacy, were so displeased
with her appearance, that they made a lane to the entrance for her, and
expelled the modern Eve from the Elysian Fields, not with a "flaming
sword of wrath," but with hisses softly uttered, and by gentle tokens of
polite disapprobation. She tells her friends, that her cabinet is
crowded with letters of the most impassioned love, from persons of the
first fame, distinction, and opulence. In her parties, when conversation
begins to pause, she introduces some of these melting epistles, which
she is said to read with a bewitching pathos, and never fails to close
the fond recital by expressions of the tenderest pity for the sufferings
of their ill-starred authors. She has declared, that some of her lovers
equal the Belvidere Apollo in beauty, but that she never has yet seen
that being, who was perfect enough to be entitled to the possession of
her affections. Do not smile. Madame Ris a disciple of Diana, even
slander pays incessant homage to her chastity. Rumour has whispered, in
every corner of Paris, that her husband is only admitted to the honour
of supplying the finances of her splendid and costly establishment.
Madame R---- has not yet produced any of the beautiful and eloquent
arguments of Cornelia, to disprove the strange assertion. Her chamber,
which constitutes one of the sights of Paris, and which, after what has
been just mentioned, may be justly considered, in or out of France, as a
great curiosity, is fitted up in a style of considerable taste, and even
magnificence. The bed upon which this charming statue reposes, is a
superb sofa, raised upon a pedestal, the ascent to which is by a flight
of cedar steps, on each side are altars, on which are placed Herculaneum
vases of flowers, and a large antique lamp of gold; the back of the bed
is formed by an immense pier glass, and the curtains, which are of the
most costly muslin, festooned with golden tassels, descend in beautiful
drapery from a floral crown of gold. It is said that the late emperor of
Russia, after the laborious and successful diplomatic intrigues of
messrs. Talleyrand and Sieyes, and a certain lady, became enamoured, by
description, with the immaculate goddess of Mont Blanc, and that he sent
confidential commissioners to Paris, to report her daily dress, and to
order copies of her furniture.

The story may be believed, when the hero of it was well known to be
fully qualified for one of the deepest dungeons of a madhouse. I hope,
for the sake of society, and the repose of the world, that the rest of
Madame R----'s admirers have not united to their passion the bewildered
imagination, which fatally distinguished, and finally closed the career
of her imperial lover.

Mr. R---- is very polite to the english, and his letters ensure the
greatest attention wherever they are produced.

From Mont Blanc I proceeded to the Hotel de Caramand, the residence of
the british ambassador, to whom I had a letter of introduction, from a
particular friend of his, and who received me with great politeness. His
apartments were handsome, and looked into some beautiful gardens.
Amongst the english, who were at this time in Paris, a little prejudice
existed against the representative of the british monarch, from a
reason, which within the jurisdiction of the lord mayor of London and of
most corporate towns in England, will be considered to carry
considerable weight. The envoy did not celebrate the late birthday of
his sovereign by a jolly, and convivial dinner. The fact was, Mr. M----,
who by the sudden return of Mr. J----, became unexpectedly invested with
the dignity of an ambassador, was in constant expectation of being
recalled, to make room for the intended appointment of lord W---- to the
consular court, in consequence of which, he had not prepared for the
display of those splendid hospitalities, which, on such occasions,
always distinguish the table of a british house of embassy.

On a Sunday evening, I went with a party to Tivoli, a favourite place of
amusement with the parisians. At the entrance we found, as at all the
public places, a guard of horse, and foot. The admission is twenty
sols. The evening was very fine. We passed immense crowds of people, who
were flocking to the same place. Amongst them were many elegant, well
dressed women, wholly unattended by gentlemen, a circumstance by no
means unusual in Paris. This place seemed to be raised by the magic
touch of enchantment. We entered upon gravelled walks, which were cut
through little winding, and intersecting hillocks of box; those which
formed the sides were surmounted by orange trees, which presented a
beautiful colonnade; immediately after we had passed them, we entered an
elegant treillage of honeysuckles, roses, and eglantine, which formed
the grand entrance to the garden. Here a most animated scene of
festivity opened upon us. On one side were rope dancers, people riding
at the ring, groups of persons playing at shuttlecock, which seemed to
be the favourite, and I may add, the most ridiculous diversion; on the
other side, were dancers, tumblers, mountebanks, and parties, all with
gay countenances, seated in little bowers enjoying lemonade, and ices.
In the centre as we advanced, were about three hundred people, who were
dancing the favourite waltz. This dance was brought from Germany, where,
_from its nature_, the partners are always engaged lovers; but the
french, who think that nothing can be blamable which is susceptible of
elegance, have introduced the german dance, without adhering to the
german regulation. The attitudes of the waltz are very graceful, but
they would not altogether accord with english female notions of
delicacy. At a late fashionable parisian ball, a gentleman present was
requested by the lady of the house, to waltz with a friend of hers, who
was without a partner. The person of this neglected fair, was a little
inclined to the meagre. The gallant, without the least embarrassment,
declined, observing, "Ah! ma chere Madame qu'exigez vous de moi, ne
savez vous pas qu'elle n'a point de sein?" In the middle of the platform
of the dancers, a very fine full band was playing. At the end of this
raised stage, a very capacious indian marquee was erected, which was
beautifully illuminated with variegated lamps, and under its broad
canopy, a large concourse of people was seated, some were enjoying
conversation, some were playing at buillotte, drinking coffee, &c.;
behind this building, was a noble corinthian temple, from the doors of
which, were covered trellis walks, leading to spacious gardens, which
were formed to display the different tastes of the english, french, and
dutch nations, whose respective names they bore. These gardens are
intersected by little canals, upon which several persons were amusing
themselves with the diversion of canoe racing. The whole was illuminated
by large patent reflecting lamps, which shed a lustre almost as
brilliant as the day. A few english were present, amongst them were the
duchess of Cumberland, and a few other ladies. These gardens, previous
to the revolution, were the property of a wealthy minister of France,
who, it is said, expended near one hundred thousand pounds sterling, in
bringing them to perfection, which he just saw accomplished, when he
closed his eyes upon the scaffold. The nation became their next
proprietor, who sold them for a large sum of money to their present
owners.

From this place we went to Frescati, which is the promenade of the first
beauty, and fashion of Paris, who generally assemble about half past ten
o'clock, after the opera is concluded. No admission money is required,
but singular as it may seem, no improper intruder has yet appeared, a
circumstance which may be accounted for by the awe which well bred
society ever maintains over vulgarity. Frescati is situated in the
Italian Boulevard; was formerly the residence of a nobleman of large
fortune, and has also undergone the usual transition of revolutionary
confiscation. The streets leading to it were filled with carriages.
After ascending a flight of steps, from a handsome court yard, we
entered a beautiful hall, which was lined with pier glasses, and
decorated with festoons of artificial flowers, at the end of it was a
fine statue of Venus de Medicis. On one side of this image was an arch,
which led into a suite of six magnificent apartments, which were
superbly gilt, painted, and also covered with pier glasses, and lustres
of fine diamond cut glass, which latter, looked like so many little
glittering cascades. Each room was in a blaze of light, and filled with
parties, who were taking ices, or drinking coffee. Each room
communicated with the others, by arches, or folding doors of mirrors.
The garden is small, but very tastefully disposed. It is composed of
three walks, which are lined with orange and acacia trees, and vases of
roses. At the end is a tower mounted on a rock, temples, and rustic
bridges; and on each side of the walks, are little labyrinth bowers. On
the side next to the Boulevard, is a terrace which commands the whole
scene, is lined on each side with beautiful vases of flowers, and is
terminated at each end by alcoves, which are lined with mirrors. Here in
the course of an hour, the astonished, and admiring stranger may see
near three thousand females of the first beauty and distinction in
Paris, whose cheeks are no longer disfigured by the corrosion of rouge,
and who, by their symmetry and grace, would induce him to believe, that
the loveliest figures of Greece, in her proudest era, were revived, and
moving before him.




CHAPTER XIV.

     _Convent of blue Nuns.--Duchesse de Biron.--The bloody Key.--Courts
     of Justice.--Public Library.--Gobelines.--Miss Linwood.--Garden of
     Plants.--French Accommodation.--Boot Cleaners.--Cat and Dog
     Shearers.--Monsieur S---- and Family._


The english convent, or as it is called, the convent of blue nuns, in
the Rue de St. Victoire, is the only establishment of the kind, which
throughout the republic, has survived the revolution. To what cause its
exclusive protection is attributable, is not, I believe correctly known.
But though this spot of sacred seclusion, has escaped the final stroke
of extermination, it has sustained an ample share of the general
desolation. During the time of terrour, it was converted into the
crowded prison of the female nobility, who were here confined, and
afterwards dragged from its cloisters, and butchered by the guillotine,
or the daggers of assassins. I had a letter of introduction to Mrs.
S----, one of the sisterhood, a lady of distinguished family in England.
I found her in the refectory. A dignified dejection overspread her
countenance, and her figure seemed much emaciated by the scenes of
horrour through which she had passed. She informed me, that when the
nuns were in a state of arrestation by the order of Robespierre, the
convent was so crowded with prisoners, that they were obliged to eat
their wretched meals in three different divisions. The places of the
unhappy beings who were led off to execution, were immediately filled by
fresh victims.

Amongst those who suffered, was the beautiful young duchesse de Biron,
said to be one of the loveliest women of the french court. Her fate was
singular, and horrible. One morning, two of the assistant executioners
came into one of the rooms, and called upon the female citizen Biron to
come forward, meaning the old duchesse de Biron, the mother, who was
here immured with her daughter; some one said, which of them do you
require? The hell-hounds replied, "Our order was for one only, but as
there are two, we will have both, that there may be no errour." The
mother and daughter were taken away, locked senseless in each others
arms. When the cart which carried them arrived at the foot of the
scaffold, the chief executioner looked at his paper, which contained a
list of his victims, and saw the name of only one Biron; the assistants
informed him that they found two of that name in the convent, and to
prevent mistake, they had brought both. The principal, with perfect sang
froid, said it was all well, wrote with a pencil the article "les"
before the name Biron, to which he added an s, and immediately beheaded
both!!!

Mrs. S---- led me to the chapel, to show me the havoc which the
unspairing impious hands of the revolution had there produced. She put
into my hand an immense massy key to open the door of the choir. "That
key," said she, "was made for the master-key of the convent, by the
order of Robespierre. In the time of terrour, our gaoler wore it at his
belt. A thousand times has my soul sunk within me, when it loudly pushed
the bolt of the lock aside. When the door opened, it was either a signal
to prepare for instant death to some of those who were within, or for
the gloomy purpose of admitting new victims." When we entered the
chapel, my surprise and abhorrence were equally excited. The windows
were beaten through, the hangings were flapping in the wind, the altar
was shattered in pieces and prostrate, the pavement was every where torn
up, and the caves of the dead were still yawning upon us. From their
solemn and hallowed depths, the mouldering relics of the departed had
been raised, by torch light, and heaped in frightful piles of unfinished
decay against the walls, for the purpose of converting the lead, which
contained these wretched fragments of mortality, into balls for the
musketry of the revolution. The gardens behind the chapel must have been
once very pleasant, but they then had the appearance of a wilderness.
The painful uncertainty of many years, had occasioned the neglect and
ruin in which I saw them. Some of the nuns were reading upon shattered
seats, under overgrown bowers, and others were walking in the melancholy
shade of neglected avenues. The effect of the whole was gloomy and
sorrowful, and fully confirmed the melancholy recital which I received
from Mrs. S----. Bonaparte, it is said, intends to confirm to these
nuns their present residence, by an act of government.

Upon leaving the convent I visited the seats of cassation, and justice,
in the architectural arrangement of which, I saw but little worthy of
minute notice, except the perfect accommodation which pervades all the
french buildings, which are appropriated to the administration of the
laws.

The hall of the first cassation, or grand court of appeal, is very fine.
The judges wear elegant costumes, and were, as well as the advocates,
seated upon chairs, which were constructed to imitate the seats of roman
magistracy, and had a good effect. I was informed that the whole of the
ornamental arrangement was designed by David.

From the courts of justice, I went to the second national library, which
is very noble and large, and has a valuable collection of books. Several
students were arranged with great silence and decorum, at long tables.
In one apartment is a very large, and ingenious model of Rome in a glass
case, and another of a frigate.

Upon leaving the library I proceeded to the Gobelins, so called from one
Gobel, a noted dyer at Rheims, who settled here in the reign of Francis
I. This beautiful manufactory has a crowd of visitors every day. Upon
the walls of the galleries the tapestry is suspended, which exhibits
very exquisite copies of various historical paintings, of which there
are some very costly and beautiful specimens. The artists work behind
the frame, where the original from which they copy is placed. The whole
is a very expensive national establishment, much of its production is
preserved for presents to foreign princes, and some of it is disposed of
by public sale.

Upon the comparison between the works of the Gobelins and the beautiful
works of Miss Linwood, I could not help feeling a little degree of pride
to observe that my ingenious countrywoman did not appear to suffer by
it. Too much praise cannot be bestowed upon the tasteful paintings of
her exquisite needle. This elegant minded woman has manifested by her
charming exhibition, that great genius is not always separated from
great labour, and unwearied perseverance.

From the Gobelins I visited the garden of plants, which is considered to
be the largest, and most valuable botanical collection in Europe, and
was founded by the celebrated Buffon. The garden is laid out into noble
walks, and beds containing the rarest plants from all parts of the
world, each of which is neatly labelled for the use of the students. On
the right of the entrance is a park containing all sorts of deer, and on
the left are vast hothouses and greenhouses; in the centre, enclosed in
iron lattice work, is a large pond for the reception of foreign aquatic
animals, very near which is a large octagon experimental beehive, about
ten feet high, and at the end, near the banks of the Seine, is a fine
menagerie, in which, amongst other beasts, there are some noble lions.
Many of the animals have separate houses, and gardens to range in.
Adjoining is the park of the elephant. This stupendous animal, from the
ample space in which he moves, is seen to great advantage, and is
considered to be the largest of his species in Europe. Near the
entrance, on the right, is the museum of natural curiosities, the
collection of which is very valuable, and admirably arranged. There is
here a fine giraffe, or camelopard, of an amazing height, stuffed. This
surprising animal is a native of Ethiopia, and some other parts of
Africa, and has scarcely ever been seen in Europe.

From the garden of plants, I made all possible dispatch to Madame
C----'s, in the Boulevard Italien, where I was engaged to dinner.

Upon crossing the Pont Neuf, where there are a number of little stalls
erected, the owners of which advertise upon little boards, which are
raised upon poles, that they possess extraordinary talents for shearing
dogs and cats; I could not help stopping and laughing most heartily to
observe the following address to the public from one of these canine and
grimalkin functionaries:

    "Monin, tondit et coupe
    les chiens la chatte
    et sa femme----
    vat en ville."

Which runs in this ridiculous manner in english:

    "Monin shears and cuts
    dogs and cats and his wife----
    goes on errands."

As I had no time to return to my hotel to dress, I was initiated into a
mode of expeditiously equipping myself, by a young friend who was with
me, to which I was before a stranger, and which shows in the most
trifling matters, that the french are good adepts in expedition and
accommodation. In passing through the Palais Royal, we entered the
little shop of a boot cleaner. In a moment I was mounted upon a dirty
sopha, to which I ascended by steps, and from which I had a complete
commanding view of the concourse of gay people, who are always passing
and repassing in this idle place; the paper of the day, stretched upon a
little wooden frame was placed in my hand, each foot was fixed upon an
iron anvil, one man brushed off the dirt, and another put on a shining
blacking, a third brushed my clothes, and a fourth presented a basin of
water and towel to me. The whole of this comfortable operation lasted
about four minutes. My dirty valets made me a low bow for four sols,
which, poor as the recompense was, exceeded their expectations by three
pieces of that petty coin.

In the evening, I had the happiness of being introduced to Monsieur
S----. Under his noble and hospitable roof, amidst his affectionate,
beautiful, and accomplished family, and in the select circle of his
elegant and enlightened society, I passed many happy hours. Monsieur
S---- was of a noble family, and previous to the revolution was one of
the fermiers generaux, and possessed a very noble fortune. In
discharging the duties of his distinguished and lucrative office, he
conciliated the affections of every one, who had the good fortune to be
comprehended within the compass of his honourable authority, and when
the revolution stripped him of it, it found his integrity without a
stain, except what, in the bewildered interpretation of republican fury,
adhered to him from his connection with the old established order of
things. In the general, and undistinguishing cry for blood, which yelled
from the remorseless assassins of Robespierre, this admirable man was
consigned to a dungeon, and doomed to the scaffold. Two hours before he
was to suffer, the remembrance of the noble victim, and of a series of
favours, of kindness, and of generosity, flashed, with momentary but
irresistible compunction, upon the mind of one of his sanguinary judges,
who, suspending the bloody proceedings which then occupied the court,
implored the compassion of his fell associates. He pleaded until he had
obtained his discharge, and then at once forgetting the emotions of
mercy, which had inspired his tongue with the most persuasive eloquence,
he very composedly resumed the functions of his cruel occupation, and
consigned to the fatal instrument of revolutionary slaughter, other
beings, whose virtues were less renowned, or less fortunate in their
sphere of operation. Monsieur S---- had reached his sixty-eighth year,
but seemed to possess all the vivacity and health of youth. His lady was
a very amiable, and enlightened woman. Their family consisted of a son,
and three daughters, all of them handsome, and very highly accomplished.
The eldest, Madame E----, excelled in music; the second, Madame B----,
in poetry and the classics; and the youngest, Mademoiselle Delphine, in
drawing and singing. I shall, perhaps, be pardoned for introducing a
little impromptu compliment, which the pure, and unassuming merits of
the youngest of the family, drew from my pen, in consequence of the
conversation one evening, turning upon the indecorum of the tunic dress,
amongst the elegantes of Paris.

      TO MADEMOISELLE D.S.

    Whilst art array'd in _tunic_ robe,
    Tries over fashion's gaudy globe,
    To hold resistless force,
    Thy merits shall impede her course,
    For grace and nature gain in thee,
    A chaste, decisive victory.

From the general wreck of property Monsieur S---- has been fortunate
enough to save a considerable portion of his former fortune. A similar
favourable circumstance has, in general, rewarded the fortitude and
constancy of those who, in the political storm, refused to seek a
dastard safety by flight. Influenced by the reputation of the integrity,
talents, and experience of Monsieur S----, the first consul has
deservedly placed him at the head of the national accounts, which he
manages with great advantage, and honour to the government. I was
pressed to make this charming house my home. Upon a noble terrace, which
communicated with the drawing room, and commanded a view of all the
gayety, and fashion of the Italien Boulevard, which moved below us, in
the circle of some of the most charming people of Paris, we used to
enjoy the refreshing coolness of the evening, the graceful
unpremeditated dance, or the sounds of enchanting music. In this happy
spot all parties assembled. Those who had been divided by the ferocity
of politics, here met in amiable intercourse. I have in the same room
observed, the once pursuing republican conqueror, in social converse
with the captive vendeean general, who had submitted to his prowess, and
to the government. The sword was not merely sheathed--it was _concealed_
in flowers. To please, and to be pleased; to charm, and to enlighten, by
interchanges of pleasantry, and politeness, and talents, and
acquirements, seemed alone to occupy the generous minds of this charming
society. The remembrance of the hours which I passed under this roof,
will afford my mind delight, as long as the faculty of memory remains,
or until high honour, and munificent hospitality have lost their value,
and genius and beauty, purity and elegance have no longer any
attractions.




CHAPTER XV.

     _Civility of a Sentinel.--The Hall of the Legislative
     Assembly.--British House of Commons.--Captain Bergevet.--The
     Temple.--Sir Sydney Smith's Escape.--Colonel Phillipeaux._


One morning, as I was entering the grand court of the hall of the
Legislative Assembly, I was stopped by a sentry. I told him I was an
Englishman. He politely begged my pardon, and requested me to pass, and
called one of the housekeepers to show me the apartments.

