PARIS

AS IT WAS AND AS IT IS;

OR

A Sketch of the French Capital,

ILLUSTRATIVE OF

THE EFFECTS OF THE REVOLUTION,

WITH RESPECT TO

SCIENCES,
LITERATURE,
ARTS,
RELIGION,
EDUCATION,
MANNERS,
AND
AMUSEMENTS;

COMPRISING ALSO

A correct Account of the most remarkable National Establishments and Public Buildings.

In a Series of Letters,

WRITTEN BY AN ENGLISH TRAVELLER,

DURING THE YEARS 1801-2,

TO A FRIEND IN LONDON.

Ipsâ varietate tentamus efficere, ut alia aliis, quædem fortasse omnibus placeant. PLIN. Epist.

VOL. I

LONDON

1803

ADVERTISEMENT.

In the course of the following production, the Reader will meet with several references to a Plan of Paris, which it had been intended to prefix to the work; but that intention having been frustrated by the rupture between the two countries, in consequence of which the copies for the whole of the Edition have been detained at Calais, it is hoped that this apology will be accepted for the omission.

CONTENTS.

VOLUME FIRST.

[New Organization of the National Institute]

[INTRODUCTION]

[LETTER I.]
On the ratification of the preliminary treaty of peace, the author leaves London for Paris—He arrives at Calais on the 16th of October, 1801—Apparent effect of the peace—After having obtained a passport, he proceeds to Paris, in company with a French naval officer.

[LETTER II.]
Journey from Calais to Paris—Improved state of agriculture—None of the French gun-boats off Boulogne moored with chains at the time of the attack—St. Denis—General sweep made, in 1793, among the sepultures in that abbey—Arrival at Paris—Turnpikes now established throughout Prance—Custom-house scrutiny.

[LETTER III.]
Objects which first strike the observer on arriving at Paris after an absence of ten or twelve years—Tumult in the streets considerably diminished since the revolution—No liveries seen—Streets less dangerous than formerly to pedestrians—Visits paid to different persons by the author—Price of lodgings nearly doubled since 1789—The author takes apartments in a private house.

[LETTER IV.]
Climate of Paris—Thermolampes or stoves which afford light and heat on an economical plan—Sword whose hilt was adorned with the Pitt diamond, and others of considerable value, presented to the Chief Consul.

[LETTER V.]
Plan on which these letters are written.

[LETTER VI.]
The Louvre or National Palace of Arts and Sciences described—Old Louvre—Horrors of St. Bartholomew's day—From this palace Charles IX fired on his own subjects—Additions successively made to it by different kings—Bernini, sent for by Lewis XIV, forwarded the foundation of the New Louvre, and returned to Italy—Perrault produced the beautiful colonnade of the Louvre, the master-piece of French architecture—Anecdote of the Queen of England, relict of Charles I—Public exhibition of the productions of French Industry.

[LETTER VII.]
Central Museum of the Arts—Gallery of Antiques—Description of the different halls and of the most remarkable statues contained in them, with original observations by the learned connoisseur, Visconti.

[LETTER VIII.]
Description of the Gallery of Antiques, and of its chefs-d'œuvre of sculpture continued and terminated—Noble example set by the French in throwing open their museums and national establishments to public inspection—Liberal indulgence shewn to foreigners.

[a]LETTER IX.]
General A----y's breakfast—Montmartre—Prospect thence enjoyed—Theatres.

[LETTER X.]
Regulations of the Police to be observed by a stranger on his arrival in the French capital—Pieces represented at the Théâtre Louvois—Palais du gouvernement or Palace of the Tuileries described—It was constructed, by Catherine de Medicis, enlarged by Henry IV and Lewis XIII, and finished By Lewis XIV—The tenth of August, 1792, as pourtrayed by an actor in that memorable scene—Number of lives lost on the occasion—Sale of the furniture, the king's wardrobe, and other effects found in the palace—Place du Carrousel—Famous horses of gilt bronze brought from Venice and placed here—The fate of France suspended by a thread—Fall of Robespiere and his adherents.

[LETTER XI.]
Massacre of the prisoners at Paris in September, 1792—Private ball—The French much improved in dancing—The waltz described—Dress of the women.

[a]LETTER XII.]
Bonaparte—Grand monthly parade—Agility of the First Consul in mounting his charger—Consular guards, a remarkably fine body of men—Horses of the French cavalry, sorry in appearance, but capable of enduring fatigue and privations.

[LETTER XIII.]
Jardin des Tuileries—This garden now kept in better order than under the monarchy—The newly-built house of Véry, the restaurateur—This quarter calls to mind the most remarkable events in the history of the revolution—Place de la Concorde—Its name is a strong contrast to the great number of victims here sacrificed—Execution of the King and Queen, Philippe Égalité, Charlotte Corday, Madame Roland, Robespiere, cum multus aliis—Unexampled dispatch introduced in putting persons to death by means of the guillotine—Guillotin, the inventor or improver of this instrument, dies of grief—Little impression left on the mind of the spectators of these sanguinary scenes—Lord Cornwallis arrives in Paris.

[LETTER XIV.]
National fête, in honour of peace, celebrated in Paris on the 18th of Brumaire, year X (9th of November, 1801)—Garnerin and his wife ascend in a balloon—Brilliancy of the illuminations—Laughable accident.

[LETTER XV.]
Description of the fête continued—Apparent apathy of the people—Songs composed in commemoration of this joyful event—Imitation of one of them.

[LETTER XVI.]
Gallery of the Louvre—Saloon of the Louvre—Italian School—The most remarkable pictures in the collection mentioned, with original remarks on the masters by Visconti—Lord Cornwallis's reception in Paris.

[LETTER XVII.]
Gallery of the Louvre in continuation—French School—Flemish School—The pictures in the Saloon are seen to much greater advantage than those in the Gallery—Gallery of Apollo—These superb repositories of the finest works of art are indiscriminately open to the public.

[LETTER XVIII.]
Palais Royal, now called Palais du Tribunat—Its construction begun, in 1629, by Cardinal Richelieu, who makes a present of it to Lewis XIII—It becomes the property of the Orleans family—Anecdote of the Regent—Considerable alterations made in this palace—Jardin du Palais du Tribunat—This garden is surrounded by a range of handsome buildings, erected in 1782 by the duke of Orleans, then duke of Chartres—The Cirque burnt down in 1797—Contrast between the company seen here in 1789 and in 1801—The Palais Royal, the theatre of political commotions—Mutual enmity of the queen and the duke of Orleans, which, in the sequel, brought these great personages to the scaffold—Their improper example imitated by the nobility of both sexes—The projects of each defeated—The duke's pusillanimity was a bar to his ambition—He exhausted his immense fortune to gain partisans, and secure the attachment of the people—His imprisonment, trial, and death.

[LETTER XIX.]
The Palais du Tribunat, an epitome of all the trades in Paris—Prohibited publications—Mock auctions—Magazins de confiance à prix fixe—Two speculations, of a somewhat curious nature, established there with success—The Palais Royal, a vortex of dissipation—Scheme of Merlin of Douay for cleansing this Augæan stable.

[LETTER XX.]
Thé, a sort of route—Contrast in the mode of life of the Parisians before and since the revolution—Petits soupers described—An Englishman improves on all the French bons vivans under the old régime.

[LETTER XXI.]
Public places of various descriptions—Their title and number—Contrast between the interior police now established in the theatres in Paris, and that which existed before the revolution—Admirable regulations at present adopted for the preservation of order at the door of the theatres—Comparatively small number of carriages now seen in waiting at the grand French opera.