This magnificent pile is in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and was formerly
the palace of the Bourbons. After passing through a suite of splendid
apartments, I entered, through lofty folding doors, into the hall, where
the legislators assemble. It is a very spacious semicircular room, and
much resembles, in its arrangements the appearance of a splendid theatre
before the stage. The ascent to the seat of the president is by a flight
of light marble steps; the facing of his bureau is composed of the most
costly marble, richly carved. On each side of the president's chair are
seats for the secretaries; and immediately below them is the tribune,
into which the orator ascends to address the House. On each side of the
seat of the president are antique statues of eminent patriots and
orators, which are placed in niches in the wall. Under the tribune, upon
the centre of the floor, is the altar of the country, upon which, in
marble, is represented the book of the laws, resting upon branches of
olive. Behind it, upon semicircular seats, the legislators sit, at the
back of whom are the boxes of the embassadors, and officers of state,
and immediately above them, within a colonnade of corinthian pillars,
the public are admitted. Round the upper part of the cornice, a
beautiful festoon of lilac coloured cloth, looped up with rich tassels,
is suspended, for the purpose of correcting the vibration of the voice.
The whole is very superb, and has cost the nation an immense sum of
money. The principal housekeeper asked me "whether our speakers had such
a place to declaim in," I told him, "that we had very _great_ orators in
England, but that they were content to speak in very little places." He
laughed, and observed, "that frenchmen never talked to so much advantage
as when their eye was pleased."

This man I found had been formerly one of the door keepers of the
national assembly, and was present when, after having been impeached by
Billaud, Panis, and their colleagues, Tallien discharged the pistol at
Robespierre, whom he helped to support, until the monster was finally
dispatched by the guillotine, on the memorable 9th of Thermidor.

The french are amazingly fond of finery and stage effect. The solicitude
which always first manifested itself after any political change in the
course of the revolution, was the external decoration of each new puppet
who, arrayed in the brief authority of the fleeting moment, was
permitted to "play his fantastic tricks before high Heaven."

The poor battered ark of government was left overturned, under the
protection of an escort of assassins, in the ensanguined mud, upon the
reeking bodies of its former, headless, bearers, until its new
supporters had adjusted the rival pretensions of silk and satin, and had
consulted the pattern book of the laceman in the choice of their
embroidery. On one side of the arch which leads into the antiroom of the
legislative assembly, are suspended patterns and designs for tickets of
admission to the sitting, elegantly framed, and near the same place, in
a long gallery which leads to the dressing-rooms of the legislators, are
boxes which contain the senatorial robes of the members. The meetings of
our house of commons would inspire more awe, and veneration, if more
attention was paid to decorum, and external decoration. A dignified and
manly magnificence would not be unsuitable to the proceedings of the
sanctuary of british laws, and the seat of unrivalled eloquence. What
would a perfumed french legislator say, accustomed to rise in the
rustling of embroidered silks, and gracefully holding in his hand, a cap
of soft and showy plumes, to address himself to alabaster statues,
glittering lustres, grecian chairs, festoons of drapery, and an audience
of beings tricked out as fine as himself, were he to be suddenly
transported into a poor and paltry room, meanly lighted, badly
ventilated, and inconveniently arranged, and to be told that, in that
spot, the representatives of the first nation in the world, legislated
for her subjects? What would he say, were he to see and hear in the mean
attire of jockeys and mechanics, such orators as Greece and Rome never
saw or heard in the days of their most exalted glory; unfolding with the
penetration of a subordinate Providence, the machinations of a dark and
deep conspiracy, erecting elaborate laws to shelter the good, against
the enemies of repose, or hurling the thunder of their eloquence against
the common foes of their country. The astonished frenchman would very
likely say, "I always thought that the english were a strange set of
beings, but they now exceed the powers of my comprehension, they can
elicit wit in the midst of gloom, and can say such things in a plain
unbrushed coat of _blue_ cloth, as all the robes, plumes, and finery of
the republic, in her gaudy halls of deliberation, cannot inspire."

From the legislative assembly I went to pay my respects to the gallant
captain Bergeret, to whom I had letters of introduction. It will be
immediately remembered, that this distinguished hero, in the Virginie,
displayed the most undaunted courage, when she was engaged by sir Edward
Pellew, in the Indefatigable, to whose superior prowess and naval
knowledge, he was obliged to strike the tricolour flag. His bravery and
integrity have justly entitled him to the admiration and lasting
friendship of his noble conqueror, and to the esteem of the british
nation. When sir Sidney Smith was confined in the Temple, and captain
Bergeret a prisoner in England, the latter was sent to France upon his
parole, to endeavour to effect the exchange of sir Sidney. The french
government, which was then under the direction of some of the basest and
meanest of her tyrants, refused to listen to the proposal; and at the
same time resisted the return of their own countryman.

The gallant Bergeret was resolved to preserve his word of honour
unsullied, or to perish in the attempt. Finding all his efforts to
obtain the liberation of the illustrious captive unavailing, menaced
with death if he departed, and invited by promised command and promotion
if he remained, he contrived to quit his own country by stealth, and
returned a voluntary exile to his generous and confiding conquerors.

From captain B----'s hotel I went to the Temple, so celebrated in the
gloomy history of the revolution. It stands in the Rue du Temple, in the
Fauxbourg of that name. The entrance is handsome, and does not much
impress the idea of the approach to a place of such confinement. Over
the gates is a pole, supporting a dirty and tattered bonnet rouge, of
which species of republican decoration there are very few now to be seen
in Paris. The door was opened to me by the principal gaoler, whose
predecessor had been dismissed on account of his imputed connivance in
the escape of sir Sidney Smith. His appearance seemed fully to qualify
him for his savage office, and to insure his superiors against all
future apprehension, of a remission of duty by any act of humanity,
feeling, or commiseration. He told me, that he could not permit me to
advance beyond the lodge, on account of a peremptory order which he had
just received from government. From this place I had a full command of
the walk and prison, the latter of which is situated in the centre of
the walls. He pointed out to me the window of the room in which the
royal sufferers languished. As the story of sir Sidney Smith's escape
from this prison has been involved in some ambiguity, a short recital of
it will, perhaps, not prove uninteresting.

After several months had rolled away, since the gates of his prison had
first closed upon the british hero, he observed that a lady who lived in
an upper apartment on the opposite side of the street, seemed frequently
to look towards that part of the prison in which he was confined. As
often as he observed her, he played some tender air upon his flute, by
which, and by imitating every motion which she made, he at length
succeeded in fixing her attention upon him, and had the happiness of
remarking that she occasionally observed him with a glass. One morning
when he saw that she was looking attentively upon him in this manner, he
tore a blank leaf from an old mass book which was lying in his cell, and
with the soot of the chimney, contrived, by his finger, to describe upon
it, in a large character, the letter A, which he held to the window to
be viewed by his fair sympathizing observer. After gazing upon it for
some little time, she nodded, to show that she understood what he meant,
sir Sidney then touched the top of the first bar of the grating of his
window, which he wished her to consider as the representative of the
letter A, the second B, and so on, until he had formed, from the top of
the bars, a corresponding number of letters; and by touching the middle,
and bottom parts of them, upon a line with each other, he easily, after
having inculcated the first impression of his wishes, completed a
telegraphic alphabet. The process of communication was, from its nature,
very slow, but sir Sidney had the happiness of observing, upon forming
the first word, that this excellent being, who beamed before him like a
guardian angel, seemed completely to comprehend it, which she expressed
by an assenting movement of the head. Frequently obliged to desist from
this tacit and tedious intercourse, from the dread of exciting the
curiosity of the gaolers, or his fellow prisoners, who were permitted to
walk before his window, sir Sidney occupied several days in
communicating to his unknown friend, his name and quality, and imploring
her to procure some unsuspected royalist of consequence and address
sufficient for the undertaking, to effect his escape; in the achievement
of which he assured her, upon his word of honour, that whatever cost
might be incurred, would be amply reimbursed, and that the bounty and
gratitude of his country would nobly remunerate those who had the
talent, and bravery to accomplish it. By the same means he enabled her
to draw confidential and accredited bills, for considerable sums of
money, for the promotion of the scheme, which she applied with the most
perfect integrity. Colonel Phelipeaux was at this time at Paris; a
military man of rank, and a secret royalist, most devoutly attached to
the fortunes of the exiled family of France, and to those who supported
their cause. He had been long endeavouring to bring to maturity, a plan
for facilitating their restoration, but which the loyal adherent, from a
series of untoward and uncontrollable circumstances, began to despair of
accomplishing. The lovely deliverer of sir Sidney, applied to this
distinguished character, to whom she was known, and stated the singular
correspondence which had taken place between herself and the heroic
captive in the Temple. Phelipeaux, who was acquainted with the fame of
sir Sidney, and chagrined at the failure of his former favourite scheme,
embraced the present project with a sort of prophetic enthusiasm, by
which he hoped to restore, to the british nation, one of her greatest
heroes, who, by his skill and valour, might once more impress the common
enemy with dismay, augment the glory of his country, and cover himself
with the laurels of future victory. Intelligent, active, cool, daring,
and insinuating, colonel Phelipeaux immediately applied himself to bring
to maturity, a plan at once suitable to his genius, and interesting to
his wishes. To those whom it was necessary to employ upon the occasion,
he contrived to unite one of the clerks of the minister of the police,
who forged his signature with exact imitation, to an order for removing
the body of sir Sidney, from the Temple to the prison of the
Conciergerie: after this was accomplished, on the day after that on
which the inspector of gaols was to visit the Temple and Conciergerie, a
ceremony, which is performed once a month in Paris, two gentlemen of
tried courage and address, who were previously instructed by colonel
Phelipeaux, disguised as officers of the marechaussee, presented
themselves in a fiacre at the Temple, and demanded the delivery of sir
Sidney, at the same time showing the forged order for his removal. This
the gaoler attentively perused and examined, as well as the minister's
signature. Soon after the register of the prison informed sir Sidney of
the order of the directory, upon hearing which, he at first appeared to
be a little disconcerted, upon which the pseudoofficers gave him every
assurance of the honour and mild intentions of the government towards
him, sir Sidney seemed more reconciled, packed up his clothes, took
leave of his fellow prisoners, and distributed little tokens of his
gratitude to those servants of the prison, from whom he had experienced
indulgencies. Upon the eve of their departure, the register observed,
that four of the prison guard should accompany them. This arrangement
menaced the whole plan with immediate dissolution. The officers, without
betraying the least emotion, acquiesced in the propriety of the measure,
and gave orders for the men to be called out, when, as if recollecting
the rank and honour of their illustrious prisoner, one of them addressed
sir Sidney, by saying, "citizen, you are a brave officer, give us your
parole, and there is no occasion for an escort." Sir Sidney replied,
that he would pledge his faith, as an officer, to accompany them,
without resistance, wherever they chose to conduct him.

Not a look or movement betrayed the intention of the party. Every thing
was cool, well-timed, and natural. They entered a fiacre, which, as is
usual, was brought for the purpose of removing him, in which he found
changes of clothes, false passports, and money. The coach moved with an
accustomed pace, to the Faubourg St. Germain, where they alighted, and
parted in different directions. Sir Sidney met colonel Phelipeaux at the
appointed spot of rendezvous.

The project was so ably planned and conducted, that no one but the party
concerned was acquainted with the escape, until near a month had
elapsed, when the inspector paid his next periodical visit. What pen can
describe the sensations of two such men as sir Sidney and Phelipeaux,
when they first beheld each other in safety? Heaven befriended the
generous and gallant exploit. Sir Sidney and his noble friend, reached
the french coast wholly unsuspected, and committing themselves to their
God, and to the protective genius of brave men, put to sea in an open
boat, and were soon afterwards discovered by an english cruising
frigate, and brought in safety to the british shores.

The gallant Phelipeaux soon afterwards accompanied sir Sidney in the
Tigre to Acre, where, overwhelmed by the fatigue of that extraordinary
campaign, in which he supported a distinguished part, and the noxious
influence of a sultry climate, operating upon a delicate frame, he
expired in the arms of his illustrious friend, who attended him to his
grave, and shed the tears of gratitude and friendship over his honoured
and lamented obsequies. But ere the dying Phelipeaux closed his eyes, he
received the rewards of his generous enterprise. He beheld the repulsed
legions of the republic, flying before the british banners, and the
irresistible prowess of his valiant companion; he beheld the
distinguished being, whom he had thus rescued from a dungeon, and
impending destruction, by an act of almost romantic heroism, covered
with the unparticipated glory, of having overpowered a leader, who,
renowned, and long accustomed to conquest, saw, for the first time, his
_invincible troops_ give way; who, inflamed to desperation, deemed the
perilous exposure of his person necessary, to rally them to the contest,
over bridges of their slaughtered comrades, but who at length was
obliged to retire from the field of battle, and to leave to the heroic
sir Sidney, the exclusive exultation of announcing to his grateful and
elated country, that he had fought, and vanquished the laurelled
conqueror of Italy, and the bold invader of Egypt.

Sir Sidney has no vices to conceal behind his spreading and imperishable
laurels. His public character is before the approving world. That peace
which his sword has accelerated, has afforded us an undisturbed
opportunity of admiring his achievements in the field, and of
contemplating his conduct in the retired avenues of private life, in
which his deportment is without a stain. In him there is every thing to
applaud, and nothing to forgive.

Yet thus glorious in public, and thus unsullied in private, the
conqueror of Bonaparte, and the saviour of the east, owes the honours,
_which he adorns_, to foreign and distant powers.

To the _grateful_ government of his own country, he is indebted for an
ungracious paltry annuity, inadequate to the display of ordinary
consequence, and wholly unequal to the suitable support of that dignity,
which ought for ever to distinguish such a being from the mass of
mankind.

The enemies of sir Sidney, for envy furnishes every great man with his
quota of such indirect eulogists, if they should honour these pages with
a perusal, may, perchance, endeavour to trace the approving warmth with
which I have spoken of him, to the enthusiasm of a friendship dazzled,
and undiscriminating; but I beg to assure them, that the fame of sir
Sidney is better known to me than his person, and that his noble
qualities have alone excited the humble tribute which is here offered
to one, for whom delighted Nature, in the language of our immortal bard,

    "--------------------------------might stand up,
    and say to all the world, this _is_ a man----"




CHAPTER XVI.

     _A fashionable Poem.--Frere Richart.--Religion.--Hôtel des
     Invalides.--Hall of Victory.--Enemies' Colours.--Sulky Appearance
     of an English Jack and Ensign.--Indecorum.--The aged
     Captain.--Military School.--Champ de Mars.--The Garden of
     Mousseaux._


The conversation whilst I was at Paris, was much engaged by a poem,
describing the genius and progress of christianity written in imitation
of the style of Ossian, which excited very considerable curiosity. From
the remarks of some shrewd acquaintances of mine, who had perused the
work, I learnt that the principles of the poem seemed strongly tinctured
with the bewildered fancies of a disordered mind, conveyed in very heavy
_prosaic_ blank verse. "It was the madness of poetry, without the
inspiration."

This composition may be considered as a curiosity, from other reasons
than those which mere criticism affords. The poem was bad, the readers
were many. The subject was sacred, the author a reputed atheist, and the
profits which it produced exceeded two thousand pounds sterling. The
fortunate writer relieved himself from the jaws of famine by this
strange incomprehensible eulogy on the charms and advancement of
christianity, which has been received in Paris, with a sort of
fashionable frenzy. Another pseudobard has announced his intention very
shortly of issuing from the press, a work which he conceives will be
more saleable and a greater favourite with the public, in which he
intends ironically to combat the doctrine of the Trinity, by gravely
resembling it to the Deity taking snuff between two looking glasses, so
that when he sneezes, two resemblances of him are seen to sneeze also,
and yet that there are not three sneezers, but one sneezer.

Some other outlines of this work were imparted to me at Paris, but the
pen turns with disgust and detestation, from such low and nauseous
profanation. I have only condescended to mention the composition, and
the last anecdote, to show how much the world is deluded, by the
received opinion that the french are become a new race of exemplary
devotees. The recoil from atheism to enthusiasm, is not unusual, but the
french in general have not, as yet, experienced this change. That they
are susceptible of extraordinary transitions, their history and
revolution have sufficiently manifested. In the Journal de Paris,
written in the reigns of Charles VI and VII, is preserved rather a
curious account of the velocity with which religious zeal has, in former
periods, been excited. "On the 4th day of April, 1429," says the
journal, "the duke of Burgundy came to Paris, with a very fine body of
knights and esquires; and eight days afterwards there came to Paris, a
cordelier, by name Frere Richart, a man of great prudence, very knowing
in prayer, a giver of good doctrine to edify his neighbour, and was so
successful, that he who had not seen him, was bursting with envy against
those who had. He was but one day in Paris, without preaching. He began
his sermon about five o'clock in the morning, and continued preaching
till ten or eleven o'clock, and there were always between five and six
thousand persons to hear him preach. This cordelier preached on St.
Mark's Day, attended by the like number of persons, and on their return
from his sermon, the people of Paris were so turned, and moved to
devotion, that in three or four hours time, there were more than one
hundred fires lighted, in which they burnt their chess boards, their
back gammon tables, and their packs of cards."

To this sort of fanaticism, the parisians are unquestionably not
arrived. A more eloquent man than the Frere Richart, must appear amongst
them, before such meliorations as are recorded in the Paris journal, can
be effected in the dissolute and uncontrolled habits of that gay and
voluptuous city. I do not mean, from any previous remark which I have
made, to infer that there are not many good and very pious people in
France, and it has been a favourable circumstance to the ancient
religion of France, that the revolution never attempted any reform in
it, or to substitute another mode of worship. That great political
change in the ebullition of its fury, prostrated the altars of the old
church, without raising others of a new, or improved construction. It
presented a hideous rebellion against the glorious author of all good,
and declared an indiscriminate war of extermination against his
ministers and followers, and every principle of the Gospel and morality.
Every form of faith, every mode of adoration, fell indiscriminately
under the proscriptions of its unsparing wrath. The towering abbey and
humble oratory, were alike swept away in the general tornado, and
mingled their ruins together. But the race of the good were not all
expelled from this scene of havoc and outrage. The voice of piety still
found a passage to her God. The silent prayer pierced through the
compact covering of the dungeon, and ascended to Heaven. Within the
embowering unsearchable recesses of the soul, far beyond the reach of
revolutionary persecution, the pure unappalled spirit of devotion
erected her viewless temple, in secret magnificence, sublime, and
unassailable!

The child who had never heard the bell of the sabbath sound, who had
never beheld the solemn ceremonies of authorized adoration, was told
that those awful and splendid piles, which filled his eyes with wonder,
and his mind with instinctive reverence, were raised for other purposes
than those of becoming auxiliary to the ferocity of war. That genius and
taste, and toil and cost, had not thus expended their unrivalled powers,
and lavished their munificent resources, in erecting _gothic_ magazines
of gunpowder, and _saxon_ sheds for the accommodation of atheistic
fabricators of revolutionary cannon balls.

The young observer in private, and by stealth imbibed, from parental
precept or example, the sentiment of a national religion, suppressed,
not extinguished, or in the gloomy absence of all indications of it,
remained unsolicited by any rival mode of worship to bestow his apostacy
upon an alien creed. Thus the minds of the rising generation, who were
engaged in favour of the catholic persuasion, during the frightful
period of its long denunciation, by stolen, secluded and unfinished
displays of its spirit and form, contemplated its return with animated
elation, or beheld its approach, unimpressed with those doubts or
prejudices which religious, as well as secular competitions, very
frequently excite; in that auspicious hour, when the policy, if not the
piety of a powerful government, restored it to the French people. The
subject is highly interesting; but I must resign it to abler pens for
more ample discussion.

I was much gratified by being presented to the celebrated philosopher
Mons. Charles, by Madame S----. He has a suite of noble apartments in
the Louvre, which have been bestowed upon him by the government, as a
grateful reward for his having presented to the nation his magnificent
collection of philosophical apparatus. He has also, in consideration of
his ability and experience, been constituted the principal lecturer on
philosophy. In these rooms his valuable and costly donation is arranged.
In the centre of the dome of the first apartment, called the Hall of
Electricity, is suspended the car of the first balloon which was
inflated with inflammable air, in which he and his brother ascended in
the afternoon of the 1st of December, 1783, in which they continued in
the air for an hour and three quarters; and after they had descended,
Mons. C----rose alone to the astonishing height of 10,500 feet. In the
same room are immense electrical machines and batteries, some of which
had been presented to him by Madame S----.

In this room, amongst many other fanciful figures, which are used for
the purpose of enlivening the solemnity of a philosophical lecture by
exciting sentiments of innocent gayety, was a little Cupid. The tiny
god, with his arrow in his hand, was insulated upon a throne of glass,
and was charged with that electric fluid which not a little resembles
the subtle spirit of his nature. The youngest daughter of Madame S----,
who accompanied us, was requested to touch it. In a moment it discharged
its penetrating spark--"Oh! how that little god has alarmed me!" said
the recoiling fair one, whose youthful countenance surprise had imbued
with new beauties; "but yet," said she, recovering herself, "_he does
not hurt_." This little sally may be considered as a specimen of that
playful sprightliness which is so much the characteristic of the french
female.

In the centre of another room, dedicated to optics, as we entered, we
saw a beautiful nosegay in a vase, which appeared to be composed of the
rarest flowers. I approached it with an intention of inhaling its
fragrance, when, lo! my hand passed through it. It was an exquisite
optical illusion. "Ah!" said my elegant and moralising companion, Madame
S----, smiling, "of such flowers has Happiness composed _her_ wreath: it
is thus she gladdens with it the eye of Hope; but the hand of
Expectation can never grasp it."

The graceful moral deserves a more lasting record than it will find in
these few and perishable pages.

In the other rooms are all sorts of apparatus for trying experiments in
the various branches of that department of science, over which Mons.
C---- so ably presides.

The merit of Mons. C---- has no rival but in his modesty. Considering
the rank and estimation which he bears in the republic, his external
appearance is singularly unassuming. I have been with him in the gardens
of the Thuilleries, when they were thronged with the fashion and gayety
of Paris, where he has appeared in a suit of plain brown cloth, an old
round hat with a little national cockade in it, under which he presented
a countenance full of character, talent and animation. In this homely
puritan garb, he excited more respectful curiosity, wherever he moved,
than some generals who paraded before us in dresses upon which the
tailor and embroiderer had long laboured, and who added to their stature
by laced hats entirely filled with gaudy buoyant plumes.

From Mons. Charles we went to the church of St. Rocque, in the Rue St.
Honorè. As we entered, the effect of a fine painting of our Saviour
crucified, upon which the sun was shining with great glory, placed at
the extremity of the church, and seen through several lessening arches
of faint, increasing shade, was very grand. This church has been more
than once the scene of revolutionary carnage. Its elegant front is much
disfigured, and the doors are perforated, in a great number of places,
by the ball of cannon and the shot of musketry. Mass was performing in
the church; but we saw only few worshippers, and those were chiefly old
women and little girls.

From St. Rocque we proceeded to the Hôtel des Invalides, the chapel and
dome of which are so justly celebrated. The front is inferior to the
military hospital at Chelsea, to which it bears some resemblance. The
chapel is converted into the Hall of Victory, in which, with great
taste, are suspended, under descriptive medallions, the banners of the
enemies of the republic, which have been taken during the late war, the
numbers of which are immense. The same decoration adorns the pilasters
and gallery at the vast, magnificent dome at the end of the hall.

My eye was naturally occupied, immediately after we had entered, in
searching amongst the most _battered_ of the banners, for the british
colours: at last I discovered the jack and ensign of an english man of
war, pierced with shot-holes, and blackened with smoke, looking very
sulky, and indignantly, amongst the finery, and tawdry tatters of
italian and turkish standards.

In the course of this pursuit, I caught the intelligent eye of Madame
S----. She immediately assigned to my search the proper motive. "Ah!"
said she, laughingly, and patting me on the arm with her fan, "we are,
as you see, my dear Englishman, very vain; and you are very proud."

A stranger to the late calamitous war, unable to marshal in his mind the
enemies of the republic, might here, with a glance of his eye, whilst
contemplating this poor result of devastation, enumerate the foes of
France, and appreciate the facilities or difficulties of the victory.

In observing, amidst this gaudy show of captive colours, only two
hardworn banners of their rival enemy, he would draw a conclusion too
flattering and familiar to an English ear, to render it necessary to be
recorded here.

Upon the shattered standards of Austria he would confer the meed of
merited applause for heroic, although unprevailing bravery.

To the banners of Prussia he would say, "I know not whether principle or
policy, or treachery, or corruption, deterred you from the field--Your
looks exhibit no proofs of sincere resistance--However, you never
belonged to cowards."

The neapolitan ensign might excite such sentiments as these: "You appear
for a short time to have faced the battle--You were unfortunate, and
soon retired."

To the gaudy drapeaus of the italian and turkish legions, which every
where present the appearance of belonging to the wardrobe of a
pantomimic hero, he would observe, "The scent of the battle has not
perfumed you; its smoke has not sullied your shining, silky sides. Ye
appear in numbers, but display no marks of having waved before a brave,
united and energetic band."

In this manner might he trace the various fate of the war. Upon several
of the staffs only two or three shreds of colours are to be seen
adhering. These are chiefly Austrian. On each side of the chapel are
large, and some of them valuable paintings, by the french masters,
representing the conquests of the french armies at different eras.

It is a matter not unworthy of observation, that although the revolution
with a keen, and savage eye, explored too successfully, almost every
vestige of a royal tendency, the beautiful pavement under the dome of
the invalides has escaped destruction. The fleur de lis, surmounted by
the crown of France, still retains its original place, in this elegant
and costly marble flooring. The statues of the saints have been removed;
and their places are supplied by the new order of revolutionary deities;
but the names of the ancient figures have not been erased from the
pedestals of the new ones: to which omission the spectator is indebted
for a smile when contemplating the statue of Equality, he reads,
immediately below his feet, "_St. Louis_."

There is here a costly monument erected to the memory of the brave
marshal Turenne, who was killed by a cannon ball in 1675. In my humble
opinion, it is too much in the false taste of french statuary. A groupe
of weeping angels surround the recumbent hero, in the attitudes of
operatic figurantes, in whose faces, and forms, the artist has
attempted, too laboriously and artificially, to delineate the
expressions of graceful grief. On each side of the vast arch which
divides the dome from the chapel, are raised the tablets of military
honour, on which, in characters of gold, the names of those soldiers are
recorded who have distinguished themselves for their achievements in the
late war. As we were contemplating a painting upon a very large scale,
in which, amongst other figures, is an uncovered whole length of a
warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of
desperation, after having very attentively beheld it with her glass for
some time, observed to her party, that there was a great deal of
indecorum in the picture. Madame S---- very shrewdly whispered in my
ear, that the indecorum was in the remark.

When we were just leaving the chapel, we overheard a sun-browned
soldier, who had lost both his legs, observe to his companion, to whom
he was explaining the colours, pointing to the banners of the turkish
cavalry, the tops of whose staffs were surmounted with horses' tails,
"Look at those ribbands; they are not worthy of being worn when won."
This military hospital is capable of accommodating 3,000 soldiers. The
bedrooms, kitchens, refectory and outoffices are very capacious, and,
what is rather unusual in France, clean and comfortable. The day before
we were there, the first consul paid a visit to its veteran inhabitants.
Amongst them, he recognised an old, and very brave soldier, whose
exploits were the frequent theme of his aged comrades. The young general
told him that he should die a captain, took him in his carriage to dine
with him at Mal Maison, presented him with a medallion of honour, and
conferred upon him the rank of a captain, in one of the most
distinguished regiments.

From this place we went to the military school adjoining, in which
Bonaparte received the rudiments of that education which was destined to
form the foundation of his future glory. The building is large and
handsome, and is, from a very natural sentiment, in high favour with the
first consul. There is nothing in it particular to describe. The grounds
and gardens are very spacious and fine. In the front of the military
school is the celebrated Champ de Mars, which is an immense flat space
of ground. On each side are rising terraces of earth, and double rows of
trees; and at the further end, the river Seine flows. On days of great
national celebrations, this vast plain is surrounded with Gobelins
tapestry, statues, and triumphal arches. After contemplating these
objects of public curiosity, we returned to Mons. S---- to dinner, where
we met a large party of very pleasant people. Amongst them I was pleased
with meeting a near relative of an able and upright minister of the
republic, to whose unwearied labours the world is not a little indebted
for the enjoyments of its present repose.

After dinner we drove to the beautiful garden of Mousseau, formerly the
property of the duc d'Orleans. It is laid out with great taste, and
delights the eye with the most romantic specimens of improved rural
beauty. It was originally designed by its detestable owner for other
purposes than those of affording to a vast and crowded city the innocent
delights and recreations of retired and tasteful scenery. In the gloom
of its groves, all sorts of horrible profanations were practised by this
monster and his midnight crew, at the head of whom was Legendre the
Butcher. Every rank recess of prostitute pollution in Paris was
ransacked to furnish materials for the celebration of their impure and
impious orgies. The ode to Atheism, and the song of Blasphemy, were
succeeded by the applauding yells of Drunkenness and Obscenity.

At the time we visited this garden it belonged to the nation, and was
open, on certain days, to well-dressed people. A few days afterwards, it
was presented, as a mark of national esteem, to Cambaceres, the second
consul.

Here we rambled till the evening. The sun was setting. The nightingales
were singing in great numbers. Not a cloud to be seen. A breeze,
blowing through a plantation of roses, refreshed us with its coolness
and fragrance. In a sequestered part of this beautiful ground, under the
embowering shades of Acacia trees, upon the ruins of a little temple, we
seated ourselves, and were regaled by some charming italian duets, which
were sung by Madame S---- and her lovely daughter, with the most
enchanting pathos. I hope I shall be pardoned for introducing some lines
which were written upon our return, by an enthusiastic admirer of merit
and music.

      TO MADEMOISELLE D. S----.

    In Mousseau's sweet arcadian dale,
      Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain;
    She charms the list'ning nightingale,
      And seems th' enchantress of the plain.

    Blest be those lips, to music dear!
      Sweet songstress! never may they move
    But with such sounds to soothe the ear,
      And melt the yielding heart to love!

    May sorrow never bid them pour
      From the torn heart one suffering sigh,
    But be thy life a fragrant flow'r,
      Blooming beneath a cloudless sky.




CHAPTER XVII.

     _Curious Method of raising Hay.--Lucien Bonaparte's
     Hôtel.--Opera.--Consular Box.--Madame Bonaparte's Box.--Feydeau
     Theatre.--Belle Vue.--Versailles.--The Palace of the Petit
     Trianon.--The Grounds._


The people of Paris, who keep horses in stables at the back of their
houses, have a singular mode of keeping their hay in the lofts of their
dwelling houses. At the top of a spacious and elegant hotel, is to be
seen a projecting crane in the act of raising loads of winter provision
for the stable. When I first saw this strange process, my surprise would
scarcely have been increased, had I beheld the horse ascending after the
hay.

I must not forget to offer some little description of the opera, where,
during my stay, through the politeness of Madame H----, I had free
access to a private box.

This spacious and splendid theatre is lighted from above by an immense
circular lustre of patent lamps. The form of this brilliant light is in
the antique taste, and it is said to have cost two thousand pounds
sterling. The effect which it produces in the body of the theatre, and
upon the scenery, is admirable. It prevents the sight from being
divided, and distracted by girandoles. This establishment is upon so
vast a scale, that government, which is the proprietor, is always a
loser upon balancing the receipts and disbursements of each night. The
stage and its machinery have for many years occupied a great number of
the subordinate classes of people, who, if not employed in this manner,
would in all probability become burdensome, and unpleasant to the
government. To this circumstance is attributable the superiority of the
machinery, and scenery, over every other theatre which I ever saw. In
the english theatres, my eye has often been offended at the
representations of the internal parts of houses, in which not a chair,
or table is introduced, for the purpose of carrying on the ingenious
deception. Upon the stage of the french opera, every scene has its
appropriate furniture, and distinctive appendages, which are always
produced as soon as the scene drops, by numerous attendants. From this
attention to the minute circumstances of the drama, the illusion becomes
enchanting. The orchestra is very fine, and is composed of ninety
eminent musicians. The corps de ballet consists of between eighty and
ninety fine dancers, of whom Monsieur Deshayes is the principal. His
movements are more graceful, his agility more surprising, and his step
more light, firm, and elastic, than those of any dancer whom I have ever
seen. He is very justly considered to be the first in Europe. The first
consul has a private box here, on one side of which, a lofty, hollow,
decorative column rises, the flutes of which are open, and through which
he views, [printing unclear: unseen,] the audience and performers. The
beholder might be almost inclined to think that this surprising man had
borrowed from our immortal bard, his notions of exciting the impression
of dignity, by a rare, and well timed display of his person.

    "Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new;
    My presence like a robe pontifical,
    Ne'er seen but wondered at: and so my state
    Seldom, but sumptuous shewed, like a feast
    And won by rareness such solemnity."

Madame Bonaparte's box is on the left side of the stage, over the door,
in which the hapless queen has frequently displayed her beautiful person
to the enraptured audience.

The Feydeau theatre is very elegant; and on account of its excellent
arrangements, good performers, and exquisite machinery, is much resorted
to, and is in general preferred to the fourteen other dramatic
spectacles which, in this dissipated city, almost every night present
their tribute of pleasure to the gay, and delighted parisians. A
frenchman once observed to me, that a Sunday in London was horrible, on
account of there being no playhouses open at night! The decorum and good
manners which are even still observed in all the french places of public
amusement, are very impressive, and agreeable. Horse and foot soldiers
are stationed at the avenues, to keep them clear, to prevent
depredation, and to quell the first indications of popular commotion.

I was much gratified by an excursion to Versailles, which had been some
time planned by the charming family of the S----'s. We set off early in
the morning, in one of the government carriages, and after a delightful
ride, through a very rich, and luxuriant country, of about twelve miles,
the vast, and magnificent palace of Versailles, opened upon our view, at
the end of a street nearly two miles long, lined on each side with noble
hotels, and gardens. It was on a Sunday, the day on which the palace is
opened to the public. On the road, we passed several hundreds of persons
in carriages, cabrioles, or walking; all with merry faces, in showy
clothes, and adorned with bouquets, on their route to this spot of
favourite delight.

About four miles from Paris we saw Belle Vue, formerly the residence of
Mesdames; soon afterwards we passed the noble palace, and park of St.
Cloud, which was preparing for the reception of the first consul.

At the entrance of the village of St. Cloud, on the left, after we had
passed the bridge, we saw a very pretty house, and grounds, belonging to
a tanner, who had amassed considerable wealth by a discovery of tanning
leather in twenty-four hours, so as to render it fit for the currier.
Whether he possesses this faculty or not, I cannot from my own
experience say, but I can venture to affirm, that the leather of France
is very bad. In the village is a very noble porcelain manufactory, which
unfortunately we had not time to inspect.

Whilst our horses were refreshing themselves with a little water, we
were beset by the agents of the different hotels, and restaurateurs of
Versailles, who presented us with little cards, announcing in a very
pompous manner the superiority of their employers accommodations.

The stables of Versailles, to the right, and left, are from the designs
of Mansart, in the form of a crescent, and have the appearance of
princely residences. Here the late King kept in the greatest style six
hundred of the finest horses. On the left of the grand gateway, is a
military lodge for the accommodation of cavalry. It represents in shape,
an immense turkish marquee. After we had passed the pallisades of the
first court, we more distinctly saw this amazing pile of irregular
buildings, which consists of the old castle, the new palaces, the houses
of the ministers of state, and servants, two opera houses, the chapel,
military schools, museums, and the manufactory of arms, the whole of
which are now consolidated, and form one palace.

The beautiful pavement of black and white marble in the court yards, is
much defaced, and their fountains are totally destroyed.

The first place we visited was the manufactory of small arms; the
resident workmen in which exceed two thousand men. Here we saw all the
ingenious process of constructing the musket, pistol, and sabre, of
which there are an immense collection; and also several carbines, and
swords of honour, intended as presents from the first consul to officers
and soldiers of distinguished merit.

From the manufactory of small arms, we returned to the grand court, and
entered a suite of rooms, which contain the relics of the former
valuable cabinet of curiosities. Several of those which we saw, were
worthy of attention. From these rooms, we passed to the late king's
private opera house, which surpasses in magnificence, and costly
decoration, every thing of the kind I ever beheld. The facing of the
whole of the inside is of carved wood, richly gilt. The dome is
beautifully painted. Upon the scenery of the stage being removed, and
temporary columns, and galleries raised; all of which can be effected in
twenty-four hours, that part of the theatre presents a counterpart of
the other, and the whole forms a most splendid oblong ball room, very
deservedly considered to be the finest in Europe: it used to be
illuminated by ten thousand wax lights. The concert rooms, and retiring
apartments are also very beautiful. From the opera, we visited the
chapel, which is very fine, and costly, in which there are many large,
and valuable paintings. After leaving this deserted place of royal
worship, we passed through the Halls of Plenty, Venus, Mars, Mercury,
Apollo, and the Hall of the Billiard Table, finely painted by Houasse,
le Brun, Champagne, and other eminent artists, to the grand gallery,
which is seventy-two yards long, and fourteen broad, and has seventeen
lofty windows on one side, which look into the gardens, and seventeen
immense pier glasses on the opposite side to correspond. In this
gallery, the kings of France were accustomed to receive ambassadors, and
ministers of state.

We next entered the bedroom of the late queen and beheld the door,
which, on the night of the 6th of October, 1789, the frantic, and
sanguinary mob, headed by the infamous Legendre, burst open, for the
purpose of dispatching her with daggers, in her bed, on that frightful
night, which preceded the return of the royal family to Paris, under the
protection of the marquis de la Fayette, through an enraged multitude,
which extended itself from Versailles to Paris.

The miserable queen saved herself by escaping into an adjoining
apartment. Her bed was pierced through and through with poignards. The
door is nailed up, but the marks of that horrible outrage still remain.
In this, and in the adjoining chambers, are some very beautiful and
valuable paintings. I must not omit to mention, although the sentiment
which it inspires is not very pleasant, the representation of the
capture of an english frigate, by la Bayonne, a french corvette, after a
desperate engagement, in which victory for once decided in favour of the
enemy, who opposed, on this occasion, an inferior force. This is a
picture of infinite merit, and possesses a novelty of arrangement, and
strength of colouring, which I never saw equalled in any other naval
representation. The subject seldom admits of much variety. The french,
of course, are very much pleased with it. There are here also some
curious old clocks.

It was in one of these apartments, that Prior, the celebrated poet, when
secretary to the earl of Portland, who was appointed ambassador to the
french court, in the year 1698, made the following memorable answer.

One of the french king's household was showing the bard the royal
apartments and curiosities of this palace, and particularly pointed out
to his notice, the paintings of le Brun, now removed to the museum of
the arts, in which the victories of Lewis the XIVth are described, and
asked him, whether the actions of king William were to be seen in his
palace? No, sir, replied the loyal wit, "the monuments of my master's
glory are to be seen every where but in his own house."

Through the interest of Monsieur S---- we were admitted into a private
room below stairs, in which several portraits of the late royal family
have been preserved from destruction, during the late revolution. That
which represents the queen and her young family, is very fine, and
displays all the bewitching beauty and vivacity of that lovely and
unfortunate personage. Into this room no one was admitted with us. Here
is a very curious piece of mechanism: it is a painting, containing two
hundred little figures, in the act of enjoying the various pleasures of
rural sport, which are separated from the back ground of the picture,
and are set in motion by springs; and admirably imitate all the
movements natural to their different occupations. A fisherman throws in
his line, and draws up a little fish, a regular chase is displayed, and
a nuptial procession appears, in which little figures, riding in tiny
carriages, nod to the spectators. There are also many other curious
figures. It is glazed and framed, and at a distance, when its motion has
ceased, it has the appearance of a tolerably good painting. We next
quitted the palace, and entered upon the grand terrace, from which it
makes the finest appearance.