[LETTER XXII.]
Palais du Corps Législatif—Description of the hall of the sittings of that body—Opening of the session—Speech of the President—Lord Cornwallis and suite present at this sitting—Petits appartemens of the ci-devant Palais Bourbon described.

[LETTER XXIII.]
Halle au Blé—Lightness of the roof of the dome—Annual consumption of bread-corn in Paris—Astrologers—In former times, their number in Paris exceeded 30,000—Fortune-tellers of the present day—Church of St. Eustache—Tourville, the brave opponent of Admiral Russel, had no epitaph—Festivals of reason described.

[LETTER XXIV.]
Museum of French Monuments—Steps taken by the Constituent Assembly to arrest the progress of Vandalism—Many master-pieces of painting, sculpture, and architecture, destroyed in various parts of France—Grégoire, ex-bishop of Blois, publishes three reports, to expose the madness of irreligious barbarism, which claim particular distinction.—They saved from destruction many articles of value in the provinces—Antique monuments found in 1711, in digging among the foundation of the ancient church of Paris—Indefatigable exertions of Lenoir, the conservator of this museum—The halls of this museum fitted up according to the precise character peculiar to each century, and the monuments arranged in them in historical and chronological order—Tombs of Clovis, Childebert, and Chilperic—Statues of Charlemagne, Lewis IX, and of Charles, his brother, together with those of the kings that successively appeared in this age down to king John—Tombs of Charles V, Du Gueselin, and Sancerre—Mausolea of Louis d'Orléans and of Valentine de Milan—Statues of Charles VI, Rénée d'Orléans, Philippe de Commines, Lewis XI, Charles VII, Joan of Arc, Isabeau de Bavière—Tomb of Lewis XII—Tragical death of Charles the Bad.

[LETTER XXV.]
Museum of French Monuments continued—Tombs of Francis I, of the Valois, and of Diane de Poitiers—Character of that celebrated woman—Statues of Turenne, Condé, Colbert, La Fontaine, Racine, and Lewis XIV—Mausolea of Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin—Statues of Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Voltaire, Rousseau, Helvetius, Crébillon, and Piron—Tombs of Maupertuis, Caylus, and Marshal d'Harcourt—This museum contains a chronology of monuments, both antique and modern, from 2500 years before our era down to the present time, beginning with those of ancient Greece, and following all the gradations of the art from its cradle to its decrepitude—Sepulchre of Héloïse and Abélard.

[LETTER XXVI.]
Dinner at General A----y's—Difference in the duration of such a repast now and before the revolution—The General's ancestor, François A----y, planned and completed the famous canal of Languedoc—Dépôt de la guerre—Such an establishment much wanted in England—Its acknowledged utility has induced Austria, Spain, and Portugal, to form others of a similar nature—Geographical and topographical riches of this dépôt.

[LETTER XXVII.]
Boulevards—Their extent—Amusements they present—Porte St. Denis—Anecdote of Charles VI—Porte St. Martin—La Magdeleine—Ambulating conjurers—Means they employ to captivate curiosity.

[LETTER XXVIII.]
French funds and national debt—Supposed liquidation of an annuity held by a foreigner before the war, and yet unliquidated—Value of a franc.

[LETTER XXIX.]
Grand monthly parade—Etiquette observed on this occasion, in the apartments of the palace of the Tuileries—Bonaparte—His person—His public character in Paris—Obstruction which the First Consul met with in returning from the parade—Champs Elysées—Sports and diversions there practised—Horses, brought from Marly to this spot, the master-pieces of the two celebrated sculptors, Costou—Comparison they afford to politicians.

[LETTER XXX.]
Madonna de Foligno—Description of the method employed by the French artists to transfer from pannel to canvass this celebrated master-piece of Raphael.

[LETTER XXXI.]
Pont Neuf—Henry IV—His popularity—Historical fact concerning the cause of his assassination brought to light—The Seine swollen by the rains—It presents a dull scene in comparison to the Thames—Great number of washerwomen—La Samaritaine—Shoe-blacks on the Pont Neuf—Their trade decreased—Recruiting Officers—The allurements they formerly employed are now become unnecessary in consequence of the conscription—Anecdote of a British officer on whom a French recruiter had cast his eye—Disappointment that ensued.

[LETTER XXXII.]
Balls now very numerous every evening in Paris—Bal du Salon des Étrangers—Description of the women—Comparison between the French and English ladies—Character of Madame Tallien—Generosity, fortitude, and greatness of soul displayed by women during the most calamitous periods of the revolution—Anecdote of a young Frenchman smitten by a widow—An attachment, founded on somewhat similar circumstances, recorded by historians of Henry III of France—Sympathy, and its effects.

[a]LETTER XXXIII.]
Pont National, formerly called the Pont Royal—Anecdote of Henry IV and a waterman—Coup d'œil from this bridge—Quays of Paris—Galiot of St. Cloud—Pont de la Concorde—Paris besieged by the Swedes, Danes, and Normans, in 885—The Seine covered with their vessels for the space of two leagues—A vessel ascends the Seine from Rouen to Paris in four days—Engineers have ever judged it practicable to render the Seine navigable, from its mouth to the capital, for vessels of a certain burden—Riches accruing from commerce pave the way to the ruin of States, as well as the extension of their conquests.

[LETTER XXXIV.]
French literature—Effects produced on it by the revolution—The sciences preferred to literature, and for what reason—The French government has flattered the literati and artists; but the solid distinctions have been reserved for men of science—Epic Poetry—Tragedy—Comedy—Novels—Moral Fable—Madrigal and Epigram—Romance—Lyric Poetry—Song—Journals.

[LETTER XXXV.]
Pont au Change—Palais de Justice—Once a royal residence—Banquet given there, in 1313, by Philip the Fair, at which were present Edward II and his queen Isabella—Alterations which this palace has undergone, in consequence of having, at different times, been partly reduced to ashes—Madame La Motte publicly whipped—In 1738, Lewis XVI here held a famous bed of justice, in which D'Espresmenil struck the first blow at royalty—He was exiled to the Ile de St. Marguerite—After having stirred up all the parliaments against the royal authority, he again became the humble servant of the crown—After the revolution, the Palais de Justice was the seat of the Revolutionary Tribunal—Dumas, its president, proposed to assemble there five or six hundred victims at a time—He was the next day condemned to death by the same tribunal—The Palais de Justice, now the seat of different tribunals—The grande chambre newly embellished in the antique style—La Conciergerie, the place of confinement of Lavoisier, Malsherbes, Cordorcet, &c.—Fortitude displayed by the hapless Marie-Antoinette after her condemnation—Pont St. Michel—Pont Notre-Dame—Cathedral of Notre-Dame—Anecdote of Pepin the Short—Devastations committed in this cathedral—Medallions of Abélard and Héloïse to be seen near Notre-Dame in front of the house where Fulbert, her supposed uncle, resided—Petit Pont—Pont au Double—Pont Marie—Workmen now employed in the construction of three new bridges—Pont de la Tournelle.

[a]LETTER XXXVI.]
Paris a charming abode for a man of fortune—Summary of its advantages—Idalium—Tivoli—Frascati —Paphos—La Phantasmagorie of Robertson—Fitzjames, the famous ventriloquist—Method of converting a galantee-show into an exhibition somewhat similar to that of the phantasmagorists.

[LETTER XXXVII.]
Paris the most melancholy abode in the world for a man without money—Restaurateurs—In 1765, Boulanger first conceived the idea of restoring the exhausted animal functions of the delibitated Parisians—He found many imitators—The restaurateurs, in order to make their business answer, constitute themselves traiteurs—La Barrière—Beauvilliers, Robert, Naudet, and Véry dispute the palm in the art of Appicius—Description of Beauvilliers' establishment—His bill of fare—Expense of dining at a fashionable restaurateur's in Paris—Contrast between establishments of this kind existing before the revolution, and those in vogue at the present day—Cheap eating-houses—The company now met with at the fashionable rendezvous of good cheer compared with that seen here in former times—Cabinets particuliers—Uses to which they are applied—Advantages of a restaurateur's—Beauvilliers pays great attention to his guests—Cleanly and alert waiters—This establishment is admirably well managed.

VOLUME SECOND.

[LETTER XXXVIII.]
National Institution of the Deaf and Dumb—France indebted to the philanthropic Abbé de l'Épée for the discovery of the mode of instructing them—It has been greatly improved by Sicard, the present Institutor—Explanation of his system of instruction—The deaf and dumb are taught grammar, metaphysics, logic, religion, the use of the globes, geography, arithmetic, history, natural history, arts and trades—Almost every thing used by them is made by themselves—Lessons of analysis which astonish the spectators.

[LETTER XXXIX.]
Public women—Charlemagne endeavours to banish them from Paris—His daughters, though addicted to illicit enjoyments, die universally regretted—Les Filles Dieu—Les Filles pénitentes ou repenties—Courtesans—Luxury displayed in their equipages and houses—Kept women—Opera-dancers—Secret police maintained by Lewis XVI, in 1792—Grisettes—Demireps—A French woman, at thirty, makes an excellent friend—Rousseau's opinion of this particular class of women in Paris.

[LETTER XL.]
National Institution of the Industrious Blind—Circumstance which gave rise to this establishment—Valentin Haüy, its founder, found his project seconded by the Philanthropic Society—His plan of instruction detailed—Museum of the Blind—After two or three lessons, a blind child here teaches himself to read without the further help of any master.

[LETTER XLI.]
Théâtre des Arts et de la République, or Grand French opera—Old opera-house burnt down, and a new one built and opened in 72 days—Description of the present house—Operas of Gluck; also those of Piccini and Sacchini—Gluckists and Piccinists—The singing is the weakest department at the French opera—Merits of the singers of both sexes—Choruses very full—Orchestra famous—The Chief Consul, being very partial to Italian music, sends to that land of harmony to procure the finest musical compositions.

[LETTER XLII.]
Dancing improved in France—Effect of some of the ballets—Noverre and Gardel first introduce them on the French stage—Rapid change of scenery—Merits of the dancers of both sexes—The rector of St. Roch refuses to admit into that church the corpse of Mademoiselle Chameroi—The dancers in private society now emulate those who make dancing their profession—Receipts of the opera.

[LETTER XLIII.]
New year's day still celebrated in Paris on the 1st of January—Customs which prevail there on that occasion—Denon's account of the French expedition to Egypt—That country was the cradle of the arts and sciences—Fourrier confirms the theory of Dupuis, respecting the origin, &c. of the figures of the Zodiac.

[LETTER XLIV.]
Hôtel des Invalides—It was projected by Henry IV and erected by Lewis XIV—Temple of Mars—To its arches are suspended the standards and colours taken from the enemy—Two British flags only are among the number—Monument of Turenne—Circumstances of his death—Dome of the Invalides—Its refectories and kitchens—Anecdote of Peter the Great—Reflections on establishments of this description—Champ de Mars—École Militaire—Various scenes of which the Champ de Mars has been the theatre—Death of Bailly—Modern national fêtes in France, a humble imitation of the Olympic games.

[LETTER XLV.]
Object of the different learned and scientific institutions, which, before the revolution, held their sittings in the Louvre—Anecdote of Cardinal Richelieu—National Institute of Arts and Sciences—Organization of that learned body—Description of the apartments of the Institute—Account of its public quarterly meeting of the 15th Nivose, year X, (5th of January, 1802)—Marriage of Mademoiselle Beauharnois to Louis Bonaparte.

[LETTER XLVI.]
Opéra Buffa—The Italian comedians who came to Paris in 1788, had a rapid influence on the musical taste of the French public—Performers of the new Italian company—Productions of Cimarosa, Paësiello, &c.—Madame Bolla.

[LETTER XLVII.]
Present state of public worship—Summary of the proceedings of the constitutional clergy—National councils of the Gallican church held at Paris—Conduct of the Pope, Pius VII—The Cardinal Legate, Caprara, arrives in Paris—The Concordat is signed—Subsequent transactions.

[LETTER XLVIII.]
Pantheon—Description of this edifice—Marat and Mirabeau pantheonized and dispantheonized—The remains of Voltaire and Rousseau removed hither—The Pantheon in danger of falling—This apprehension no longer exists—Bonaparte leaves Paris for Lyons.

[LETTER XLIX.]
Scientific societies of Paris—Société Philotechnique—Société Libre des Sciences, Lettres, et Arts—Athénée des Arts—Société Philomatique—Société Académique des Sciences—Société Galvanique—Société des Belles-Lettres—Académie de Législation—Observateurs de l'Homme—Athénée de Paris.

[LETTER L.]
Coffee-houses—Character of the company who frequent them—Contrast between the coffee-houses of the present and former times—Coffee first introduced at Paris, in 1669, by the Turkish ambassador—Café méchanique— Subterraneous coffee-houses of the Palais du Tribunat.

[LETTER LI.]
Public instruction—The ancient colleges and universities are replaced by Primary Schools, Secondary Schools, Lyceums, and Special Schools—National pupils—Annual cost of these establishments—Contrast between the old system of education and the new plan, recently organized.

[LETTER LII.]
Milliners—Montesquieu's observation on the commands of the fair sex—Millinery a very extensive branch of trade in Paris—Bal de l'Opéra—Dress of the men and women—Adventures are the chief object of those who frequent these masquerades.

[LETTER LIII.]
Théâtre Français de la République—The house described—List of the stock-pieces—Names of their authors—Fabre d'Eglantine—His Philinte de Molière a chef-d'œuvre—Some account of its author—La Chaussée the father of the drame, a tragi-comic species of dramatic composition.

[LETTER LIV.]
Principal performers in tragedy at the Théâtre Français—Vanhove, Monvel, St. Prix, and Naudet—Talma, and Lafond—St. Fal, Damas, and Dupont—Mesdames Raucourt and Vestris—Mesdames Fleury, Talma, Bourgoin, and Volnais—Mesdames Suin and Thénard—Début of Mademoiselle Duchesnois; Madame Xavier, and Mademoiselle Georges—Disorderly conduct of the Duchesnistes, who are routed by the Georgistes.

[LETTER LV.]
Principal performers in comedy at the Théâtre Français—Vanhove, and Naudet—Molé, Fleury, and Baptiste the elder—St. Fal, Dupont, Damas, and Armand—Grandménil, and Caumont—Dugazon, Dazincourt, and Larochelle—Mesdemoiselles Contat, and Mézeray—Madame Talma—Mesdemoiselles Mars, Bourgoin, and Gros—Mesdemoiselles Lachassaigne and Thénard—Mesdemoiselles Devienne and Desbrosses—Contrast between the state of the French stage before and since the revolution.

[LETTER LVI.]
French women fond of appearing in male attire—Costume of the French Ladies—Contrast it now presents to that formerly worn—The change in their dress has tended to strengthen their constitution—The women in Paris extremely cleanly in their persons—Are now very healthy.

[LETTER LVII.]
The studies in the colleges and universities interrupted by bands of insurgents—Collège de France—It is in this country the only establishment where every branch of human knowledge is taught in its fullest extent—Was founded by Francis I—Disputes between this new College and the University—Its increasing progress—The improvements in the sciences spread by the instruction of this College—Its present state.