This enormous pile of building is here united by a centre, and
corresponding wings, of great extent and magnificence.

From this elevated spot, the beholder contemplates the different
waterworks, walks, and gardens, which cover several miles.

The orangery is a beautiful specimen of tuscan architecture, designed by
le Maitre, and finished by Mansart. It is filled with lofty orange trees
in full bearing; many of which, in their tubs, measure from twenty to
thirty feet high. Amongst them is an orange tree which is upwards of
four hundred years old. The cascades, fountains, and jets d'eau, are too
numerous to admit of minute description. They are all very fine, and are
supplied by prodigious engines across the Seine, at Marli, about three
miles distant. The Trianon is a little marble palace, of much beauty,
and embellished with the richest decoration.

It stands at the end of the great lake, in front of the palace; and was,
by its late royal owners, considered as a summer house to the gardens of
Versailles. The whole of this vast building and its grounds, were
improved and beautified by Lewis XIVth, for the well known purpose of
impressing his subjects, and particularly his courtiers, with the
highest opinion of his greatness, and the lowest of their comparative
littleness. Amongst the lords of his court he easily effected his
wishes, by accommodating them in a manner unsuitable to their dignity.

[Illustration: _Ruins of the Queen's Farm-house in the Petit Trianon._]

After being astonished at such a display of gorgeous magnificence, I
approached, with increased delight, the enchanting little palace and
grounds of the late queen, distant from Versailles about two miles,
called the Petit Trianon, to which she very justly gave the appellation
of her "little Palace of Taste." Here, fatigued with the splendours of
royalty, she threw aside all its appearances, and gave herself up to the
elegant pleasures of rural life. It is a princely establishment in
miniature. It consists of a small palace, a chapel, an opera house, out
offices and stables, a little park, and pleasure grounds; the latter of
which are still charming, although the fascinating eye, and tasteful
hand of their lovely but too volatile mistress, no longer pervade,
cherish and direct their growth and beauty. By that reverse of fortune,
which the revolution has familiarized, the Petit Trianon is let out by
the government to a restaurateur. All the rooms but one in this house
were preoccupied, on the day of our visit, in consequence of which we
were obliged to dine in the former little bed room of the queen, where,
like the idalian goddess, she used to sleep in a suspended basket of
roses. The apertures in the ceiling and wainscot, to which the elegant
furniture of this little room of repose had once adhered, are still
visible.

After dinner we hastened through our coffee, and proceeded to the
gardens. After winding through gravelled walks, embowered by the most
exquisite and costly shrubs, we entered the elegant temple of Cupid,
from which the little favourite of mankind had been unwillingly, and
rudely expelled, as appeared by the fragments of his pedestal.

Thy wrongs little god! shall be revenged by thy fair friend Pity. Those
who treated thee thus, shall suffer in their turn, and she shall not
console them!

From this temple we passed through the most romantic avenues, to a range
of rural buildings, called the queen's farm, the dairy, the mill, and
the woodmens cottages; which, during the queen's residence at the Petit
Trianon, were occupied by the most elegant and accomplished young
noblemen of the court. In front of them, a lake terminated on one side
by a rustic tower, spreads itself. These buildings are much neglected,
and are falling into rapid ruin.

In other times, when neatness and order reigned throughout this elysian
scenery, and gracefully spread its luxuriant beauties at the feet of its
former captivating owner, upon the mirror of that lake, now filled with
reeds and sedges, in elegant little pleasure boats, the illustrious
party was accustomed to enjoy the freshness of the evening, to fill the
surrounding groves with the melody of the song, which was faintly
answered by the tender flute, whose musician was concealed in that
rustic tower, whose graceful base the honeysuckle and eglantine no
longer encircle, and whose winding access, once decorated with flowers
of the richest beauty and perfume, is now overgrown with moss, decayed,
and falling piecemeal to the ground.

Near the farm, in corresponding pleasure grounds, the miller's house
particularly impressed us with delight. All its characteristics were
elegantly observed. A rivulet still runs on one side of it, which
formerly used to turn a little wheel to complete the illusion. The
apartments, which must have been once enchanting, now present nothing
but gaping beams, broken ceilings, and shattered casements. The
wainscots of its little cabinets, exhibit only a tablet, upon which are
rudely penciled, the motley initials, love verses, and memorandums of
its various visitors.

The shade of the ivy, which, upon all occasions, seems destined to
perform the last offices to the departing monuments of human ingenuity,
has here exercised its gloomy function. Whilst we were roving about, we
were obliged to take refuge from a thunder storm, in what appeared to us
a mere barn; upon our entering it, we found it to be an elegant little
ball room, much disfigured, and greened over by damp and neglect. In
other parts of this _petit Paradis_, are caves of artificial rock, which
have been formed at an immense expense, in which were formerly beds of
moss, and through which clear streams of water glided, Belvidere
temples, and scattered cottages, each differing from its neighbour in
character, but all according in taste and beauty. The opera house, which
stands alone, is a miniature of the splendid one in the palace of
Versailles.

The sylvan ball room, is an oblong square, lined with beautiful
treillages, surmounted with vases of flowers. The top is open. When the
queen gave her balls here, the ground was covered by a temporary
flooring, and the whole was brilliantly lighted. As we passed by the
palace, we saw, in the queen's little library, several persons walking.

Could the enchanting beauty of Austria, and the once incensed idol of
the gay, and the gallant, arise from her untimely tomb, and behold her
most sacred recesses of delight, thus rudely exposed, and converted into
scenes of low, and holiday festivity, the temples which she designed,
defaced, their statues overthrown, her walks overgrown and entangled,
the clear mirror of the winding lake, upon the placid surface of which
once shone the reflected form of the Belvidere, and the retreats of
elegant taste covered with the reedy greenness of the standing pool, and
all the _fairy fabric_ of her graceful fancy, thus dissolving in decay;
the devoted hapless Marie would add another sigh to the many which her
aching heart has already heaved!

It would be a very desirable thing if Bonaparte would make this his
country palace instead of St. Cloud. Upon our return, as we approached
Paris, the illuminated bridges of the Seine looked very beautiful, and
we were much pleased with some fireworks, which had a singular effect
upon the water.

In the evening, we had some music at Monsieur S----'s, where we were
joined by general Marescot, a brave and distinguished officer, much
esteemed by Bonaparte. He informed us that he was on the point of
setting out to view and report the condition of all the maritime
fortifications in the republic. "You must go with me as my
aide-de-camp," said the general to Mademoiselle D----. "I am not fierce
enough for a soldier," replied the fair one, with a bewitching smile.
"Well then," observed the sun-browned general, "should the war ever be
renewed, you shall attend me to charm away its calamities."

Madame S----, like a true french mother, was delighted with the little
compliment, and presenting her snuff box to the gallant Marescot, she
said, "thank you, my dear general, the brave always think generously of
the fair."




CHAPTER XVIII.

     _Bonaparte's Talents in Finance.--Garrick and the Madman.--Palace
     of the Conservative Senate.--Process of transferring Oil Paintings
     from Wood to Canvas.--The Dinner Knife.--Commodities.--Hall of the
     National Convention.--The Minister Talleyrand's Levee._


The first consul is said to add to his other extraordinary powers, an
acute and comprehensive knowledge of finance. Monsieur S---- informed
me, that whenever he waited upon him in his official capacity, with the
national accounts, he displayed an acquaintance with the most
complicated statements, which seemed intuitive.

He exhibits the same talents in philosophy, and in matters which are
foreign to those vast objects of public employ, which have raised him to
his present height of glory, and which in general preclude the
subordinate enjoyment of elegant study.

Those acquirements, which providence in its wisdom has thinly scattered
amongst mankind, and which seldom ripen to full maturity, although
cherished by the most propitious advantages, and by the unreposing
labours of a long, and blissful existence, spread their rich abundance,
in the May morning of life, before this extraordinary being, who in the
commencement of that very revolution, upon the ruins of which he has
stepped to supreme authority, was a beardless stripling.

From the great performers upon the public stage of life, our
conversation, one evening, at Madame S----'s, by a natural transition,
embraced a review of the wonderful talents, which have at various times
adorned the lesser drama of the theatre. Madame S---- made some
judicious remarks upon the french players of distinction, to all of whom
she imputed a manner, and enunciation which have been imbibed in a
school, in which nature has not been permitted to preside. Their
tragedy, she said, was inflated with too much pomp, and their elegant
comedy suffered by too volatile an airiness. She bestowed upon our
immortal Garrick, the most decided preference, and superiority to any
actor whom she had ever seen. The opportunity which she had of judging
of his powers, was short, and singular, but fully enabled her to form a
decisive opinion. When Garrick visited Paris for the last time, she was
just married. This celebrated actor had letters of introduction to
Monsieur S----. At a large party, which Monsieur S---- formed for the
purpose of doing honour to his distinguished visitor, he exhibited
several specimens of his unrivalled talents. Amongst others, he
represented in dumb show, by the wonderful powers of his expressive
countenance, the feelings of a father, who in looking over a lofty
balcony with his only child in his arms, by accident dropped it. The
disaster drove the unhappy parent mad. Garrick had visited him in his
cell; where the miserable maniac was accustomed, several times in the
course of the day, to exhibit all those looks and attitudes which he
had displayed at the balcony[9]. On a sudden he would bend himself
forward, as if looking from a window into the street, with his arms
folded as if they embraced a child, then he would start back, and appear
as if he had lost something, search the room round and round, run again
forward, as to the railing of a window, look down, and beat his
forehead, as if he had beheld his infant bleeding, and breathless upon
the pavement. Garrick's imitation was exquisite. The feelings of his
beholders were wrought up to horror. The tears, and consternation of a
gay fashionable french party, were applauses more flattering to the
british Roscius, than the thunder of that acclamation, which, in the
crowded theatre, followed the flash of his fiery eye, or the close of
his appalling speech.

[9] The cause which induced Garrick to visit this unhappy person was, it
is said, to render the representation of his King Lear more perfect.

The english drama, however, has not escaped the animadversions of a
french critic, whose taste and liberality are not very congenial with
those of my charming, and generous friend. "Their tragedies," he says,
(speaking of the english) "it is true, though interesting, and replete
with beauties, are nevertheless dramatic monsters, half _butchery_, and
half _farce_. Grotesque characters, and extravagant pleasantry
constitute the chief part of their comedies. In one of them, (not named)
the devil enters sneezing, and somebody says to the devil, _God bless
you_. They are not, however, all of this stamp. They have _even some_ in
very good taste."

Yes, Monsieur Dourx, I agree with you, I think we have _some_ in very
good taste. I know not in what dramatic work the facetious frenchman has
discovered the introduction of his satanic majesty under the influence
of a cold, and receiving, as he enters, the usual deprecation on such
occasions. I rather suspect that the adventures of Punch, and his fickle
lady, who are always attended by a dancing demon, have afforded the
materials for this sapient observation.

In the course of one of my morning rambles in Paris, I visited the ruins
of the celebrated Bastille, of which prison, only the arsenal, some
fragments of its massy walls, and two or three dungeons remain. The
volcanic vengeance of the people, has swept away this mighty fabric,
which the revolting mind of republican liberty denounced as the
frightful den of despotism, upon the approach to which no marks of
returning footsteps were imprinted, whilst, in her mad career, she
converted every private dwelling in the metropolis into a revolutionary
prison: So much for popular consistency!

In the mutations of time, to what different purposes are the same places
applied! Where the consuming martyr expired[10], the unwieldy prize hog
is exposed to sale; and the modern parisian derives the sources of
warmth and comfort, from a place, the very name of which, once _chilled_
the circulation of his blood. The site of the Bastille is now a magazine
of wood, which supplies the city with fuel.

[10] Smithfield.

Every lover of pure liberty must leap with delight upon the
disincumbered earth, where once stood that gloomy abode of "broken
hearts," and reflect upon the sufferings of the wretched Latude, and the
various victims of capricious pique, or prostitute resentment. It was
here that, in the beautiful lines of Cowper, the hopeless prisoner was
doomed

    "To fly for refuge from distracting thought
    To such amusements as ingenious woe
    Contrives, hard shifting, and without her tools--
    To read, engraven on the mouldy walls,
    In stagg'ring types, his predecessor's tale,
    A sad memorial, and subjoin his own--
    To turn purveyor to an overgorg'd
    And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest
    Is made familiar, watches his approach,
    Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend--"

The cells of the Bastille were constantly filled, during the syren reign
of la Pompadour over the gloomy affections of Lewis the XVth.

The overthrow of this dungeon has not rendered state prisons out of
fashion in the republic, although it has mitigated the severity of their
internal government. The towers of the Temple, look down upon the
prostrate ruins of the Bastille.

From this memorable spot of ground, I went to the Observatory. In the
rooms, which open upon an artificial terrace, were some prodigious
astronomical apparatus. A very ingenious frame was then constructing,
for elevating, or depressing the astronomer, and the telescope at the
same time, by an easy, and simple process of machinery. The Observatory
is a noble building, and contains libraries, students rooms, and
apartments for the various artificers, and machinists who are occupied
in fabricating the apparatus, and instruments necessary to the science
of astronomy. From the exterior of the dome, there is a fine view of the
city, suburbs, and country.

From the Observatory, I visited the Conservative Senate, formerly the
Palace of the Luxembourg. The back of this beautiful building is in the
Rue de Vaugirand, in the Fauxbourg of St. Germains. The gardens of this
noble pile, are receiving great improvement, and alteration, from
designs which have been approved of by the first consul, who in his wise
policy, intends that they shall, in time, rival those of the
Thuilleries, for the purpose of affording an elegant, and fashionable
promenade to the people who reside in this part of the capital, who are
considerably removed from the beautiful walks which adorn the consular
palace. Here I saw the Hall of Deliberation, in which the Conservative
Senate assembles. It is nothing more than a large, handsome
drawing-room, in which are placed, upon rising platforms, sixty armed
chairs, for so many members, the chair of the president, and the
tribune. This magnificent palace is repairing, and fitting up for the
residence, and accommodation of its members. I was introduced to the
artist who has the care of the gallery here, and who, with his
assistants, was very busily occupied in a process for removing the oil
colours of a painting from wood, and transferring them to canvas. He
received me with great politeness, and explained to me the mode of doing
it, in which there appeared to be more toil, nicety, and steadiness
required, than ingenuity.

The painting is laid upon a cloth stretched upon a marble slab, and the
wood behind is shaved off until nothing but the picture, like a flat
cake, or rather a sheet of goldbeater's skin, remains, a piece of canvas
coated with a cement is then placed upon it, to which it adheres, and
presents all the appearance of having been originally painted upon it.
The pictures from the subject of St. Bruno, were then undergoing this
operation.

The apartments in which these people were at work, presented very
convincing indications of the mutability of human ambition.

This palace was allotted to the celebrated Council of Five Hundred.
During their ephemeral reign, these very rooms were designed for their
halls of audience, and levees, the rich mouldings, and cornices of which
were half gilt, and covered with silver paper to preserve them: the poor
council were never indulged in a house warming.

The pictures, which were collected by Henry IV, and deposited in the
gallery there, which bears his name, are said to be valuable. I did not
see them, on account of their having been removed into store rooms
during the repairs of the palace.

It was late when I left the Luxembourg, and somewhat exhausted for want
of refreshment, I determined upon dining at the first restaurateur's
which I could meet with, instead of going to the Gardens of the
Thuilleries. To find such an accommodation in Paris, is no difficult
thing. A stranger would naturally suppose, from the frequency with which
the words caffé, limonade, and restaurateur present themselves to the
eye, that three parts of the inhabitants had turned their talents to the
valuable study of relieving the cravings of an empty stomach.

I had not moved three yards down the Rue de Tournon, before, on my left,
I saw the welcome board which, in large golden characters, announced the
very best entertainment within. At this moment, the celebrated picture
of the banquet in the Louvre, could scarcely have afforded me more
delight. I had an excellent dinner, wine, and fruit for four livres. In
the course of my repast, I begged that a knife, might be permitted to
aid the services of a three pronged silver fork, which graced my plate
on the left. After rather a laborious search, my wishes were gratified
by an instrument, which certainly was entitled to the name of one, but
was assuredly not the handsomest of its species. Whether there had been
any dispute between the handle, and the blade, I know not, but there
were very evident appearances of an approaching separation. Not wishing
to augment the rupture, between two personages so necessary to each
others service, and to those who were to be benefitted by it, I begged
of my fair hostess, who, with two pretty girls (her daughters), were
picking the stalks from some strawberries, which were intended for my
desert, at the other end of the room, that she would favour me with
another knife. The maitresse d'hôtel, who had a pair of fine dark
expressive eyes, very archly said, "Why would you wish to change it,
Sir? it is an english one." It certainly looked like one; no compliment
could be neater. Whether I gave it too great a latitude of
interpretation, I will not pretend to say, but it led me into such a
train of happy _comparative thinking_, that I ate my dinner with it very
comfortably, without saying another word. I have since thought, that the
maitresse d'hôtel had not another knife in her house, but what was in
use.

In France, I have before had occasion to remark, that fanciful notions
of excessive delicacy, are not permitted to interfere with comfort, and
convenience. Amongst these people, every thing turns upon the principle
of accommodation. To this motive I attribute the frequent exhibition,
over the doors of respectable looking houses, in the fashionable walks,
and in different parts of Paris, of the following characters,
"Commodités pour Hommes, et Femmes." An english prude would start to
read these words. I mention this circumstance, for the purpose of
communicating some idea of the people, convinced, as I well am, that it
is only by detail, that we can become acquainted with the peculiar
characteristics of any community.

I very often passed by the ci-devant Hall of the National Convention; in
which the hapless king and queen were doomed to the scaffold, where
murder was legitimated, religion denounced, and the grave declared to be
the bed of _eternal repose_.

In vindication of the ways of eternal justice, even upon earth, this
polluted pile is participating the fate of its devoted members.

Those walls which once resounded with the florid, heightened declamation
of republican visionaries, the most worthless, imposing, and desperate
of mankind, are prevented, for a short time, by a few crazy props, from
covering the earth below with their dust and ruins. The famed temple of
the Goddess of Liberty, is not tenantable enough to cover the Babel
Deity from the peltings of the midnight storm.

Where is now the enthusiastic Gironde, where the volcanic mountain, the
fiery, and eloquent Mirabeau, the wily Brissot, the atheistic Lequinios,
the remorseless Marat, the bloody St. Just, and the chief of the
deplumed and fallen legions of equality? All is desolate and silent. The
gaping planks of the guillotine are imbued with their last traces. The
haunt of the banditti is uncovered. The revolution has preyed upon her
own children, and metaphysical murderers have perished by the daggers of
speculative republicans.

About two years since this place was converted into a ménagerie. The
cave, and the wilderness, the desert, and the jungle, presented to the
eye of the beholder, representative successors of those savages who,
with more powers and more ferocity, were once enclosed within the same
den. From the remembrance of such miscreants, I turn, with increased
satisfaction, to the traces of approaching civilization, which mark the
career of the present government, in which the want of suitable
splendour no longer repels the approach and friendship of those nations
which once shuddered at the idea of coming into contact with the
infected rags of visionary fraternity. Some indications of this change I
saw pourtrayed at the levee of Monsieur Talleyrand, the minister of
foreign relations, when I had the honour of being presented to that able
and celebrated politician by Mr. B. The hotel of Talleyrand is very
superb. We entered the court yard through two lines of about twenty
carriages in waiting. Under the portico, were several turks seated, who
formed a part of the suite of the turkish embassador, who had just
arrived, and was then closetted with Monsieur T----.

We passed through several noble apartments, preceded by servants, to a
magnificent levee room, in which we met most of the foreign embassadors
who were then at the consular court.