[LETTER LVIII.]
Théâtre de l'Opéra Comique—Authors who have furnished it with stock-pieces, and composers who have set them to music—Principal performers at this theatre—Elleviou, Gavaudan, Philippe, and Gaveaux—Chenard, Martin, Rézicourt, Juliet, and Moreau—Solié, and St. Aubin—Dozainville, and Lesage—Mesdames St. Aubin, Scio, Lesage, Crétu, Philis the elder, Gavaudan, and Pingenet—Mesdames Dugazon, Philippe, and Gonthier.

[LETTER LIX.]
France owes her salvation to the savans or men of science—Polytechnic School—Its object—Its formation and subsequent progress—Changes recently introduced into this interesting establishment.

[LETTER LX.]
Pickpockets and sharpers—Anecdote of a female swindler—Anecdote of a sharper—Housebreakers—Chauffeurs—A new species of assassins—Place de Grève—Punishment for thieves re-established—On the continent, ladies flock to the execution of criminals.

[LETTER LXI.]
Schools for Public Services—The Polytechnic School, the grand nursery whence the pupils are transplanted into the Schools of Artillery, Military Engineers, Bridges and Highways, Mines, Naval Engineers, and Navigation—Account of these schools—Prytanée Français—Special Schools—Special School of Painting and Sculpture—Competitions—National School of Architecture—Conservatory of Music—Present state of Music in France—Music has done wonders in reviving the courage of the French soldiers—The French are no less indebted to Rouget de Lille, author of the Marseillois, than the Spartans were to Tyrtæus—Gratuitous School for Drawing—Veterinary School—New Special Schools to Le established in France.

[LETTER LXII.]
Funerals—No medium in them under the old régime—Ceremonies formerly observed—Those practised at the present day—Marriages—Contrast they present.

[LETTER LXIII.]
Public Libraries—Bibliothèque Nationale—Its acquisitions since the revolution—School for Oriental Living Languages.

[LETTER LXIV.]
Bibliothèque Mazarine—Bibliothèque du Panthéon—Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal—The Arsenal—Other libraries and literary dépôts in Paris.

[LETTER LXV.]
Dancing—Nomenclature of caperers in Paris, from the wealthiest classes down to the poorest—Beggars form the last link of the chain.

[LETTER LXVI.]
Bureau des Longitudes—Is on a more extensive scale than the Board of Longitude in England—National Observatory—Subterraneous quarries that have furnished the stone with which most of the houses in Paris are constructed—Measures taken to prevent the buildings in Paris from being swallowed up in these extensive labyrinths—Present state of the Observatory—Lalande, Méchain, and Bouvard—Carroché, and Lenoir—Lavoisier, and Borda—Delambre, Laplace, Burckhardt, Vidal, Biot, and Puisson—New French weights and measures—Concise account of the operations employed in measuring an arc of the terrestrial meridian—Table of the new French measures and weights—Their correspondence with the old, and also with those of England.

[LETTER LXVII.]
Dépôt de la Marine—An establishment much wanted in England.

[LETTER LXVIII.]
Théâtre Louvois—Picard, the manager of this theatre, is the Molière of his company—La Grande Ville, ou les Provinciaux à Paris—Principal performers at this theatre—Picard, Devigny, Dorsan, and Clozel—Mesdemoiselles Adeline, Molière, Lescot, and Madame Molé—Théâtre du Vaudeville—Authors who write for this theatre—Principal performers—Public malignity, the main support of this theatre.

[LETTER LXIX.]
Hôtel de la Monnaie—Description of this building—Musée des Mines—Formed by M. Sage—The arrangement of this cabinet is excellent—Cabinet du Conseil des Mines—Principal mineral substances discovered in France since the revolution.

[LETTER LXX.]
Théâtre Montansier—Principal performers—Ambigu Comique—The curiosity of a stranger may be satisfied in a single visit to each of the minor theatres in Paris.

[LETTER LXXI.]
Police of Paris—Historical sketch of it—Its perfections and imperfections—Anecdote of a minister of police—Mouchards—Anecdote which shews the detestation in which they are held—The Parisian police extends to foreign countries—This truth exemplified by two remarkable facts—No habeas corpus in France.

[LETTER LXXII.]
The savans saved France, when their country was invaded—Astonishing exertions made by the French on that occasion—Anecdote relating to Robespierre—Extraordinary resources created by the men of science—Means employed for increasing the manufacture of powder, cannon, and muskets—The produce of these new manufactories contrasted with that of the old ones—Territorial acquisitions of the French—The Carnival revived in Paris.

[LETTER LXXIII.]
Public gaming-houses—Académies de jeu, which existed in Paris before the revolution—Gaming-houses licensed by the police—The privilege of granting those licences is farmed by a private individual—Description of the Maisons de jeu—Anecdote of an old professed gambler—Gaming prevails in all the principal towns of France—The excuse of the old government for promoting gaming, is reproduced at the present day.

[LETTER LXXIV.]
Museum of Natural History, or Jardin des Plantes—Is much enlarged since the revolution—One of the first establishments of instruction in Europe—Contrast between its former state and that in which it now is—Fourcroy, the present director—His eloquence—Collections in this establishment—Curious articles which claim particular notice.

[LETTER LXXV.]
The Carnival—That of 1802 described—The Carnival of modern times, an imitation of the Saturnalia of the ancients—Was for some years prohibited, since the revolution—Contrast between the Carnival under the monarchy and under the republican government.

[LETTER LXXVI.]
Palais du Sénat Conservateur, or Luxembourg Palace—Mary of Medicis, by whom it was erected, died in a garret—It belonged to Monsieur, before the revolution—Improvements in the garden of the Senate—National nursery formed in an adjoining piece of ground—Bastille—Le Temple—Its origin—Lewis XVI and his family confined in this modern state-prison.

[LETTER LXXVII.]
Present slate of the French Press—The liberty of the press, the measure of civil liberty—Comparison, between the state of the press in France and in England.

[LETTER LXXVIII.]
Hospitals and other charitable institutions—Hôtel-Dieu—Extract from the report of the Academy of Sciences on this abode of pestilence—Reforms introduced into it since the revolution—The present method of purifying French hospitals deserves to be adopted in England—Other hospitals in Paris—Hospice de la Maternité—La Salpêtrière—Bicêtre—Faculties and Colleges of Physicians, as will as Colleges and Commonalties of Surgeons, replaced in France by Schools of Health—School of Medicine of Paris—France overrun by quacks—New law for checking the serious mischief they occasion—Society of Medicine—Gratuitous School of Pharmacy—Free Society of Apothecaries—Changes in the teaching and practice of medicine in France.

[LETTER LXXIX.]
Private seminaries for youth of both sexes—Female education—Contrast between that formerly received in convents, and that now practised in the modern French boarding-schools.

[LETTER LXXX.]
Progressive aggrandisement of Paris—Its origin—Under the name of Lutetia, it was the capital of Gaul—Julian's account of it—The sieges it has sustained—Successively embellished by different kings—Progressive amelioration of the manners of its inhabitants—Rapid view of the causes which improved them, from the reign of Philip Augustus to that of Lewis XIV—Contrast between the number of public buildings before and since the revolution—Population of Paris, from official documents—Ancient division of Paris—Is now divided into twelve mayoralties—Barrières and high wall by which it is surrounded—Anecdote of the commis des barrières seizing an Egyptian mummy.

[a]LETTER LXXXI.]
French Furniture—The events of the revolution have contributed to improve the taste of persons connected with the furnishing line—Contrast between the style of the furniture in the Parisian houses in 1789-90 and 1801-2—Les Gobelins, the celebrated national manufactory for tapestry—La Savonnerie, a national manufactory for carpeting—National manufactory of plate-glass.

[LETTER LXXXII.]
Academy of Fine Arts at the ci-devant Collège de Navarre—Description of the establishment of the Piranesi—Three hundred artists of different nations distributed in the seven classes of this academy—Different works executed here in Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, Mosaic, and Engraving.

[LETTER LXXXIII.]
Conservatory of Arts and Trades—It contains a numerous collection of machines of every description employed in the mechanical arts—Belier hydraulique, newly invented by Montgolfier—Models of curious buildings—The mechanical arts in France have experienced more or less the impulse given to the sciences—The introduction of the Spanish merinos has greatly improved the French wools—New inventions and discoveries adopted in the French manufactories—Characteristic difference of the present state of French industry, and that in which it was before the revolution.

[LETTER LXXXIV.]
Society for the encouragement of national industry—Its origin—Its objects detailed—Free Society of Agriculture—Amidst the storms of the revolution, agriculture has teen improved in France—Causes of that improvement—The present state of agriculture briefly contrasted with that which existed before the revolution—Didot's stereotypic editions of the classics—Advantages attending the use of stereotype—This invention claimed by France, but proved to belong to Britain—Printing-office of the Republic, the most complete typographical establishment in being.

[LETTER LXXXV.]
Present State of Society in Paris—In that city are three very distinct kinds of society—Description of each of these—Other societies are no more than a diminutive of the preceding—Philosophy of the French in forgeting their misfortunes and losses—The signature of the definitive treaty announced by the sound of cannon—In the evening a grand illumination is displayed.

[a]LETTER LXXXVI.]
Urbanity of the Parisians towards strangers—The shopkeepers in Paris overcharge their articles—Furnished Lodgings—Their price—The Milords Anglais now eclipsed by the Russian Counts—Expense of board in Paris—Job and Hackney Carriages—Are much improved since the revolution—Fare of the latter—Expense of the former—Cabriolets—Regulations of the police concerning these carriages—The negligence of drivers now meets with due chastisement—French women astonish bespattered foreigners by walking the streets with spotless stockings—Valets-de-place—Their wages augmented—General Observations—An English traveller, on visiting Paris, should provide himself with letters of recommendation—Unless an Englishman acquires a competent knowledge of the manners of the country, he fails in what ought to be the grand object of foreign travel—Situation of one who brings no letters to Paris—The French now make a distinction between individuals only, not between nations—Are still indulgent to the English—Animadversion on the improper conduct of irrational British youths.

[LETTER LXXXVII.]
Divorce—The indissolubility of marriage in France, before the revolution, was supposed to promote adultery—No such excuse can now be pleaded—Origin of the present laws on divorce—Comparison on that subject between the French and the Romans—The effect of these laws illustrated by examples—The stage ought to be made to conduce to the amelioration of morals—In France, the men blame the women, with a view of extenuating their own irregularities—To reform women, men ought to begin by reforming themselves.

[LETTER LXXXVIII.]
The author is recalled to England—Mendicants—The streets of Paris less infested by them now than before the revolution—Pawnbrokers—Their numbers much increased in Paris, and why—Mont de Piété—Lotteries now established in the principal towns in France—The fatal consequences of this incentive to gaming—Newspapers—Their numbers considerably augmented—Journals the most in request—Baths—Bains Vigier described—School of Natation—Telegraphs—Those in Paris differ from those in use in England—Telegraphic language may be abridged—Private collections most deserving of notice in Paris—Dépôt d'armes of M. Boutet—M. Régnier, an ingenious mechanic—The author's reason for confining his observations to the capital—Metamorphoses in Paris—The site of the famous Jacobin convent is intended for a market-place—Arts and Sciences are become popular in France, since the revolution—The author makes amende honorable, or confesses his inability to accomplish the task imposed on him by his friend—He leaves Paris.

NEW ORGANIZATION OF THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE.[[1]]

On the 3d of Pluviôse, year XI (23d of January, 1803), the French government passed the following decree on this subject.

Art. I. The National Institute, at present divided into three classes, shall henceforth consist of four; namely:

First Class—Class of physical and mathematical sciences.

Second Class—Class of the French language and literature.

Third Class—Class of history and ancient literature.

Fourth Class—Class of fine arts.

The present members of the Institute and associated foreigners shall be divided into these four classes. A commission of five members of the Institute, appointed by the First Consul, shall present to him the plan of this division, which shall be submitted to the approbation of the government.

II. The first class, shall be formed of the ten sections, which at present compose the first class of the Institute, of a new section of geography and navigation, and of eight foreign associates.

These sections shall be composed and distinguished as follows:

The first class shall name, with the approbation of the Chief Consul, two perpetual secretaries; the one for the mathematical sciences; the other, for the physical. The perpetual secretaries shall be members of the class, but shall make no part of any section.

The first class may elect six of its members from among the other classes of the Institute. It may name a hundred correspondents, taken from among the learned men of the nation, and those of foreign countries.

III. The second class shall be composed of forty members.

It is particularly charged with the compilation and improvement of the dictionary of the French tongue. With respect to language, it shall examine important works of literature, history, and sciences. The collection of its critical observations shall be published at least four times a year.

It shall appoint from its own members, and with the approbation of the First Consul, a perpetual secretary, who shall continue to make one of the sixty members of whom the class is composed.

It may elect twelve of its members from among those of the other classes of the Institute.

IV. The third class shall be composed of forty members and eight foreign associates.

The learned languages, antiquities and ornaments, history, and all the moral and political sciences in as far as they relate to history, shall be the objects of its researches and labours. It shall particularly endeavour to enrich French literature with the works of Greek, Latin, and Oriental authors, which have not yet been translated.

It shall employ itself in the continuation of diplomatic collections.

With the approbation of the First Consul, it shall name from its own members a perpetual secretary, who shall make one of the forty members of whom the class is composed.

It may elect nine of its members from among those of the classes of the Institute.

It may name sixty national or foreign correspondents.

V. The fourth class shall be composed of twenty-eight members and eight foreign associates. They shall be divided into sections, named and composed as follows:

With the approbation of the First Consul, it shall appoint a perpetual secretary, who shall be a member of the class, but shall not make part of the sections.

It may elect six of its members from among the other classes of the Institute.

It may name thirty-six national or foreign correspondents.

VI. The associated foreign members shall have a deliberative vote only for objects relating to sciences, literature, and arts. They shall not make part of any section, and shall receive no salary.

VII. The present associates of the Institute, scattered throughout the Republic, shall make part of the one hundred and ninety-six correspondents, attached to the classes of the sciences, belles-lettres, and fine arts.

The correspondents cannot assume the title of members of the Institute. They shall drop that of correspondents, when they take up their constant residence in Paris.

VIII. The nominations to the vacancies shall be made by each of the classes in which those vacancies shall happen to occur. The persons elected shall be approved by the First Consul.

IX. The members of the four classes shall have a right to attend reciprocally the private sittings of each of them, and to read papers there when they have made the request.

They shall assemble four times a year as the body of the Institute, in order to give to each other an account of their transactions.

They shall elect in common the librarian and under-librarian, as well as all the agents who belong in common to the Institute.

Each class shall present for the approbation of the government the particular statutes and regulations of its interior police.

X. Each class shall hold every year a public sitting, at which the other three shall assist.

XI. The Institute shall receive annually, from the public treasury, 1500 francs for each of its members, not associates; 6000 francs for each of its perpetual secretaries; and, for its expenses, a sum which shall be determined on, every year, at the request of the Institute, and comprised in the budget of the Minister of the Interior.

XII. The Institute shall have an administrative commission, composed of five members, two of the first class, and one of each of the other three, appointed by their respective classes.