After waiting some time, the folding doors of the cabinet opened, the
turkish embassy came out, making their grand salams, followed by
Talleyrand, in his rich costume of embroidered scarlet, his hair full
dressed, and a shining sabre by his side.

In his person, he is small and thin, his face is "pale and penetrating."
He always looks obliquely, his small quick eyes and features, very
legibly express mildness, wit, and subtilty. His right leg appears
contracted. His address is insinuating. As the spirit of aggrandizement,
which is said to have actuated the public and private conduct of
Monsieur T----has been so much talked of, it may, perhaps, excite some
surprise, when it is mentioned that several persons who know him well,
some of whom esteem him, and with some of whom he is not a favourite,
declare, notwithstanding the anecdotes related of X Y, and Monsieur
Beaucoup d'Argent, in the american prints, that they consider him to be
a man, whose mind is raised above the influence of corruption. Monsieur
T----may be classed amongst the rarest curiosities in the revolutionary
cabinet. Allied by an illustrious ancestry to the Bourbons, and a
royalist from his birth, he was, with unusual celerity, invested with
the episcopal robe and crosier[11]. During the temporary triumph of the
abstract rights of man, over the practicable rights of reason, he moved
with the boisterous cavalcade, with more caution than enthusiasm. Upon
the celebrated national recognition of the sovereignty of man's _will_,
in the Champs de Mars, the politic minister, adorned in snowy robes, and
tricolor ribands, presided at the altar of the republic as its high
priest, and bestowed his patriarchal benedictions upon the standard of
France, and the banners of her departments.

[11] Monsieur Talleyrand is ex-bishop of Autun.

Some time afterwards, in the shape of a secret unaccredited negotiator,
he was discovered in the metropolis of England, and immediately
transferred, upon the spread wings of the alien bill, to his own shores.
Since that period, after having dissociated and neutralized the most
formidable foes of his country, by the subtle stratagems of his
consummate diplomacy, we beheld him as the successor of la Croix, armed
with the powers, and clothed in the gaudy costume of the minister of
foreign relations. In the _polished Babel_ of the antichamber of this
extraordinary man, I have beheld the starred and glittering
representatives of the most distinguished princes of the earth waiting
for hours, with exemplary resignation, contemplating themselves, in all
their positions, in his reduplicating mirrors, or examining the
splendour and exquisite ingenuity of his time pieces, until the silver
sound of his little bell announced, that the invoked and lagging moment
of ministerial leisure was arrived.

It is certain that few people possess the valuable qualities of
imperturbable calmness and self possession, more than Monsieur T----.
Balanced by these amiable and valuable qualities, he has been enabled to
ride the political whirlwind, and in the diplomatic cabinet, to collect
some advantage from the prejudices or passions of all who approached
him. The caution and cunning of T---- have succeeded, where the sword
and impetuous spirit of Bonaparte would have been unavailing. The
splendour of his apartments, and of many of the personages present,
displayed a very courtlike appearance, and inclined a stranger, like
myself, to think, that nothing of the old government was missing, but
the expatriated family of France.




CHAPTER XIX.

     _The College of the Deaf and Dumb.--Abbé
     Sicard.--Bagatelle.--Police.--Grand National Library.--Bonaparte's
     Review.--Tambour Major of the Consular Regiment.--Restoration of
     Artillery Colours._


I had long anticipated the delight which I expected to derive from the
interesting public lecture of the abbé Sicard, and the examination of
his pupils. This amiable and enlightened man presides over an
institution which endears his name to humanity, and confers unfading
honour upon the nation which cherishes it by its protection and
munificence. My reader will immediately conclude that I allude to the
College of the Deaf and Dumb. By the genius and perseverance of the late
abbé Charles Michael de l'Epée, and his present amiable successor, a
race of fellow beings, denied by a privation of hearing, of the powers
of utterance, insulated in the midst of multitudes bearing their own
image, and cut off from the participation, within sight, of all the
endearing intercourses of social life, are restored, as it were, to the
blessings of complete existence. The glorious labours of these
philanthropists, in no very distant ages, would have conferred upon
them, the reputation and honours of beings invested with superhuman
influence. By making those faculties which are bestowed, auxiliary to
those which are denied, the deaf are taught to hear, and the dumb to
speak. A silent representative language, in which the eye officiates
for the ear, and communicates the charms of science, and the delights of
common intercourse to the mind, with the velocity, facility, and
certainty of sound, has been presented to these imperfect children of
nature. The plan of the abbé, I believe, is before the world. It cannot
be expected, in a fugitive sketch like the present, to attempt an
elaborate detail of it. Some little idea of its rudiments may, perhaps,
be imparted, by a plain description of what passed on the examination
day, when I had the happiness of being present.

On the morning of the exhibition, the streets leading to the College
were lined with carriages, for humanity has here made a convert of
fashion, and directed her wavering mind to objects from which she cannot
retire, without ample and consoling gratification. Upon the lawn, in
front of the College, were groups of the pupils, enjoying those sports
and exercises which are followed by other children, to whom Providence
has been more bountiful. Some of their recreations required calculation,
and I observed that their intercourse with each other appeared to be
easy, swift, and intelligible. They made some convulsive movements with
their mouths, in the course of their communication, which, at first, had
rather an unpleasant effect. In the cloister I addressed myself to a
genteel looking youth, who did not appear to belong to the College, and
requested him to shew me the way to the theatre, in which the lecture
was to be delivered. I found he took no notice of me. One of the
assistants of the abbé, who was standing near me, informed me, he was
deaf and dumb, and made two or three signs, too swift for me to
discriminate; the silent youth bowed, took me by the hand, led me into
the theatre, and, with the greatest politeness, procured me an excellent
seat. The room was very crowded, and in the course of a quarter of an
hour after I had entered, every avenue leading to it was completely
filled with genteel company. The benches of the auditors of the lecture,
displayed great beauty and fashion, a stage, or tribune, appeared in
front, behind was a large inclined slate, in a frame, about eight feet
high, by six long. On each side of the stage the scholars were placed,
and behind the spectators was a fine bust of the founder of the
institution, the admirable de l'Epée.

The abbé Sicard mounted the tribune, and delivered his lecture with very
pleasing address, in the course of which he frequently excited great
applause. The subject of it was an analysis of the language of the deaf
and dumb, interspersed with several curious experiments upon, and
anecdotes of his pupils. The examination of the scholars next followed.
The communication which has been opened to them in this singular manner,
is by the _philosophy of grammar_.

The denotation of the tenses is effected by appropriate signs. The hand
thrown over the shoulder, expressed the past, when extended, like the
attitude of inviting, it denoted the future, and the finger inverted
upon the breast, indicated the present tense. A single sign communicated
a word, and frequently a sentence. A singular instance of the first
occurred. A gentleman amongst the spectators, who appeared to be
acquainted with the art of the abbé, was requested to make a sign, to
the pupil then under examination, the moment it was made, the scholar
chalked upon the slate, in a fine swift flowing hand, "une homme." The
pupil erred; the gentleman renewed the sign; when he immediately wrote,
"une personne," to the astonishment of every person present. This
circumstance is a strong instance of the powers of discrimination, of
which this curious communication is susceptible.

Some of the spectators requested the abbé to describe, by signs, several
sentences which they repeated from memory, or read from authors, which
were immediately understood by the pupils, and penciled upon the slate.

The lecture and examination lasted about three hours. Upon the close of
this interesting exhibition, a silent sympathy reigned throughout the
spectators. Every face beamed with satisfaction. A tear was seen
trembling in the eyes of many present. After a momentary pause, the hall
rang with acclamations. Elegant women pressed forward in the crowd, to
present some little token of their delighted feelings to the children
protected by this institution. It was a spectacle, in which genius was
observed assisting humanity, and nature in a suffusion of gratitude,
weeping over the hallowed and propitious endeavours of the good, the
generous, and the enlightened. Well might the elegant and eloquent
Kotzebue select from such a spot, a subject for his pathetic pen, and
give to the british Roscius of the present day[12], the power of
enriching its drama, by a fresh display of his unrivalled abilities. The
exhibition of the Deaf and Dumb will never be eradicated from my mind.
The tears which were shed on that day, seemed almost sufficient to wipe
away the recollection of those times, in which misery experienced no
mitigation; when every one trembling for himself, had no unabsorbed
sensation of consoling pity to bestow upon the unfortunate. Those times
are gone--May their absence be eternal! This institution is made
serviceable to the state. A pupil of the College is one of the chief
clerks of the national lottery office, in which he distinguishes himself
by his talents, his calculation, and upright deportment.

[12] Mr. Kemble brought out the pathetic play of Deaf and Dumb, in which
he sustains the character of the abbé de l'Epée with admirable effect.

Whilst the subject is before me, I beg leave to mention a curious
circumstance which was related by a very ingenious and honourable man,
in a party where I happened to be present, to prove the truth and
agreement of nature, in her association of ideas. A blind man was asked
by him, to what sound he resembled the sensation produced by touching a
piece of red cloth, he immediately replied, to the sound of a trumpet. A
pupil of the College of the Deaf and Dumb, who could faintly hear a loud
noise, if applied close to his ear, was asked, to what colour he could
compare the sound of a trumpet, he said, it always excited in his mind,
the remembrance of scarlet cloth[13]. Two pupils, male and female, of
the same College, who had been placed near cannon, when discharged,
without being susceptible of the sound, were one day taken by their
humane tutor, into a room where the harmonica was playing; a musical
instrument, which is said to have a powerful influence over the nerves.
He asked them by signs, if they felt any sensation. They replied in the
negative. He then placed the hand of the girl upon the instrument,
whilst it was playing, and repeated the question, she answered, that she
felt a new pleasure enter the ends of her fingers, pass up her arms, and
penetrate her heart.

[13] The first experiment is well known. It is also noticed in Locke
upon the Human Understanding.

The same experiment was tried upon her companion, who seemed to be
sensible of similar sensations of delight, but less acutely felt.

The emotions of sympathy are, perhaps, more forcibly excited by music
than by any other cause. An illustrious example of its effect is
introduced into Boerhaave's academical lectures on the diseases of the
nerves, published by Van Eems. Theodosius the Great, by levying an
excessive tribute, inflamed the minds of the people of Antioch against
him, who prostrated his statues, and slew his ambassadors.

Upon coolly reflecting on what they had done, and remembering the stern
and ruthless nature of their sovereign, they sent deputies to implore
his clemency and forgiveness. The tyrant received them, without making
any reply. His chief minister lamenting the condition of these unhappy
people, resolved upon an expedient to move the soul of his offended
prince to mercy. He accordingly instructed the youths whose office it
was to entertain the emperor with music during dinner, to perform an
affecting and pathetic piece of music, composed for the purpose. The
plaintive sounds soon began to operate. The emperor, unconscious of the
cause, bedewed his cup with tears, and when the singers artfully
proceeded to describe the sufferings of the people of Antioch, their
imperial master could no longer contain himself, but, moved by their
pathos, although unaccustomed to forgive, revoked his vengeance, and
restored the terrified offenders to his royal favour.

Madame E----, who is considered the first dilettante mistress of music
in Paris, related to me, an experiment which she once tried upon a young
woman who was totally deaf and dumb. Madame E---- fastened a silk thread
about her mouth, and rested the other end upon her piano forte, upon
which she played a pathetic air. Her visitor soon appeared much
affected, and at length burst into tears. When she recovered, she wrote
down upon a piece of paper, that she had experienced a delight, which
she could not express, and that it had forced her to weep.

I must reluctantly retire from this pleasing subject, by wishing that
the abbé may long enjoy a series of blissful years, and that his noble
endeavours, "manifesting the enlightened times in which we live," may
meet with that philanthropic success, which, to _his_ generous mind,
will be its most desired reward _here_; assured, as he is, of being
crowned with those unfading remunerations which are promised to the good
_hereafter_.

[Illustration: _Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne._]

I one day dined at Bagatelle, which is about four miles from Paris, in
the Bois du Bologne, the parisian Hyde Park, in which the fashionable
equestrian, upon his norman hunter,

    --------------------------"with heel insidiously aside,
    Provokes the canter which he seems to chide."

The duellist also, in the covert windings of this vast wood, seeks
reparation for the trifling wrong, and bleeds himself, or slaughters his
antagonist. Bagatelle was formerly the elegant little palace of the
count d'Artois. The gardens and grounds belonging to it, are beautifully
disposed. What a contrast to the gloomy shades of Holyrood House, in
which the royal fugitive, and his wretched followers, have found an
asylum!

The building and gardens are in the taste of the Petit Trianon, but
inferior to it. As usual, it is the residence of cooks, and scullions,
tenants of the government, who treat their visitors with good dinners,
and excellent wine, and take good care to make them pay handsomely for
their faultless fare.

Returning to my hotel rather late at night, I passed through the Champs
Elisees, which, at this hour, seemed to be in all its glory. Every
"alley green," was filled with whispering lovers. On all sides the
sounds of festivity, of music, and dancing, regaled the ear. The weather
was very sultry, and being a little fatigued with rather a long walk, I
entered through a trellis palisade into a capacious pavilion, where I
refreshed myself with lemonade.

Here I found a large bourgeois party enjoying themselves, after the
labours of the day, with the waltz, and their favourite beverage,
lemonade. A stranger is always surprised at beholding the grace, and
activity, which even the lowest orders of people in France, display in
dancing. Whiskered corporals, in thick dirty boots, and young tradesmen,
in long great coats, led off their respective femmes de chambre and
grisettes, with an elegance, which is not to be surpassed in the
jewelled birth night ball room. Nothing could exceed the sprightly
carelessness, and gay indifference which reigned throughout. The music
in this place, as in every other of a similar description, was
excellent.

The french police, notwithstanding the invidious rumours which have been
circulated to its prejudice, is the constant subject of admiration with
every candid foreigner, who is enabled under the shelter of its
protection, to perambulate in safety every part of Paris, and its
suburbs, although badly lighted, at that hour of the night, which in
England, seldom fails to expose the unwary wanderer to the pistol of the
prowling ruffian. An enlightened friend of mine, very shrewdly observed,
that the english police seems to direct its powers, and consideration
more to the apprehension of the robber, than to the prevention of the
robbery. In no country is the _art_ of thief catching carried higher,
than in England. In France, the police is in the highest state of
respectability, and unites force to vigilance. The depredator who is
fortunate enough to escape the former, is seldom able to elude the
latter.

The grand National Library of Paris, is highly deserving of a visit, and
is considered to be the first of its kind in Europe. In one of the rooms
is a museum of antiques. The whole is about to be removed to the old
palace. In one of the wings of this noble collection, are the two
celebrated great globes, which rest upon the ground, and rise through
the flooring of the first story, where there is a railing round them.
These globes I should suppose to be about eighteen feet high.

From the Grand National Library, I went with a party to the military
review of all the regiments in Paris, and its suburbs by the first
consul, in the Place de Carousel, within the gates, and railing which he
has raised for this purpose. We were introduced into the apartments of
general Duroc, the governor of the palace, which were upon the ground
floor of the Thuilleries, and which afforded us an uninterrupted view of
the whole of this superb military spectacle. A little before twelve
o'clock, all the regiments of horse and foot, amounting to about 7000
men, had formed the line, when the consular regiment entered, preceded
by their fine band, and the tambour major, who was dressed in great
magnificence. This man is remarked in Paris for his symmetry and manly
beauty. The cream-coloured charger of Bonaparte, upon which, "labouring
for destiny, he has often made dreadful way in the field of battle,"
next passed us, led by grooms in splendid liveries of green and gold, to
the grand entrance. As the clock struck twelve, the first consul,
surrounded by a chosen body of the consular guard, appeared and mounted.
He immediately rode off in full speed, to the gate nearest to the
gallery of the Louvre, followed by his favourite generals, superbly
attired, mounted upon chargers very richly caparisoned. My eye, aided by
a good opera-glass, was fixed upon the first consul. I beheld before me
a man whose renown is sounded through the remotest regions of the earth,
and whose exploits have been united by the worshippers of favoured
heroism to the conqueror of Darius. His features are small and meagre.
His countenance is melancholy, cold and desperate. His nose is aquiline.
His eyes are dark, fiery, and full of genius. His hair, which he wears
cropped and without powder, is black. His figure is small, but very
muscular. He wore a blue coat, with broad white facings and golden
epaulets (the uniform of his regiment) a small cocked hat, in which was
a little national cockade. In his hand he carried a small riding whip.
His boots were made in the fashion of english riding boots, which I have
before condemned on account of their being destitute of military
appearance. The reason why they are preferred by the french officers is
on account of the top leather not soiling the knees of the pantaloons
when in the act of putting one leg over the other. Bonaparte rode
through the lines. His beautiful charger seemed conscious of the glory
of his rider, and bore him through the ranks with a commanding and
majestic pace. The colours of one of the regiments was stationed close
under the window, where I had the good fortune of being placed. Here the
hero stopped, and saluted them. At this time I was close to him, and had
the pleasure of completely gratifying that curiosity of beholding the
persons of distinguished men, which is so natural to all of us.

A few minutes after Bonaparte had passed, I saw a procession, the
history of which I did not understand at the time, but which fully
explained its general purport. About two years since, one of the
regiments of artillery revolted in battle. Bonaparte in anger deprived
them of their colours, and suspended them, covered with crape, amongst
the captive banners of the enemy, in the Hall of Victory. The regiment,
affected by the disgrace, were determined to recover the lost esteem of
their general and their country, or perish to the last man. When any
desperate enterprise was to be performed, they volunteered their
services, and by this magnanimous compunction covered their shame with
laurels, and became the boast and pride of the republican legions. This
day was fixed upon for the restoration of their ensigns. They were
marched up under a guard of honour, and presented to the first consul,
who took the black drapery from their staves, tore it in pieces, threw
it on the ground, and drove his charger indignantly over it. The
regenerated banners were then restored to the regiment, with a short and
suitable address. I faintly heard this laconic speech, but not
distinctly enough to offer any criticism upon the eloquence of the
speaker. This exhibition had its intended effect, and displayed the
genius of this extraordinary man, who, with unerring acuteness, knows so
well to give to every public occurrence that dramatic hue and interest
which are so gratifying to the minds of the people over whom he
presides. After this ceremony, the several regiments, preceded by their
bands of music, marched before him in open order, and dropped their
colours as they passed. The flying artillery and cavalry left the parade
in full gallop, and made a terrific noise upon the pavement. Each
field-piece was drawn by six horses, upon a carriage with large wheels.
Here the review closed.

    "Farewell, the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
    The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
    The royal banner, and all quality,
    Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war."

Bonaparte returned to the palace, where he held a splendid levee, at
which the new turkish embassy was introduced.

In the evening I saw Bonaparte and his lady at the opera, where he was
received with respect, but without any clamorous acclamation.

Madame Bonaparte appears to be older than the first consul. She is an
elegant woman, and is said to conduct herself in her high station with
becoming dignity and prudence.




CHAPTER XX.

     _Abbè Sieyes.--Consular Procession to the Council Chamber.--10th of
     August, 1792.--Celerity of Mons. Fouche's Information.--The two
     Lovers.--Cabinet of Mons. le Grand--Self-prescribing
     Physician.--Bust of Robespierre.--His Lodgings.--Corn Hall.--Museum
     of French Monuments.--Revolutionary Agent.--Lovers of married
     Women._


A neat remark was made upon the abbè Sieyes, to whose prolific mind the
revolution and all its changes have been imputed. This extraordinary man
has a noble house in the Champs Elisées, and is said to have the best
cook in Paris. As a party in which I was, were passing his hotel, a near
relation of the abbè, who happened to be with us, commented upon the
great services which the cloistered fabricator of constitutions had
afforded to France, and adverted to his house and establishment as an
unsuitable reward for his labours. A gentleman, who was intimate with
the abbè, but was no great admirer of his morals, said, "I think, my
dear madam, the abbè ought to be very well satisfied with his destiny;
and I would advise him to live as long as he can in the Champs Elisées;
for when he shall happen to experience that mysterious transition to
which we are all hastening, I think the chances will be against his
finding good accommodations in any other Elysium."