This commission shall cause to be regulated in the general sittings, prescribed in Art. IX, every thing relative to the administration, to the general purposes of the Institute, and to the division of the funds between the four classes.

Each class shall afterwards regulate the employment of the funds which shall have been assigned for its expenses, as well as every thing that concerns the printing and publication of its memoirs.

XIII. Every year, each class shall distribute prizes, the number and value of which shall be regulated as follows:

The first class, a prize of 3000 francs.

The second and third classes, each a prize of 1500 francs.

And the fourth class, great prizes of painting, sculpture, architecture, and musical composition. Those who shall have gained one of these four great prizes, shall be sent to Rome, and maintained at the expense of the government.

XIV. The Minister of the Interior is charged with the execution of the present decree, which shall be inserted in the Bulletin of the Laws.

[Footnote 1]: Referred to in Letter XLV, Vol. II of this work. [Return to text]

[INTRODUCTION.]

On ushering into the world a literary production, custom has established that its parent should give some account of his offspring. Indeed, this becomes the more necessary at the present moment, as the short-lived peace, which gave birth to the following sheets, had already ceased before they were entirely printed; and the war in which England and France are now engaged, is of a nature calculated not only to rouse all the energy and ancient spirit of my countrymen, but also to revive their prejudices, and inflame their passions, in a degree proportionate to the enemy's boastful and provoking menace.

I therefore premise that those who may be tempted to take up this publication, merely with a view of seeking aliment for their enmity, will, in more respects than one, probably find themselves disappointed. The two nations were not rivals in arms, but in the arts and sciences, at the time these letters were written, and committed to the press; consequently, they have no relation whatever to the present contest. Nevertheless, as they refer to subjects which manifest the indefatigable activity of the French in the accomplishment of any grand object, such parts may, perhaps, furnish hints that may not be altogether unimportant at this momentous crisis.

The plan most generally adhered to throughout this work, being detailed in [LETTER V], a repetition of it here would be superfluous; and the principal matters to which the work itself relates, are specified in the title. I now come to the point.

A long residence in France, and particularly in the capital, having afforded me an opportunity of becoming tolerably well acquainted with its state before the revolution, my curiosity was strongly excited to ascertain the changes which that political phenomenon might have effected. I accordingly availed myself of the earliest dawn of peace to cross the water, and visit Paris. Since I had left that city in 1789-90, a powerful monarchy, established on a possession of fourteen centuries, and on that sort of national prosperity which seemed to challenge the approbation of future ages, had been destroyed by the force of opinion which, like, a subterraneous fire, consumed its very foundations, and plunged the nation into a sea of troubles, in which it was, for several years, tossed about, amid the wreck of its greatness.

This is a phenomenon of which antiquity affords no parallel; and it has produced a rapid succession of events so extraordinary as almost to exceed belief.

It is not the crimes to which it has given birth that will be thought improbable: the history of revolutions, as well ancient as modern, furnishes but too many examples of them; and few have been committed, the traces of which are not to be found in the countries where the imagination of the multitude has been exalted by strong and new ideas, respecting Liberty and Equality. But what posterity will find difficult to believe, is the agitation of men's minds, and the effervescence of the passions, carried to such a pitch, as to stamp the French revolution with a character bordering on the marvellous—Yes; posterity will have reason to be astonished at the facility with which the human mind can be modified and made to pass from one extreme to another; at the suddenness, in short, with which the ideas and manners of the French were changed; so powerful, on the one hand, is the ascendency of certain imaginations; and, on the other, so great is the weakness of the vulgar!

It is in the recollection of most persons, that the agitation of the public mind in France was such, for a while, that, after having overthrown the monarchy and its supports; rendered private property insecure; and destroyed individual freedom; it threatened to invade foreign countries, at the same time pushing before it Liberty, that first blessing of man, when it is founded on laws, and the most dangerous of chimeras, when it is without rule or restraint.

The greater part of the causes which excited this general commotion, existed before the assembly of the States-General in 1789. It is therefore important to take a mental view of the moral and political situation of France at that period, and to follow, in imagination at least, the chain of ideas, passions, and errors, which, having dissolved the ties of society, and worn out the springs of government, led the nation by gigantic strides into the most complete anarchy.

Without enumerating the different authorities which successively ruled in France after the fall of the throne, it appears no less essential to remind the reader that, in this general disorganization, the inhabitants themselves, though breathing the same air, scarcely knew that they belonged to the same nation. The altars overthrown; all the ancient institutions annihilated; new festivals and ceremonies introduced; factious demagogues honoured with an apotheosis; their busts exposed to public veneration; men and cities changing names; a portion of the people infected with atheism, and disguised in the livery of guilt and folly; all this, and more, exercised the reflection of the well-disposed in a manner the most painful. In a word, though France was peopled with the same individuals, it seemed inhabited by a new nation, entirely different from the old one in its government, its creed, its principles, its manners, and even its customs.

War itself assumed a new face. Every thing relating to it became extraordinary: the number of the combatants, the manner of recruiting the armies, and the means of providing supplies for them; the manufacture of powder, cannon, and muskets; the ardour, impetuosity, and forced marches of the troops; their extortions, their successes, and their reverses; the choice of the generals, and the superior talents of some of them, together with the springs, by which these enormous bodies of armed men were moved and directed, were equally new and astonishing.

History tells us that in poor countries, where nothing inflames cupidity and ambition, the love alone of the public good causes changes to be tried in the government; and that those changes derange not the ordinary course of society; whereas, among rich nations, corrupted by luxury, revolutions are always effected through secret motives of jealousy and interest; because there are great places to be usurped, and great fortunes to be invaded. In France, the revolution covered the country with ruins, tears, and blood, because means were not to be found to moderate in the people that revolutionary spirit which parches, in the bud, the promised fruits of liberty, when its violence is not repressed.

Few persons were capable of keeping pace with the rapid progress of the revolution. Those who remained behind were considered as guilty of desertion. The authors of the first constitution were accused of being royalists; the old partisans of republicanism were punished as moderates; the land-owners, as aristocrates; the monied men, as corrupters; the bankers and financiers, as blood-suckers; the shop-keepers, as promoters of famine; and the newsmongers, as alarmists. The factious themselves, in short, were alternately proscribed, as soon as they ceased to belong to the ruling faction.

In this state of things, society became a prey to the most baneful passions. Mistrust entered every heart; friendship had no attraction; relationship, no tie; and men's minds, hardened by the habit of misfortune, or overwhelmed by fear, no longer opened to pity.

Terror compressed every imagination; and the revolutionary government, exercising it to its fullest extent, struck off a prodigious number of heads, filled the prisons with victims, and continued to corrupt the morals of the nation by staining it with crimes.

But all things have an end. The tyrants fell; the dungeons were thrown open; numberless victims emerged from them; and France seemed to recover new life; but still bewildered by the revolutionary spirit, wasted by the concealed poison of anarchy, exhausted by her innumerable sacrifices, and almost paralyzed by her own convulsions, she made but impotent efforts for the enjoyment of liberty and justice. Taxes became more burdensome; commerce was annihilated; industry, without aliment; paper-money, without value; and specie, without circulation. However, while the French nation was degraded at home by this series of evils, it was respected abroad through the rare merit of some of its generals, the splendour of its victories, and the bravery of its soldiers.

During these transactions, there was formed in the public mind that moral resistance which destroys not governments by violence, but undermines them. The intestine commotions were increasing; the conquests of the French were invaded; their enemies were already on their frontiers; and the division which had broken out between the Directory and the Legislative Body, again threatened France with a total dissolution, when a man of extraordinary character and talents had the boldness to seize the reins of authority, and stop the further progress of the revolution.[[1]] Taking at the full the tide which leads on to fortune, he at once changed the face of affairs, not only within the limits of the Republic, but throughout Europe. Yet, after all their triumphs, the French have the mortification to have failed in gaining that for which they first took up arms, and for which they have maintained so long and so obstinate a struggle.