As I was passing one morning through the hall of the Thuilleries, the
great door of the council chamber was opened, and the second and third
consuls, preceded and followed by their suite in full costume, _marched_
with great pomp to business, to the roll of a drum. This singular
procession from one part of the house to the other, had a ridiculous
effect, and naturally reminded me of the fustian pageantry which, upon
the stage, attends the entries and exits of the kings and queens of the
drama.

I have often been surprised to find that the injuries which the cornice
of the entrance, and the capitals of the columns in the hall of the
Thuilleries, have sustained from the ball of cannon, during the horrible
massacre of the 10th of August, 1792, have never been repaired. Every
vestige of that day of dismay and slaughter ought for ever to be
effaced; instead of which, some labour has been exercised to perpetuate
its remembrance. Under the largest chasms which have been made by the
shot is painted, in strong characters, that gloomy date.

In the evening of that day of devastation, from which France may date
all her sufferings, a friend of mine went into the court-yard of the
Thuilleries, where the review is now held, for the purpose of
endeavouring to recognise, amongst the dead, any of his acquaintances.
In the course of this shocking search, he declared to me, that he
counted no less than eight hundred bodies of Swiss and French, who had
perished in that frightful contest between an infatuated people and an
irresolute sovereign. I will not dilate upon this painful subject, but
dismiss it in the words of the holy and resigned descendant of Nahor,
"Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let
the light shine upon it; let darkness and the shadow of death stain it;
let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the day terrify it."

I have before had occasion to notice the promptitude and activity of the
french police, under the penetrating eye of Mons. Fouche. No one can
escape the vigilance of this man and his emissaries. An emigrant of
respectability assured me, that when he and a friend of his waited upon
him for their passports to enable them to quit Paris for the South of
France, he surprised them by relating to them the names of the towns,
the streets, and of the people with whom they had lodged, at various
times, during their emigration in England.

Whilst I was at Paris, an affair happened very near the hotel in which I
lodged, which in its sequel displayed that high spirit and sensibility
which appear to form the presiding features in the french character, to
which may be attributed all the excesses which have stained, and all the
glory which has embellished it. A lady of fortune, and her only
daughter, an elegant and lovely young woman, resided in the Fauxbourg
St. Germain. A young man of merit and accomplishments, but unaided by
the powerful pretensions of suitable fortune, cherished a passion for
the young lady, to whom he had frequent access, on account of his being
distantly related to her. His affection was requited with return; and
before the parent suspected the attachment, the lovers were solemnly
engaged. The indications of pure love are generally too unguarded to
escape the keen, observing eye of a cold, mercenary mother. She charged
her daughter with her fondness, and forbade her distracted lover the
house. To close up every avenue of hope, she withdrew with her wretched
child into Italy, where they remained for two years; at the expiration
of which, the mother had arranged for her daughter a match more
congenial to her own pride and avarice, with an elderly gentleman, who
had considerable fortune and property in the vicinity of Bourdeaux.
Every necessary preparation was made for this cruel union, which it was
determined should be celebrated in Paris, to which city they returned
for that purpose. Two days before the marriage was intended to take
place, the young lover, wrought up to frenzy by the intelligence of the
approaching nuptials, contrived, by bribing the porter whilst the mother
was at the opera with her intended son-in-law, to reach the room of the
beloved being from whom he was about to be separated for ever. Emaciated
by grief, she presented the mere spectre of what she was when he last
left her. As soon as he entered the room, he fell senseless at her feet,
from which state he was roused by the loud fits of her frightful maniac
laughter. She stared upon him, like one bewildered. He clasped her with
one hand, and with the other drew from his pocket a vial containing
double distilled laurel water: he pressed it to her lips, until she had
swallowed half of its contents; the remainder he drank himself.--The
drug of death soon began to operate.--Clasped in each other's arms, pale
and expiring, they reviewed their hard fate, and, in faint and lessening
sentences, implored of the great God of mercy, that he would pardon them
for what they had done, and that he would receive their spirits into
his regions of eternal repose; that he would be pleased, in his divine
goodness, to forgive the misjudging severity which had driven them to
despair, and would support the unconscious author of it, under the heavy
afflictions which their disastrous deaths would occasion. They had
scarcely finished their prayer, when they heard footsteps approaching
the room. Madame R----, who had been indisposed at the opera, returned
home before its conclusion, with the intended bridegroom. The young man
awoke, as it were, from his deadly drowsiness, and, exerting his last
strength, pulled from his breast a dagger, stabbed the expiring being,
upon whom he doated, to the heart; and, falling upon her body, gave
himself several mortal wounds. The door opened; the frantic mother
appeared. All the house was in an instant alarmed; and the fatal
explanation which furnished the materials of this short and sad recital,
was taken from the lips of the dying lover, who had scarcely finished it
before he breathed his last. Two days afterwards, the story was hawked
about the streets.

From this painful narrative, in which the French impetuosity is strongly
depicted, I must turn to mention my visit to Mons. le G----, who lives
in the Rue Florentine, and is considered to be one of the first
architects in France; in which are many monuments of his taste and
elegance. It is a curious circumstance that all artists exercise their
talents more successfully for their patrons than for themselves. Whether
it is the hope of a more substantial reward than that of mere
self-complacency, which usually excites the mind to its happiest
exertions, I will not pretend to determine; but the point seems to be in
some degree settled by the conduct of a celebrated Bath physician, of
whom it is related, that, happening once to suffer under a malady from
which as his skill had frequently relieved others, he determined to
prescribe for himself. The recipe at first had not the desired effect.
The doctor was surprised. At last he recollected that he had not feed
himself. Upon making this discovery, he drew the strings of his purse,
and with his left hand placed a guinea in his right, and then
prescribed. The story concludes by informing its readers, that the
prescription succeeded, and the doctor recovered.--In adorning the front
of his own hôtel, Mons. le G----, in my very humble opinion, has not
exhibited his accustomed powers. In a small confined court-yard he has
attempted to give to a private dwelling the appearance of one of those
vast temples of which he became enamoured when at Athens. The roof is
supported by two massy fluted pilastres, which in size are calculated to
bear the burthen of some prodigious dome. The muscular powers of
Hercules seem to be here exercised in raising a grasshopper from the
ground. The genius of Mons. le G----, unlike the world's charity, does
not begin at home, but seems more disposed to display its most
successful energies abroad. His roof, however, contains such a monument
of his goodness and generosity, that I must not pass it over. This
distinguished architect is one of those unfortunate beings who have been
decreed to taste the bitterness, very soon after the sweets of
matrimony. Upon discovering the infidelity of his lady, who is very
pretty and prepossessing, the distracted husband immediately sought a
divorce from the laws of his country. This affair happened a very short
time before the revolution afforded unusual acceleration and facilities
to the wishes of parties, who, under similar circumstances, wished to
get rid of each other as soon as possible. The then "law's delay"
afforded some cause of vexation to Mons. le G----, who was deeply
injured. Before his suit had passed through its last forms, the father
of his wife, who at the time of their marriage lived in great affluence,
became a bankrupt. In the vortex of his failure, all the means of
supporting his family were swallowed up. The generous le G----,
disdaining to expose to want and ignominy the woman who had once been
dear to him, would proceed no further. She is still his wife; she bears
his name, is maintained by him, and in a separate suite of apartments
lives under the same roof with him. But Mons. and Madame le G---- have
had no intercourse whatever with each other for eleven years. If in the
gallery or in the hall they meet by accident, they pass without the
interchange of a word. This painful and difficult arrangement has now
lost a considerable portion of its misery, by having become familiar to
the unfortunate couple.

In the valuable and curious cabinet of Mons. le G----, I found out,
behind several other casts, a bust of Robespierre, which was taken of
him, a short period before he fell. A tyrant, whose offences look white,
contrasted with the deep delinquency of the oppressor of France, is said
to be indebted more to his character, than to nature, for the
representation of that deformity of person which appears in
Shakspeare's portrait of him, when he puts this soliloquy in his lips:--

    "I that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
    Cheated of feature, by dissembling Nature,
    Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time,
    Into the breathing world, scarce half made up;
    And that so lamely and unfashionably,
    That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them."

History, enraged at the review of the insatiable crimes of Robespierre,
has already bestowed upon him a fanciful physiognomy, which she has
composed of features which rather correspond with the ferocity of his
soul, than with his real countenance. From the appearance of this bust,
which is an authentic remblance of him, his face must have been rather
handsome. His features were small, and his countenance must have
strongly expressed animation, penetration and subtlety. This bust is a
real curiosity. It is very likely that not another is now to be found,
Mons. le G---- is permitted to preserve it, without reproach on account
of his art. I can safely say, he does not retain it from any emotions of
veneration for the original. It is worthy of being placed between the
heads of Caligula and Nero. Very near the residence of Mons. le G---- is
the house in which Robespierre lodged. It is at the end of the Rue
Florentine, in the Rue St. Honore, at a wax chandler's. This man is too
much celebrated, not to render every thing which relates to him curious.
The front windows of his former lodgings look towards the Place de la
Concorde, on the right of which his prime minister, the permanent
guillotine, was quartered. Robespierre, who, like the revolting angel,
before the world's formation, appears to have preferred the sceptre of
Hell and chaos, to the allegiance of order and social happiness, will
descend to posterity with no common attributes of distinction and
preeminence. His mind was fully suited to its labours, which, in their
wide sphere of mischief, required more genius to direct them than was
bestowed upon the worst of the tyrants of Rome, and a spirit of evil
which, with its "broad circumference" of guilt, was calculated to darken
the disk of their less expanded enormity.

From Robespierre's lodgings, curiosity led me to visit the building in
which the jacobin club held their Pandemonium. It is a noble edifice,
and once belonged to the Order of Jacobins. Near this church stands the
beautiful fabric of the Corn Hall of Paris, designed by Monsieur le
Grand. The dome of the bank of England is in the same style, but
inferior, in point of lightness and elegance. That of the Corn Hall
resembles a vast concavity of glass. In this noble building the millers
deposit their corn for sale. Its deep and lofty arches and area, were
nearly filled with sacks, containing that grain which is precious to all
nations, but to none more than the french; to a frenchman, bread is most
emphatically the staff of life. He consumes more of it at one meal than
an englishman does at four. In France, the little comparative quantity
of bread which the english consume, is considered to form a part of
their national character. Before I left Paris, I was requested to
visit a very curious and interesting exhibition, the Museum of French
Monuments; for the reception of which, the ancient convent of the monks
of the Order of les Petits Augustines, is appropriated. This national
institution is intended to exhibit the progress of monumental taste in
France, for several centuries past, the specimens of which have chiefly
been collected from St. Denis, which formerly was the burial place of
the monarchs of France, and from other churches.

[Illustration: _Museum of French Monuments._]

It will be remembered by the reader, that in the year 1793, Henriot, a
vulgar and furious republican, proposed setting off for the former
church, at the head of the sans culottes, to destroy all these curious
and valuable relics, "to strike," as he said, "the tyrants in their
tombs," but was prevented by some other republicans of influence, who
had not parted with their veneration for works of taste, from this
impious and impotent outrage.

In the first hall, which is very large, and impresses a similar awe to
that which is generally felt upon entering a cathedral, are the tombs of
the twelfth century. Amongst them I chiefly distinguished that of Henry
II, upon which are three beautiful mourning figures, supporting a cup,
containing his heart.

In the second hall, are the monuments of the thirteenth century, most of
them are very fine; that of Lewis the XIIth and his queen, is well
worthy of notice. I did not find much to gratify me in the hall of the
fourteenth century. In that of the fifteenth century are several noble
tombs, and beautiful windows of stained glass. In the hall of the
sixteenth century is a fine statue of Henry the IVth, by Franchville,
which is considered to be an admirable likeness of that wonderful man.
In the hall of the seventeenth century, is a noble figure, representing
religion, by Girardon.

In the cloisters are several curious statues, stained glass windows, and
tesselated pavement. There is here also a good bust of Alexis Peron,
with this singular epitaph,

    Ci git qui ne fut rien,
    Pas même académicien.

In the square garden within the cloisters, are several ancient urns, and
tombs. Amongst them is the vase which contains the ashes, if any remain,
of Abelard and Heloise, which has been removed from the Paraclete to the
Museum. It is covered with the graceful shade of an Acacia tree, which
seems to wave proudly over its celebrated deposit. Upon approaching this
treasurable antique, all those feelings rushed in upon me, which the
beautiful, and affecting narrative of those disastrous lovers, by Pope,
has often excited in me. The melancholy Heloise seemed to breathe from
her tomb here,

    "If ever chance two wandering lovers brings,
    O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
    And drink the falling tear each other sheds:
    Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
    Oh! may we never love, as these have lov'd."

National guards are stationed in every apartment of the Museum, and
present rather an unaccording appearance, amidst the peaceful solemnity
of the surrounding objects. This exhibition is not yet completed, but,
in its present condition, is very interesting. Some hints, not
altogether useless, may be collected from it. In England, our churches
are charnel houses. The pews of the congregation are raised upon
foundations of putrefaction. For six days and nights the temple of
devotion is filled with the pestilent vapours of the dead, and on the
seventh they are absorbed by the living. Surely it is high time to
subdue prejudices, which endanger health without promoting piety. The
scotch never bury in their churches, and their burial places are upon
the confines of their towns. The eye of adoration is filled with a
pensive pleasure, in observing itself surrounded with the endeavours of
taste and ingenuity, to lift the remembrance of the great and good
beyond the grave, in that very spot where the frailty of our nature is
so often inculcated.

Such a display, in such a place, is rational, suitable, and admonitory.
The silent tomb becomes auxiliary to the eloquence of the pulpit. But
the custom which converts the place of worship into a catacomb, can
afford but a mistaken consolation to posthumous pride, and must, in some
degree, contaminate the atmosphere which is contained within its walls.
One evening as I was passing through the Boulevard Italien, in company
with a gentleman from Toulon, we met a tall, dark, hollow eyed,
ferocious looking man, of whom he related the following story.

Immediately after the evacuation of Toulon by the english, all the
principal toulonese citizens were ordered to repair to the market
place; where they were surrounded by a great military force.

This man who, for his offences, had been committed to prison, was
liberated by the french agents, in consequence of his undertaking to
select those of the inhabitants who had in any manner favoured the
capitulation of the town, or who had shown any hospitality to the
english, whilst they were in possession of it. The miscreant passed
before the citizens, who were drawn out in lines, amounting to near
three thousand. Amongst whom he pointed out about one thousand four
hundred persons to the fury of the government; without any other
evidence, or further examination, they were all immediately adjudged to
be shot. For this purpose a suitable number of soldiers were drawn out.
The unhappy victims were marched up to their destruction, upon the quay,
in sets of three hundred, and butchered.

The carnage was dreadful. In the last of these unfortunate groups, were
two gentlemen of great respectability, who received no wound from the
fire, but, to preserve themselves, dropped with the rest, and exhibited
all the appearances of having participated in the general fate.

This execution took place in the evening: immediately after its close,
the soldiers, fatigued, and sick with cold-blooded slaughter, marched
back to their quarters, without examining whether every person upon whom
they had fired, had fallen a victim to the murderous bullet. Soon after
the soldiers had retired, the women of Toulon, allured by plunder,
proceeded to the fatal spot. Mounted upon the bodies of the fallen,
they stripped the dead, and dying. The night was stormy. The moon,
emerging from dark clouds, occasionally, shed its pale lustre upon this
horrible scene. When the plunderers had abandoned their prey, during an
interval of deep darkness, in the dead of the night, when all was
silent, unconscious of each other's intentions, the two citizens who had
escaped the general carnage, disencumbered themselves from the dead,
under whom they were buried; chilled and naked, in an agony of mind not
to be described, they, at the same moment, attempted to escape. In their
agitation, they rushed against each other. Expressions of terror and
surprise, dropped from each of them. "Oh! God! it is my father!" said
one, "my son, my son, my son," exclaimed the other, clasping him in his
arms. They were father and son, who had thus miraculously escaped, and
met in this extraordinary manner.

The person from whom I received this account, informed me, that he knew
these gentlemen very well, and that they had been resettled in Toulon
about two years.

The wretch who had thus directed the ruthless vengeance of a
revolutionary banditti, against the breasts of his fellow citizens, was,
at this time, in Paris, soliciting, from the present government, from a
total misconception of its nature, those remunerations which had been
promised, but never realized by his barbarous employers.

I need scarcely add, that although he had been in the capital several
months, he had not been able to gain access to the minister's secretary.

The time of terror was over--the murderer's occupation was gone--the
guillotine, with unsatiated hunger, after having gorged the food which
was thrown to it, had devoured its feeder.

I must leave it to the ingenuity of my reader, to connect the
observation with which I shall close this chapter, with the preceding
story, for I am only enabled to do so, by observing, that an impressive
instance of the subject of it, occurred immediately after my mind had
been harrowed up, by the narrative which I have just related. The
married women of France feel no compunctious visitings of conscience, in
cherishing about them a circle of lovers, amongst whom their husbands
are _merely_ more favoured than the rest. I hope I shall not be
considered as an apologist, for an indulgence which, in France, excites
no jealousy in _one_, and no surprise amongst the many, when I declare,
that I confidently believe, in most instances, it commences, and
guiltlessly terminates in the love of admiration. I know, and visited in
Paris, a most lovely and accomplished young woman, who had been married
about two years. She admitted the visits of men, whom she knew were
passionately fond of her. Sometimes she received them in the presence,
and sometimes in the absence of her husband, as accident, not
arrangement, directed. They approached her with all the agitation and
tenderness of the most ardent lovers. Amongst the number, was a certain
celebrated orator. This man was her abject slave. A glance from her
expressive eye raised him to the summit of bliss, or rendered his night
sleepless. The complacent husband of Madame G----regarded these men as
his most beloved friends, because they enlarged the happiness of his
wife; and, strange as it may appear, I believe that he had as little
cause to complain as Othello, and therefore never permitted his repose
to be disturbed by those suspicions which preyed upon the vitals of the
hapless moor. The french Benedict might truly exclaim,

    "--------------------'Tis not to make me jealous,
    To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
    Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
    Where virtue is, these are more virtuous;
    Nor from my own weak merits will I draw
    The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt."




CHAPTER XXI.

     _Picturesque and Mechanical Theatre.--Filtrating and purifying
     Vases.--English Jacobins.--A Farewell.--Messagerie.--Mal
     Maison.--Forest of Evreux.--Lower Normandy.--Caen.--Hon. T.
     Erskine.--A Ball.--The Keeper of the Sachristy of Notre Dame.--The
     two blind Beggars.--Ennui.--St. Lo.--Cherbourg.--England._


I visited, one evening, a very beautiful exhibition, which I think
worthy of being noticed; it was the picturesque and mechanical theatre.
The company present were select and genteel. The room and stage were
upon a small scale; the former was very elegantly fitted up. The
spectacle consisted of scenery and appropriate little moving figures.
The first scene was a view of a wood in early morning, every object
looked blue, fresh, and dewy. The gradations of light, until the
approach of meridian day, were admirably represented. Serpents were seen
crawling in the grass. A little sportsman entered with his
fowling-piece, and imitated all the movements natural to his pursuit; a
tiny wild duck rose from a lake, and flew before him. He pointed his
gun, changed his situation, pointed it again, and fired. The bird
dropped; he threw it over his shoulders, fastened to his gun, and
retired. Waggons, drawn by horses about four inches high, passed along;
groups of peasantry followed, exquisitely imitating all the indications
of life. Amongst several other scenes was a beautiful view of the bay of
Naples, and the great bridge; over which little horses, with their
riders, passed in the various paces of walking, trotting and galloping.
All the minutiæ of nature were attended to. The ear was beguiled with
the patting of the horses' hoofs upon the pavement; and some of the
little animals reared, and ran before the others. There were also some
charming little sea-pieces, in which the vessels sailed with their heads
towards the spectators, and manoeuvred in a surprising manner. The whole
concluded with a storm and shipwreck. Sailors were seen floating in the
water, then sinking in the surge. One of them rose again and reached a
rock. Boats put off to his relief, and perished in the attempt. The
little figure was seen displaying the greatest agonies. The storm
subsided; tiny persons appeared upon the top of a projecting cliff, near
a watch tower, and lowered a rope to the little sufferer below, which he
caught, and, after ascending to some height by it, overwhelmed with
fatigue, lost his hold. After recovering from the fall, he renewed his
efforts, and at length reached the top in safety, amidst the
acclamations of the spectators, who, moved by this enchanting little
illusion, took much interest in the apparent distress of the scene.