When a strong mound has been broken down, the waters whose amassed volume it opposed, rush forward, and, in their impetuous course, spread afar terror and devastation. On visiting the scene where this has occurred, we naturally cast our eyes in every direction, to discover the mischief which they have occasioned by their irruption; so, then, on reaching the grand theatre of the French revolution, did I look about for the traces of the havock it had left behind; but, like a river which had regained its level, and flowed again in its natural bed, this political torrent had subsided, and its ravages were repaired in a manner the most surprising.

However, at the particular request of an estimable friend, I have endeavoured to draw the contrast which, in 1789-90 and 1801-2, Paris presented to the eye of an impartial observer. In this arduous attempt I have not the vanity to flatter myself that I have been successful, though I have not hesitated to lay under contribution every authority likely to promote my object. The state of the French capital, before the revolution, I have delineated from the notes I had myself collected on the spot, and for which purpose I was, at that time, under the necessity of consulting almost as many books as Don Quixote read on knight-errantry; but the authors from whom I have chiefly borrowed, are St. FOIX, MERCIER, DULAURE, PUJOULX, and BIOT.

My invariable aim has been to relate, sine ira nec studio, such facts and circumstances as have come to my knowledge, and to render to every one that justice which I should claim for myself. After a revolution which has trenched on so many opposite interests, the reader cannot be surprised, if information, derived from such a variety of sources, should sometimes seem to bear the character of party-spirit. Should this appear on the face of the record, I can only say that I have avoided entering into politics, in order that no bias of that sort might lead me to discolour or distort the truths I have had occasion to state; and I have totally rejected those communications which, from their tone of bitterness, personality, and virulence, might be incompatible with the general tenour of an impartial production.

Till the joint approbation of some competent judges, who visited the French capital after having perused, in manuscript, several of these letters, had stamped on them a comparative degree of value, no one could think more lightly of them than the author. Urged repeatedly to produce them to the public, I have yielded with reluctance, and in the fullest confidence that, notwithstanding the recent change of circumstances, a liberal construction will be put on my sentiments and motives. I have taken care that my account of the national establishments in France should be perfectly correct; and, in fact, I have been favoured with the principal information it contains by their respective directors. In regard to the other topics on which I have touched, I have not failed to consult the best authorities, even in matters, which, however trifling in themselves, acquire a relative importance, from being illustrative of some of the many-coloured effects of a revolution, which has humbled the pride of many, deranged the calculations of all, disappointed the hopes of not a few, and deceived those even by whom it had been engendered and conducted.

Yet, whatever pains I have taken to be strictly impartial, it cannot be denied that, in publishing a work of this description at a time when the self-love of most men is mortified, and their resentment awakened, I run no small risk of displeasing all parties, because I attach myself to none, but find them all more or less deserving of censure. Without descending either to flattery or calumny, I speak both well and ill of the French, because I copy nature, and neither draw an imaginary portrait, nor write a systematic narrative. If I have occasionally given vent to my indignation in glancing at the excesses of the revolution, I have not withheld my tribute of applause from those institutions, which, being calculated to benefit mankind by the gratuitous diffusion of knowledge, would reflect honour on any nation. In other respects, I have not been unmindful of that excellent precept of TACITUS, in which he observes that "The principal duty of the historian is to rescue from oblivion virtuous actions, and to make bad men dread infamy and posterity for what they have said and done."[[2]]

In stating facts, it is frequently necessary to support them by a relation of particular circumstances, which may corroborate them in an unquestionable manner. Feeling this truth, I have some times introduced myself on my canvass, merely to shew that I am not an ideal traveller. I mean one of those pleasant fellows who travel post in their elbow-chair, sail round the world on a map suspended to one side of their room, cross the seas with a pocket-compass lying on their table, experience a shipwreck by their fireside, make their escape when it scorches their shins, and land on a desert island in their robe de chambre and slippers.

I have, therefore, here and there mentioned names, time, and place, to prove that, bonâ fide, I went to Paris immediately after the ratification of the preliminary treaty. To banish uniformity in my description of that metropolis, I have, as much as possible, varied my subjects. Fashions, sciences, absurdities, anecdotes, education, fêtes, useful arts, places of amusement, music, learned and scientific institutions, inventions, public buildings, industry, agriculture, &c. &c. &c. being all jumbled together in my brain, I have thence drawn them, like tickets from a lottery; and it will not, I trust, be deemed presumptuous in me to indulge a hope that, in proportion to the blanks, there will be found no inadequate number of prizes.

I have pointed out the immense advantages which France is likely to derive from her Schools for Public Services, and other establishments of striking utility, such as the Dépôt de la Guerre and the Dépôt de la Marine, in order that the British government may be prompted to form institutions, which, if not exactly similar, may at least answer the same purpose. Instead of copying the French in objects of fickleness and frivolity, why not borrow from them what is really deserving of imitation?

It remains for me to observe, by way of stimulating the ambition of British genius, that, in France, the arts and sciences are now making a rapid and simultaneous progress; first, because the revolution has made them popular in that country; and, secondly, because they are daily connected by new ties, which, in a great measure, render them inseparable. Facts are there recurred to, less with a view to draw from them immediate applications than to develop the truths resulting from them. The first step is from these facts to their most simple consequences, which are little more than bare assertions. From these the savans proceed to others more minute, till, at length, by imperceptible degrees, they arrive at the most abstracted generalities. With them, method is an induction incessantly verified by experiment. Whence, it gives to human intelligence, not wings which lead it astray, but reins which guide it. United by this common philosophy, the sciences and arts in France advance together; and the progress made by one of them serves to promote that of the rest. There, the men who profess them, considering that their knowledge belongs not to themselves alone, not to their country only, but to all mankind, are continually striving to increase the mass of public knowledge. This they regard as a real duty, which they are proud to discharge; thus treading in the steps of the most memorable men of past ages.

Then, while the more unlearned and unskilled among us are emulating the patriotic enthusiasm of the French in volunteering, as they did, to resist invasion, let our men of science and genius exert themselves not to be surpassed by the industrious savans and artists of that nation; but let them act on the principle inculcated by the following sublime idea of our illustrious countryman, the founder of modern philosophy. "It may not be amiss," says BACON, "to point out three different kinds, and, as it were, degrees of ambition. The first, that of those who desire to enhance, in their own country, the power they arrogate to themselves: this kind of ambition is both vulgar and degenerate. The second, that of those who endeavour to extend the power and domination of their country, over the whole of the human race: in this kind there is certainly a greater dignity, though; at the same time, no less a share of cupidity. But should any one strive to restore and extend the power and domination of mankind over the universality of things, unquestionably such an ambition, (if it can be so denominated) would be more reasonable and dignified than the others. Now, the empire of man, over things, has its foundation exclusively in the arts and sciences; for it is only by an obedience to her laws, that Nature can be commanded."[[3]]

LONDON, June 10, 1803.