Upon quitting the theatre, we found a real storm without. The lightning
flamed upon us from every quarter, and was succeeded by loud peals of
thunder. Whilst we were contemplating the tempest from the balcony of
Madame S----, a ball of fire fell very near us, and filled the room with
a sulphureous stench. A servant soon afterwards entered, almost
breathless, to inform his mistress, Madame R----, who was of the party,
that the fire-ball had penetrated her house, which was close adjoining,
without having effected any injury. Madame R---- laughed heartily, and
observed, "Well, it is very droll that the lightning should make so free
with my house when I am not at home." This little sprightly remark
dispersed the gloom which had overshadowed most of the ladies present.
All the large houses in Paris are well protected against the perilous
effect of electric fluid, by conductors, which are very judiciously
disposed.

An invention has lately made its appearance in Paris, which is as full
of utility as it is of genius. A house has been lately opened for the
sale of filtrating and purifying vases, to which the ingenious
constructor has given the most elegant etruscan shapes. They are capable
of refining the most fetid and corrupt water, by a process which, in its
operation, lasts about four minutes. The principle is the same as in
nature. The foul water is thrown into the vase, where it passes through
various strata of earth, which are compressed in a series of little
apartments, which retain its offensive particles, and from which it
issues as clear and as sweet as rock water. This discovery will prove of
infinite consequence to families who reside in the maritime parts of
Holland, and to many inland towns in France, where the water is
frequently very bad. I most cordially hope that the inventor will meet
with the remuneration which is due to his humane philosophy.

After having experienced a most cordial display of kindnesses and
hospitalities, I prepared to return to my own country, "that precious
stone set in the silver sea." I had to part with those who, in the short
space of one fleeting month, had, by their endearing and flattering
attentions, rivetted themselves to my affections, with the force of a
long, and frequent, and cherished intercourse, who, in a country where I
expected to feel the comfortless sensations of a foreigner, made me
forget that I was even a _stranger_. Amongst those who excited a
considerable share of my regret upon parting, were the elegant and
charming family of the S----s. As I was preparing to take my leave,
Madame S---- said, "You must not forget us because a few waves divide
our countries."

"If he will lend me his pocket-book," said one of her lovely daughters,
"I will try and see if my pencil will not preserve us in his memory, at
least for a little time."

I presented it to her, and in a few minutes she made an elegant little
sketch, which she called "The affectionate Mother." Amiable young
artist! may Time, propitious to the happiness of some generous being,
who is worthy of such an associate, hail thee with the blissful
appellation! and may the graceful discharge of those refined and
affecting duties which flow from connubial love, entitle thee, too much
esteemed to be envied, to the name of the modern Cornelia!

Several Englishmen, whilst I was at Paris, met with very vexatious
delays in procuring their passports to enable them to leave it, from a
mistaken course of application. Instead of applying to M. Fouche, or any
other municipal officer, I would recommend them to procure their
passport from their own embassador, and send it to the office of Mons.
Talleyrand for his endorsement; by which means they will be enabled to
quit the republic in two or three days after their application.

Having previously determined to return by the way of Lower Normandy,
upon the beauty and luxuriance of which I had heard much eulogy, about
half past five o'clock in the morning of the 21st of Prairial, I left my
hotel, and proceeded to the Messagerie, from which the diligences, all
of which are under the control of the nation, set out. The morning was
very beautiful. I was much entertained before I mounted that cumbrous
vehicle, which was to roll me a little nearer to my own coast, by
viewing the numerous groups of travellers and their friends, who
surrounded the different carriages as the horses were tackling to them.
In different directions of my eye, I saw about thirty men kissing each
other. The women in France never think their prerogatives infringed by
this anti-anglo mode of salutation. Some shed tears at parting; but the
cheek down which they trickled never lost its colour or vivacity. All
were animated; every eye looked bright; there was a gayety in their very
grief. "Bon voyage, bon voyage--Dieu vous benisse, Dieu vous benisse,"
reiterated on all sides from sprightly faces, stretched out of the
window frames of the massy machine, as it rattled through the gates of
the yard, to the incessant crackings of the postilion's long lash. I
soon afterwards found myself seated in the diligence for Cherbourg, in
company with two ladies, and three gentlemen, who were all polite and
pleasing. In the cabriole, forward, was a french captain in the army,
who had been in Tippoo's service at the time of the surrender of
Seringapatam. He looked abominably dirty in his travelling habiliments;
but that, in France, is now no just indication of inferiority or
vulgarity.

We passed by the Place de la Concorde, upon the statues and buildings of
which, and the gardens of the Thuilleries, the fresh and early sun shone
most beautifully. My merry, but feeling fellow travellers, waving their
hands, addressed a short apostrophe to these suburb objects, and
exclaimed, "adieu ma tres jolie ville--ah! tres jolie ville adieu."

For near three miles after leaving the barrier, we passed through
plantations of roses, which supply the markets of Paris with that
beautiful flower, which, transferred thence, adorn the toilets, the
vases, and the bosoms of the fair parisians, and form the favourite
bouquets of the petite maitres; on each side of the road were cherry
trees, in full bearing, which presented a very charming appearance. We
soon reached the water works of Marli, which supply the jets d'eau of
Versailles. They are upon a vast scale, and appear to be very curious. A
little further on we passed Mal Maison, the country, and chief residence
of the first consul and his family. It is an ancient house, embosomed in
beautiful woods and gardens. At the entrance are large military lodges,
for the accommodation of a squadron of the consular cavalry, who mount
guard when their general is here.

[Illustration: _Malmaison._]

At St. Germain's we breakfasted, upon pork cutlets, excellent bread,
wine, and cherries, for twenty sols, or ten pence english. At Mante we
had an excellent dinner, of several dishes, for thirty sols, or one
shilling and three pence english. Soon after we had passed Mante, we
left the higher norman road, and entered a country extremely picturesque
and rich. We were conducted through the forest of Evreux, by an escort
of chasseurs. This vast tract of land is infested by an immense
banditti, who live in large excavations in the earth, similar to the
subterranean apartments of the celebrated robbers, in whose service Gil
Blas was rather reluctantly enrolled, and generally assail the
traveller, with a force which would render common resistance perilous,
and unavailing. This forest, in the course of the year, furnishes
considerable employ for the guillotine of Caen, where the tribunal of
justice is seated. The appearance of our guards was terrific enough to
appal such valiant souls, as once animated the frames of _prince Hal_,
and his merry friend _Ned Poins_. They wore roman helmets, from which
descended, to the bottom of their backs, an immense tail, of thick black
horsehair, their uniform was light green, and looked rather shabby.

We passed the forest without any molestation, and supped at the town of
Evreux, which is very pleasant, where we halted for about four hours. As
we were afterwards proceeding, I prepared myself to enjoy a little
sleep, and as I reclined for this purpose with my hat over my face, in a
corner of the carriage, I overheard one of my fellow travellers observe
to the other, "the englishman is sleeping," to which he replied, "no, he
is not sleeping, he is only thinking, it is the character of his
nation."

The french cannot bear the least appearance of thought; they have a
saying, "un homme qui rit ne sera jamais dangereux."

The next morning we breakfasted at Lisieux, an ancient town, in which
are the remains of a fine convent, which formerly belonged to the
Order of the Capuchins. For four or five miles before we approached the
town, the laughing and animated faces of groups of peasantry, all in
their jubilee dresses, the old mounted upon asses, and the young walking
by the sides of them, hastening to the town, announced to us, that a
fair, and merry making was to be held there, on that day. Lisieux was
quite in a bustle. About six o'clock in the evening of the same day, we
arrived at Caen, the capital of Lower Normandy. My fare to this city
from Paris, amounted to thirty livres, including my luggage. I had not
completed my dinner at the Hôtel de la Place, before an english servant
entered my room, to inform me, that his mistress, Mrs. P----, who, with
her daughters, and another young lady, had the rooms over mine,
presented her compliments to me, and requested me to take my coffee with
them that evening. I must confess I was at first a little surprised at
the message, for the english are not very remarkable for politeness and
attention to one another in a foreign country.

[Illustration: _Caen._]

After I had finished my desert, I made my bow to Mrs. P----, and her
family, who proved to be very pleasant, and accomplished people, and
were making the tour of France with english servants. They had been in
Caen near three weeks, where they had a large acquaintance of the first
respectability. This unexpected introduction became additionally
agreeable, upon my discovery at the Messagerie, that the diligence for
Cherbourg would not proceed, till three days from the time of my
arrival. The next morning I rambled with my new friends about the city,
which is large, and handsome, and is watered by the river Orne. It is
much celebrated for its lace trade; on that day I dined with Mrs. P----,
and a french party, and was regaled with an english dinner, cooked, and
served up by her own servants. The filth of the french kitchen is too
well known, to make it necessary for me to say how delicious such a
dinner was. The french admit themselves that their cooks are destitute
of cleanliness.

The Convent of the Benedictines, which is converted into the palace of
the prefect, is a noble building. The gardens belonging to it are well
arranged. The promenade called de la Cour is very charming, from which
the city is seen to great advantage. The water of the Orne is rather
nauseous, but is not considered unwholesome. The Palais de Justice is a
fine modern structure. In its courts of law, I had again an opportunity
of hearing the forensic elocution of Normandy. The gestures, and
vehemence of the orators here, as at Rouen, appeared to me to be
tinctured with the extravagance of frenzy. But perhaps my ears, and eyes
have been rendered somewhat too fastidious by having been frequently
banqueted with the grace, animation, and commanding eloquence of the
unrivalled advocate of the british bar; who, when he retires from the
laborious duties of the crowded, and admiring forum, where his acute
sagacity has so often unfolded the dark compact involutions of human
obliquity, where his wit and fancy have covered with the choicest
flowers, the dreary barrenness of technical pleading; will leave behind
him that lasting, and honourable respect and remembrance, which
faculties so extensively beneficial, must ever excite in the minds of
men who have been instructed, delighted, and benefited by their
splendid, and prosperous display.

In this city was pointed out to me, the house in which the celebrated
Charlotte Corday resided, who, by her poniard, delivered France of the
monster, Marat, on Sunday, the 14th of July, 1793. There is some
coincidence in the crimes, and fate of Caligula and Marat, both perished
by the avengers of their country, whilst in the act of approaching their
baths. Posterity will embalm, with its grateful remembrance, the
patriotic heroism of this great, and distinguished female, and in her
own firm, and eloquent language, will say of her, "that crime begets
disgrace, and not the scaffold."

On the evening after my arrival at Caen, I was invited to an elegant
ball, which was given by the lady of the paymaster general of the
district, in one of the government houses. I had before witnessed the
dancing of the higher orders of people in Paris, and from this reason
was not surprised in contemplating the exquisite grace which was here
displayed. The party consisted of near eighty persons. Amongst them were
the judges of the district, and the principal officers quartered in the
city, and its neighbourhood, the latter were attired in superb military
dresses. Amongst the ladies were several beautiful, well dressed young
women, who exhibited their persons to great advantage. The grave, and
elderly part of the company played at buillotte, which is at present the
favourite french game. In France to please and to be pleased, seem to be
the two presiding principles in all their meetings. An elegant young
officer, who had distinguished himself at the battle of Marengo,
observing that the musicians appeared to be a little fatigued, by the
contribution of their exhilarating services towards the festivity of the
evening, supplied their room, whilst they refreshed themselves, and
struck up an english country dance on one of the violins. The party
attempted to dance it, but to show how arbitrary habit is, in the
attempt, all those powers of grace, which they had before so beautifully
displayed, retired as if influenced by the magic of some unpropitious
spirit. Amongst the party, was a little girl, about nine years old, who
was dressed in the highest style of fashion, and looked like a
fashionable milliner's doll. This little spoiled child was accustomed to
spend an hour at her toilette every morning, and to be tricked out in
all the ephemeral decoration of the haut ton. This little coquette
already looked out for admiration, and its foolish mother expressed the
greatest satisfaction, when any one, out of politeness to her, paid
attentions to the pert premature nursling. Our entertainment concluded
with a handsome supper, and we parted, highly delighted, at the dawn of
day. Nothing could be more flattering, than the attentions which, as an
englishman, I received from every one present.

After a few hours repose, I went with a large party to the church of
Notre Dame; in which there is a very fine altar piece. The keeper of
the sachristy, who was a very arch-looking little fellow, in spite of
the solemnity of the place in which we were, made us all smile (even a
young lady who was going to be confessed for the first time the next
day, lost a considerable proportion of her gravity) by informing us,
that during the time of terror he had run off with the Virgin Mary,
pointing to the image, and that to prevent the detection of
Robespierre's agents, he had concealed her in his bed for three years.
Nothing could exceed his joy in having saved her from the hatchet, or
the flames, from which impending fate, she was restored to her former
situation in this church; and was, when we saw her, by the extravagance
of her sprightly, and ardent protector, dressed in a white muslin gown,
spotted with silver; a little bouquet of artificial flowers graced her
bosom, and her wig was finely curled, and powdered. The figure in her
arms, which was intended to represent the infant Jesus, was dressed in a
style equally unsuitable; his hair was also curled, and powdered, and a
small cocked hat placed upon his head. Our delighted guide, whose eyes
sparkled with self-complacency, asked us if we had ever seen a prettier
Virgin Mary, or one dressed more handsomely. We were all much amused by
the quaintness of this man's conduct, although I am confident he had no
intention of exciting unbecoming sensations, for in saving this image,
he had exposed his life.

From Notre Dame, we went to the Abbaye aux Hommes, built by William the
Conqueror. It is a large lofty plain pile of building. The spires are
well proportioned, and very high. The pillars in the choir are, in my
humble opinion, too massy. Preparations were here making for the
celebration of the great festival called the Feast of God. We presented
to one of the priests, who, in the sachristy, was adorning the cradle of
our Saviour's image with flowers, some very fine moss roses, which in
France are very rare, which he received with great politeness. This
festival before the revolution was always superbly celebrated. It was
then renewed for the first time since the proscription of religion,
during which, all the costly habits of the priests, and rich vessels
used in the ceremonies of the church have been stolen, sold, or melted
down. Near the altar, which has been shattered by the axe of the
revolution, is the vault of the norman conqueror.

Upon our return to our hotel, we saw a considerable crowd assembled near
the bridge leading to de la Cour. Upon inquiring into the cause of this
assemblage, we found it was owing to a curious rencounter between two
blind beggars, who, in total darkness, had been waging an uncertain
battle for near six minutes. It appeared that one of them had for
several months, enjoyed quiet possession of the bridge, which happened
to be a great thoroughfare, and had during that time, by an undisputed
display of his calamity, contrived to pick up a comfortable recompense
for it; that within a few days preceding this novel fracas, another
mendicant, who had equal claims to compassion, allured by the repute of
his success, had deserted a less frequented part of the city, and had
presented himself at the other corner of the same bridge, where by a
more masterly selection of moving phrases, he soon not only divided, but
monopolized the eleemosynary revenues of this post of wretchedness. The
original possessor naturally grew jealous. Even beggars "can bear no
brother near the throne." Inflamed with jealousy, he silently moved
towards his rival, by the sound of whose voice, which was then sending
forth some of its most affecting, and purse-drawing strains, he was
enabled to determine whether his arm was within reach of the head of his
competitor, which circumstance, having with due nicety ascertained, he
clenched his fist, which in weight, size, and firmness, was not much
surpassed by the hard, and ponderous paw of a full-grown tiger, and with
all the force of that propulsion, which a formidable set of muscles
afforded, he felled his rival to the ground, and not knowing that he was
fallen, discharged many other blows, which only served to disturb the
tranquillity of the air. The recumbent hero, whose head was framed for
enterprises of this nature, soon recovered from the assault, and, after
many unavailing efforts in the dark, at length succeeded in opening one
of the vessels of the broad nose of his brawny assailant, whose blood,
enriched by good living, streamed out most copiously. In this condition
we saw these orbless combatants, who were speedily separated from each
other. Some of the crowd were endeavouring to form a treaty of
pacification between them, whether they succeeded I know not, for we
were obliged to leave the bridge of battle, before these important
points were arranged, to join a pleasant party at Mons. St. J----'s, an
opulent banker at Caen, to whom I had letters of introduction from Mons.
R----, the banker of Paris.

After spending the short time, during which I was detained at Caen, very
pleasantly, I resumed my seat in the diligence for Cherbourg, in which I
found a very agreeable woman, her two daughters, two canary birds, a
cat, and her kitten, who were, I found, to be my companions all the way.
After we left Caen, the roads became very bad. Our ponderous machine,
frequently rolled from one side to the other, and with many alarming
creakings, threatened us with a heavy, and perilous overthrow. At length
we arrived at Bayeux, where we dined, at the house of a friend of my
fair fellow traveller, to which she invited me with a tone of welcome,
and good wishes, which overpowered all resistance. We sat down to an
excellent dinner, at which was produced the usual favourite french dish
of cold turbot, and raw artichokes. After our repast, a fine young
woman, the daughter of the lady of the house, in a very obliging, but
rather grave manner, poured out a tumbler full of some delicious potent
liqueur, which, to my no small surprise, she presented me with; upon my
only tasting it, and returning it, she appeared to be equally surprised,
and confused. Her mother, observing our mutual embarrassment, informed
me, that in France it was understood that the english were troubled with
the ennui, or tristesse de coeur, and that they drank large draughts of
wine and spirits to expel the gloomy malady. I softened this opinion of
our common character, as well as I could, for, I fear, without offering
considerable outrage to truth, I could not wholly have denied it.

After dinner, we walked to the cathedral, which is a noble gothic pile,
and, upon our return, found the diligence in waiting for us. My
companions were attended to the door of the carriage by their hospitable
friends, between whom several kisses were interchanged. I took an
opportunity, just before I mounted the step, of stealing one of these
tokens of regard from the fair young damsel who had so courteously
offered me the liqueur, at the same time telling her, that in England, a
kiss was always considered as the best remedy for the tristesse de
coeur.--Away trotted our little norman steeds; and, notwithstanding they
had come all the way from Caen, they soon carried us over the hills on
this side of Bayeux. The eye communicated delight to the heart, whilst
it contemplated the vast extent of corn fields, which in this fertile
province undulated on all sides of us, in waves of yellow exuberance,
over which, embosomed in trees, at short distances, peeped the peaceful
and picturesque abode of the prosperous cottage farmer. The prospect
afforded an impressive contrast to the impolitic agricultural system,
which has lately obtained in England, by which cottage farms are
consolidated into ample domains of monopoly, and a baneful preference is
given in favour of the rearing of cattle, to the vital and bountiful
labours of the plough. A celebrated writer, who well knew in what the
real wealth of a nation consisted, has observed, that he who could make
two ears of corn grow upon a spot of ground, where only one grew
before, would deserve better of mankind than the whole race of
politicians. The high roads of Normandy are unnecessarily broad; hence
considerable portions of land remain uncultivated. A spacious road, like
every thing which is vast, excites an impression of grandeur; but in
this prolific department, the facilities of travelling, and the dignity
of the country, might be consulted with less waste. This prodigality is
perhaps attributable to the highways in France having shared but little
of its legislative attention; and accommodation appears to have been
sought rather by a lavish allotment of space, than by a judicious
formation, and frequent repair.

The inns along the road are very poor, although over the door of almost
every little cottage is written, in large characters, "Bon Cidre de
Victoire." There are also no regular post-horses to be met with. The
country, on all sides of us, was very mountainous and luxuriant, and
much resembled the southern parts of Devonshire. About seven o'clock in
the evening of the same day, we arrived at St. Lo, which is, without
exception, the cleanest and most charming, romantic little town, I saw
in France. It is fortified, and stands upon the top of a mountain, at
whose base is expanded a luxuriant scenery of woods and villages,
through which the riviere de Ville winds in beautiful meanders. The
inhabitants of this town appeared to be rich and genteel. In the evening
I supped at the table d'hôte, where there were several pleasant people.
At this town we slept, and set off, the next morning, very early, for
Valogne, where we dined; and in the evening, after passing a
considerable extent of rich meadow land, and descending a very steep
hill, the freshness of the sea air announced to us our near approach to
Cherbourg, where, at the hôtel d'Angleterre, I was soon afterwards
landed. For my place and luggage to this place I paid twenty-four
livres. My expenses upon the road were very reasonable. Here I had the
good fortune to find a packet which intended to sail to England in two
days, the master of which asked me only one guinea for my passage in the
cabin, provisions included. However, thinking that the kitchen of a
french vessel might, if possible, be more uncleanly than the kitchen of
a french inn, I resolved upon providing my own refreshments for the
little voyage.

[Illustration: _Cherbourg_]

Cherbourg is a poor and dirty town. After having heard so much of its
costly works and fortifications for the protection of its harbour, my
surprise was not little, upon finding the place so miserable. It is
defended by three great forts, which are erected upon rocks in the sea.
The centre one is about three miles off from shore, and is garrisoned by
1200 men. At a distance, this fort looks like a vast floating battery.
Upon a line with it, but divided by a distance sufficient for the
admission of shipping, commences the celebrated, stupendous wall, which
has been erected since the failure of the cones. It is just visible at
low water. This surprising work is six miles in length, and three
hundred french feet in breadth, and is composed of massy stones and
masonry, which have been sunk for the purpose, and which are now
cemented, by sea weed, their own weight and cohesion, into one immense
mass of rock. Upon this wall a chain of forts is intended to be erected,
as soon as the finances of government will admit of it. The expenses
which have already been incurred, in constructing this wonderful fabric,
have, it is said, exceeded two millions sterling. These costly
protective barriers can only be considered as so many monuments, erected
by the french to the superior genius and prowess of the british navy.

Whilst I was waiting for the packet's sailing, I received great
civilities from Mons. C----, the banker and american consul at
Cherbourg, to whom I had letters from Mons. R----. I rode, the second
evening after my arrival, to his country house, which was about nine
miles from the town. Our road to it lay over a prolific and mountainous
country. From a high point of land, as we passed along, we saw the
islands of Guernsey, Jersey and Alderney, which made a beautiful
appearance upon the sea. Upon our return, by another road, I was much
pleased with a group of little cottages, which were embosomed in a
beautiful wood, through which there was an opening to the sea, which the
sinking sun had then overspread with the richest lustre. As we entered
this scene of rustic repose, the angelus bell of the little village
church rang; and a short time afterwards, as we approached it, a number
of villagers came out from the porch, with their mass-books in their
hands, their countenances beaming with happiness and illuminated by the
sinking sun, which shone full upon them. The charms of this simple scene
arrested our progress for a short time. Under some spreading limes, upon
a sloping lawn, the cheerful cottagers closed the evening with dancing
to the sounds of one of the sweetest flagelets I ever heard, which was
alternately played by several performers, who relieved each other. In
France, every man is a musician. Goldsmith's charming picture of his
Auburn, in its happier times, recurred to me:--

    "When toil remitting, lends its turn to play,
    And all the village train, from labour free,
    Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree."

The cross roads of France are very bad; but, to my surprise, although we
never could have had a worse specimen of them than what this excursion
presented to us, yet the norman hunter upon which I was mounted, carried
me over the deepest ruts, and abrupt hillocks, without showing the least
symptom of infirmity which so much prevails amongst his brethren of the
Devonshire breed. The norman horses are remarkable for lifting their
feet high, and the safety and ease with which they carry their riders.
In the morning of the day in which the packet was to sail, a favourable
breeze sprung up; and, after undergoing the usual search of the revenue
officers, in the execution of which they behaved with much civility, I
embarked, and bade adieu to continental ground. The vessel had the
appearance of being freighted with hot bread, with which the deck was
covered from one end to the other. This immense collection of smoking
loaves was intended for the supply of six men, and one woman, during a
passage which we expected to accomplish in thirty hours, or less!

The faithful associate of our young captain, to whom she had just been
married, either from motives of fondness or distrust, resolved upon
sharing with him the perils of the ocean.

The sea-sufferings of this constant creature, and the resignation with
which she endured them, sufficiently manifested the strength of her
affections; for she was obliged to keep below all the time, and could
afford but very little assistance in reducing the prodigious depot of
bread which we had on board.

Credulous mariners describe a species of the fair sex (I believe the
only one) who appear to much advantage upon the briny wave; but the
nature of our commander's lady not happening to be amphibious, she gave
such unequivocal proofs of being out of her proper element, that my
wishes for shore increased upon me every minute.

During our passage, I could not help contrasting the habits of the
english with the french sailors. The british tar thinks his allowance of
salt beef scarcely digestible without a copious libation of ardent
spirits, whilst the gallic mariner is satisfied with a little meagre
soup, an immoderate share of bread, and a beverage of water, poor cider,
or spiritless wine.

At length, after a passage of a day and a night, in which we experienced
the vicissitudes of a stiff breeze, and a dead calm, we beheld

    ----"That pale, that white-fac'd shore,
    Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
    And coops from other lands her islanders,
    That water-walled bulwark, still secure
    And confident from foreign purposes."

After passing another tedious night on board, owing to our being
becalmed within the Needles, I stepped upon the same landing stone from
which I first embarked for a country, where, in the centre of
proscriptions, instability and desolation, those arts which are said to
flourish only in the regions of repose, have, by their vigour and
unrivalled bloom, excited the wonder and admiration of surrounding
nations; where Peace, by her sudden and cherished reappearance, is
calling forth all the virtues from their hiding places, to aid in
effacing the corroding stains of a barbarous revolution, and in
restoring the moral and social character to its pristine polish, rank
and estimation.




GENERAL REMARKS.


The fact seems at first singular. Two of the greatest nations under
Heaven, whose shores almost touch, and, if ancient tales be true, were
once unsevered, call the natives of each other foreigners.

Jealousy, competition, and consequent warfare, have, for ages, produced
an artificial distance and separation, much wider, and more impassable,
than nature ever intended, by the division which she has framed; hence,
whilst the unassisted eye of the islander can, from his own shores, with
"unwet feet," behold the natural barrier of his continental neighbour,
he knows but little more of his real character and habits, than of those
of beings, who are more distantly removed from him, by many degrees of
the great circle.

The events which have happened in France for the last eleven years, have
rendered this separation more severe, and during that long and gloomy
interval, have wholly changed the national character. Those who once
occupied the higher class in the ascending scale of society, and who
have survived the revolution without leaving their country, are no
longer able to display the taste and munificence which once
distinguished them. In the capital, those who formerly were accustomed
to have their court yards nightly filled with carriages, and their
staircases lined with lacqueys, are now scarcely able to occupy one
third of their noble abodes. They cannot even enjoy the common
observances of friendship, and hospitality, without pausing, and
resorting to calculation. A new race of beings called the "nouveaux
enrichés," whose services have been chiefly auxiliary to the war, at
present absorb the visible wealth of the nation. Amongst them are many
respectable persons. The lower orders of the people have been taught, by
restless visionaries, to consider the destinations of Providence, which
had before, by an imperceptible gradation of social colouring, united
the russet brown to the magisterial purple, as usurpations over those
natural rights which have been impressed without illustration, and
magnified by a mischievous mystery. In the fierce pursuit of these
imaginary immunities, which they had been taught to believe had been
long withheld, they abruptly renounced all deference and decorum, as
perilous indications of the fallacy of their indefinable pretensions,
and were not a little encouraged by the disastrous desertion of their
superiors, who fled at the first alarm. In short, the revolution has, in
general, made the higher orders poor, and dispirited, and the lower
barbarous, and insolent, whilst a third class has sprung up, with the
silence and suddenness of an exhalation, higher than both, without
participating in the original character of either, in which the
principles of computation, and the vanity of wealth, are at awkward
variance.

Until lately, the ancient french and the modern french were antipodes,
but they are now converging, under a government, which, in point of
security, and even of mildness, has no resemblance, since the first
departure from the ancient establishments. The french, like the
libertine son, after having plunged in riot and excesses, subdued by
wretchedness, are returning to order and civilization. Unhappy people,
their tears have almost washed away their offences--they have suffered
to their heart's core. Who will not pity them to see their change, and
hear their tales of misery? Yet, strange to relate, in the midst of
their sighs and sufferings, they recount, with enthusiasm, the exploits
of those very men, whose heroic ambition has trampled upon their best
hopes, and proudest prosperity. Dazzled by the brilliancy of the
spreading flame, they forget that their own abode is involved in its
desolation, and augments the gloomy grandeur of the scene. To this cause
may, perhaps, be traced that singular union of grief and gayety, which
affords rather an impressive contrast to the more solemn consistency of
english sadness. The terrible experiment which they have tried, has,
throughout, presented a ferocious contest for power, which has only
served to deteriorate their condition, sap their vigour, and render them
too feeble either to continue the contest, or to reach the frontier of
their former character. In this condition they have been found by a man
who, with the precedent of history in one hand, and the sabre in the
other, has, unstained with the crimes of Cromwell, possessed himself of
the sovereignty; and, like Augustus, without the propensities which
shaded his early life, preserved the _name_ of a republic, whilst he
well knows that a decisive and irresistible authority can alone reunite
a people so vast and distracted; who, in the pursuit of a fatal phantom,
have been inured to change, and long alienated from subordination. I
would not wish such a government to be perpetual, but if it be
conducted with wisdom and justice, I will not hesitate to declare, that
I think it will ultimately prove as favourable to the happiness, as it
has been propitious to the glory of the french. A government which
breathes a martial spirit under a thin appearance of civil polity,
presents but a barren subject to the consideration of the inquirer. When
the sabre is changed into the sceptre, the science of legislation is
short, simple, and decisive. Its energies are neither entangled in
abstract distinctions, nor much impeded by the accustomed delays of
deliberation.

From the magnitude of the present ruling establishment in France, and
the judicious distribution of its powers, and confidence, the physical
strength can scarcely be said to reside in the _governed_.

A great portion of the population participates in the character of the
government. The bayonet is perpetually flashing before the eye. The
remark may appear a little ludicrous, but in the capital almost every
man who is not _near sighted_ is a soldier, and every soldier of the
republic considers himself as a subordinate minister of state. In short
the whole political fabric is a refined system of knight's service.
Seven centuries are rolled back, and from the gloom of time behold the
crested spirit of the norman hero advance, "with beaver up," and nod his
sable plumes, in grim approval of the novel, gay, and gaudy feodality.

If such an expectation may be entertained, that time will replace the
ancient family on the throne, I am far from believing that it can offer
much consolation to the illustrious wanderer, who as yet, has only
tasted of the name of sovereignty. If the old royalty is ever restored,
it is my opinion, and I offer it with becoming deference, that, from
personal hatred to the present titular monarch, and the dread of
retaliation by a lineal revival of monarchy, the crown will be placed
upon the brows of one of the _collateral_ branches of the expatriated
family. The prince de Condé is the only member of that august house, of
whom the french speak with esteem, and approbation.

The treasury of the french is, as may be expected, not overflowing, but
its resources must speedily become ample. The necessities of the state,
or rather the peculations of its former factious leaders, addressed
themselves immediately to the purses of the people, by a summary process
completely predatory. Circuitous exaction has been, till lately, long
discarded. The present rulers have not yet had sufficient time to
digest, and perfect a financial system, by which the establishments of
the country may be supported by indirect, and unoffending taxation.
Wisdom and genius must long, and ardently labour, before the ruins, and
rubbish of the revolution can be removed. Every effort hitherto made to
raise the deciduous credit of the republic has been masterly, and
forcibly bespeaks the public hope, and confidence in favour of every
future measure.

The armies of the republic are immense; they have hitherto been paid,
and maintained by the countries which they have subdued; their
exigencies, unless they are employed, will in future form an
embarrassing subject of consideration in the approaching system of
finance. This mighty body of men, who are very moderately paid, are
united by the remembrance of their glory, and the proud consideration
that they constitute a powerful part of the government; an impression
which every french soldier cherishes. They also derive some pride, even
from their discipline: a military delinquent is not subject to ignoble
punishment; if he offend, he suffers as a soldier. Imprisonment, or
death, alone displaces him from the ranks. He is not cut down fainting,
and covered with the ignominious wounds of the dissecting scourge, and
sent to languish in the reeking wards of hospitals.

In reviewing the present condition of France, the liberal mind will
contemplate many events with pleasure, and will suspend its final
judgment, until wisdom, and genius shall repose from their labours, and
shall proclaim to the people, "behold the work is done."

It has been observed, that in reviewing the late war, two of the
precepts of the celebrated author of "The Prince," will hereafter be
enshrined in the judgments of politicians, and will be as closely
adhered to, as they have been boldly disregarded by that great man, who,
till lately, has long presided over the british councils. Machiavel has
asserted, that no country ought to declare war with a nation which, at
the time, is in a state of internal commotion; and that, in the
prosecution of a war, the refugees of a belligerent power ought not to
be confidentially trusted by the opposite nation which receives them.
Upon violating the former, those heterogeneous parties, which, if left
to themselves, will always embarrass the operations of their
government, become united by a common cause; and by offending against
the latter clause of this cautionary code, a perilous confidence is
placed in the triumph of gratitude, and private pique, over that great
love which nature plants and warmly cherishes in the breast of every
man, for his country. In extenuation of a departure from these political
maxims it may be urged, that the french excited the war, and that in the
pursuit of it, they displayed a _compound_ spirit, which Machiavel might
well think problematical, for whilst that country never averted its eye
from the common enemy, it never ceased to groan under the inflictions of
unremitting factions. Rather less can be said in palliation of the fatal
confidence, which was placed by the english government in some of the
french emigrants. I have mentioned these unhappy people in the
aggregate, with the respect which I think they deserve. To be protected,
and not to betray, was all that could in fairness, and with safety be
expected from them; it was hazarding too much to put swords in their
hands, and send them to their own shores to plunge them in the breasts
of their own countrymen: in such an enterprise

    ------------------"The native hue of resolution
    Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought."

The brave have not frequently wept over such a victim as Sombrieul.

Whether the experiment of repelling those machinations which warred
against all established order, and all sanctioned usage, by a novel, and
unnatural opposition, is attributable to any other cause, than that of a
misjudging principle, must be decided by Him, whose mighty hand
suspended the balance of the battle, and whose eye can, at a glance,
pierce through the labyrinth of human obliquity, however compact,
shaded, or concealed. If the late minister is chargeable with a
prolongation of the war, if he is responsible for having misplaced his
confidence, and if brave men have perished by the fatal delusion, he
will find some, if not ample consolation, in reflecting, that by his
vigilance, and vigour, he has saved his country from the miseries of a
revolutionary frenzy, which has rendered, even our enemies, the objects
of our sympathy, and compassion.

Such is the narrowness of our nature, that we know not how adequately to
appreciate our preservation from an _intercepted_ evil: it is
indistinctly seen, like a distant object. The calamity must _touch_
before its powers and magnitude can be estimated. The flames of the
neighbouring pile, must stop at our very doors, before our gratitude
becomes animated with its highest energies. If Providence were to unfold
to us all the horrours which we have escaped; if all the blood which
would have followed the assassin's dagger were to roll in reeking
streams before us; if the full display of irreligion, flight, massacre,
confiscation, imprisonment and famine, which would have graced a
revolutionary triumph in these realms, were to be unbarred to our view,
how should we recoil from the ghastly spectacle! With what emotions of
admiration and esteem should we bend before the man, whose illumined
mind and dignified resolution protected us from such fell perdition, and
confined the ravages of the "bellowing storm" within its own barrier.

The dazzling and perilous claims of the Rights of Man in the abstract,
have had a long and ample discussion before the sanguinary tribunals of
another country; and the loud decree of an indignant and insulted world
has pronounced their eternal doom. Other contests may arise; but the
powers of a prophet are not necessary to assert, that such rights will
form no part of their provocation.

In France, I was repeatedly asked my opinion of the probable stability
of the peace. The question was always addressed in this rather curious
shape: "Thank God, we have peace! _Will your_ country let us enjoy
it?"--My answer was, "You may be assured of it; for it will not cease to
be prepared for war."

Alas! the restless spirit of ambition seldom long delights in repose.
The peaceful virtues, under whose influence Nations flourish and mankind
rejoice, possess no lasting captivations for the Hero. The draught of
conquest maddens his brain, and excites an insatiable thirst for fresh
atchievements--He

    "Looks into the clouds, scorning the base degrees
    By which he did ascend"----

May that extraordinary Being in whose hands the fate of millions is
deposited reverse the gloomy picture, and restore to a country long
wasted by revolutions, and warfare, and languishing in the midst of the
monuments of her glory, the benign blessings of enduring tranquillity.
But if this hope prove fruitless, if all the countries of continental
Europe are destined to be compressed into one empire, if their devoted
princes are doomed to adorn the triumphs of the chief of that mighty
republic, which now towers above the surrounding nations of the earth,
like the pyramid of the desert, what have we to fear even though the
ocean which divides us should become the _soldiers_ element?

When an enlightened frenchman is asked what he thinks of his government,
his answer is, "We want repose." For this alone, a stranger to the
recent occurrences of the world would think he had toiled, just as
valetudinarians take exercise for the purpose of securing sleep. Even
those who have profited of eleven years of desolation, are ready to
acknowledge that war is not pastime, and that a familiarity with its
horrours does not lessen them. The soldier, drooping under the weight of
booty, pants for the refreshing shades of his native village, and for
the hour which is to restore him to his alienated family.

I am satisfied, that both in France and England, one desire pervades all
classes of people, that two nations, so brave, and so worthy of
reciprocal esteem, may at last grow wise and virtuous enough to abstain
from those ebullitions of furious hostility which have stained so many
centuries with blood.

Peace is the gem with which Europe has embellished her fair but
palpitating bosom; and may disappointment and dishonour be the lot of
that ambitious and impolitic being who endeavours or who wishes to pluck
it from her!


FINIS.




ERRATA.


_Page_   2, _l._ 21, _for_ Lewis, _read_ Louis.
      13,     3, _for_ English, _read_ own.
    Ibid.     4, _for_ import, _read_ impost.
      17,    25, _for_ bleu, _read_ bleus.
      44,     9, _for_ stories, _read_ stones.
      53,    17, _for_ entered now, _read_ reentered.
      77,    21, _for_ perpetual, _read_ vast.
     120,     1, _for_ profession, _read_ will.
     151,    18, _for_ the, _read_ his.
     164,    19, _for_ France, _read_ the country.
     169,     6, _for_ at, _read_ of.
     169,    26, _for_ hardworn, _read_ hardwon.
     188, Chap. XVIII, for _Commodities_, _read_ _Commodités_.
     197, _l._  7, _for_ heightened, _read_ high toned.
     203,    21, _for_ is, _read_ was.
     210,   ult. _after_ to, _add_ those of.
     221,    14, _for_ remblance, _read_ resemblance.




DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER FOR PLACING THE PLATES.


Place Torr Abbey facing page               1
      Southampton                          4
      Light-house at Havre                27
      Paris Diligence                     31
      Woman of Caux                       35
      Rouen                               41
      Ruins in the Petit Trianon         183
      Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne  207
      Museum of French Monuments         223
      Malmaison                          235
      Caen                               237
      Cherbourg                          247


Bryer, Printer, Bridge Street, Black Friars.


Transcriber's note:

List of corrections:

p.46 indispostion = > indisposition
p.86 surprsie = > surprise
p.104 terruor = > terrour
p.119 recal = > recall
p.196 musuem = > museum
p.199 cieling = > ceiling
p.210 scarely = > scarcely