[Footnote 1]: Of two things, we are left to believe one. BONAPARTE either was or was not invited to put himself at the head of the government of France. It is not probable that the Directory should send for him from Egypt, in order to say to him: "we are fools and drivelers, unfit to conduct the affairs of the nation; so turn us out of office, and seat yourself in our place." Nevertheless, they might have hoped to preserve their tottering authority through his support. Be this as it may, there it something so singular in the good fortune which has attended BONAPARTE from the period of his quitting Alexandria, that, were it not known for truth, it might well be taken for fiction. Sailing from the road of Aboukir on the 24th of August, 1799, he eludes the vigilance of the English cruisers, and lands at Frejus in France on the 14th of October following, the forty-seventh day after his departure from Egypt. On his arrival in Paris, so far from giving an account of his conduct to the Directory, he turns his back on them; accepts the proposition made to him, from another quarter, to effect a change in the government; on the 9th of November, carries it into execution; and, profiting by the popularis aura, fixes himself at the head of the State, at the same time kicking down the ladder by which he climbed to power. To achieve all this with such promptitude and energy, most assuredly required a mind of no common texture; nor can any one deny that ambition would have done but little towards its accomplishment, had it not been seconded by extraordinary firmness. [Return to text]

[Footnote 2]: "Præcipuum munus annalium reor, ne virtutes sileantur, utque praxis dictis factisque ex posteritate et infamiâ metus sit." [Return to text]

[Footnote 3]: "Præterca non abs refuerit, tria hominum ambitionis genera et quasi gradus distinguere. Primum eorum qui propriam potentiam in patria sua amplificare cupiunt; quod genus vulgare est et degener. Secundum eorum, qui patriæ potentiam et imperium inter humanum genus amplificare nituntur; illud plus certe habet dignitatis, cupiditatis haud minus. Quod si quis humani generis ipsius potentiam et imperium in rerum univertitatem instaurare et amplificare conetur ea procul dubio ambitio (si modo ita cocanda sit) reliquls et sanior est et augustior. Hominis autem imperium in res, in solis artibus et scientiis ponitur: naturæ enim non imperatur, nisi parendo." Nov. org. scientiarum. Aphor. CXXIX. (Vol. VIII. page 72, new edition of BACON'S works. London, printed 1803.) [Return to text]

A SKETCH OF PARIS, &c. &c.

[LETTER I.]

Calais, October 16, 1801.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Had you not made it a particular request that I would give you the earliest account of my debarkation in France, I should, probably, not have been tempted to write to you till I reached Paris. I well know the great stress which you lay on first impressions; but what little I have now to communicate will poorly gratify your expectation.

From the date of this letter, you will perceive that, since we parted yesterday, I have not been dilatory in my motions. No sooner had a messenger from the Alien-Office brought me the promised passport, or rather his Majesty's licence, permitting me to embark for France, than I proceeded on my journey.

In nine hours I reached Dover, and, being authorized by a proper introduction, immediately applied to Mr. Mantell, the agent for prisoners of war, cartels, &c. for a passage across the water. An English flag of truce was then in the harbour, waiting only for government dispatches; and I found that, if I could get my baggage visited in time, I might avail myself of the opportunity of crossing the sea in this vessel. On having recourse to the collector of the customs, I succeeded in my wish: the dispatches arriving shortly after, mid my baggage being already shipped, I stepped off the quay into the Nancy, on board of which I was the only passenger. A propitious breeze sprang up at the moment, and, in less than three hours, wafted me to Calais pier.

By the person who carried the dispatches to Citizen Mengaud, the commissary for this department (Pas de Calais), I sent a card with my name and rank, requesting permission to land and deliver to him a letter from M. Otto. This step was indispensable: the vessel which brought me was, I find, the first British flag of truce that has been suffered to enter the harbour, with the exception of the Prince of Wales packet, now waiting here for the return of a king's messenger from Paris; and her captain even has not yet been permitted to go on shore. It therefore appears that I shall be the first Englishman, not in an official character, who has set foot on French ground since the ratification of the preliminary treaty.

The pier was presently crowded with people gazing at our vessel, as if she presented a spectacle perfectly novel: but, except the tri-coloured cockade in the hats of the military, I could not observe the smallest difference in their general appearance. Instead of crops and round wigs, which I expected to see in universal vogue, here were full as many powdered heads and long queues as before the revolution. Frenchmen, in general, will, I am persuaded, ever be Frenchmen in their dress, which, in my opinion, can never be revolutionized, either by precept or example. The citoyens, as far as I am yet able to judge, most certainly have not fattened by warfare more than JOHN BULL: their visages are as sallow and as thin as formerly, though their persons are not quite so meagre as they are pourtrayed by Hogarth.

The prospect of peace, however, seemed to have produced an exhilarating effect on all ranks; satisfaction appeared on every countenance. According to custom, a host of inkeepers' domestics boarded the vessel, each vaunting the superiority of his master's accommodations. My old landlord Ducrocq presenting himself to congratulate me on my arrival, soon freed me from their importunities, and I, of course, decided in favour of the Lion d'Argent.

Part of the Boulogne flotilla was lying in the harbour. Independently of the decks of the gunboats being full of soldiers, with very few sailors intermixed, playing at different games of chance, not a plank, not a log, or piece of timber, was there on the quay but was also covered with similar parties. This then accounts for that rage for gambling, which has carried to such desperate lengths those among them whom the fate of war has lodged in our prisons.

My attention was soon diverted from this scene, by a polite answer from the commissary, inviting me to his house. I instantly disembarked to wait on him; my letter containing nothing more than an introduction, accompanied by a request that I might be furnished with a passport to enable me to proceed to Paris without delay, Citizen Mengaud dispatched a proper person to attend me to the town-hall, where the passports are made out, and signed by the mayor; though they are not delivered till they have also received the commissary's signature. However, to lose no time, while one of the clerks was drawing my picture, or, in other words, taking down a minute description of my person, I sent my keys to the custom-house, in order that my baggage might be examined.

By what conveyance I was to proceed to Paris was the next point to be settled; and this has brought me to the Lion d'Argent.

Among other vehicles, Ducrocq has, in his remise, an apparently-good cabriolet de voyage, belonging to one of his Paris correspondents; but, on account of the wretched state of the roads, he begs me to allow him time to send for his coachmaker, to examine it scrupulously, that I may not be detained by the way, from any accident happening to the carriage.

I was just on the point of concluding my letter, when a French naval officer, who was on the pier when I landed, introduced himself to me, to know whether I would do him the favour to accommodate him with a place in the cabriolet under examination. I liked my new friend's appearance and manner too well not to accede to his proposal.

The carriage is reported to be in good condition. I shall therefore send my servant on before as a courier, instead of taking him with me as an inside passenger. As we shall travel night and day, and the post-horses will be in readiness at every stage, we may, I am told, expect to reach Paris in about forty-two hours. Adieu; my next will be from the great city.

[LETTER II.]

Paris, October 19, 1801.

Here I am safe arrived; that is, without any broken bones; though my arms, knees, and head are finely pummelled by the jolting of the carriage. Well might Ducrocq say that the roads were bad! In several places, they are not passable without danger—Indeed, the government is so fully aware of this, that an inspector has been dispatched to direct immediate repairs to be made against the arrival of the English ambassador; and, in some communes, the people are at work by torch-light. With this exception, my journey was exceedingly pleasant. At ten o'clock the first night, we reached Montreuil, where we supped; the next day we breakfasted at Abbeville, dined at Amiens, and supped that evening at Clermont.

The road between Calais and Paris is too well known to interest by description. Most of the abbeys and monasteries, which present themselves to the eye of the traveller, have either been converted into hospitals or manufactories. Few there are, I believe, who will deny that this change is for the better. A receptacle for the relief of suffering indigence conveys a consolatory idea to the mind of the friend of human nature; while the lover of industry cannot but approve of an establishment which, while it enriches a State, affords employ to the needy and diligent. This, unquestionably, is no bad appropriation of these buildings, which, when inhabited by monks, were, for the most part, no more than an asylum of sloth, hypocrisy, pride, and ignorance.

The weather was fine, which contributed not a little to display the country to greater advantage; but the improvements recently made in agriculture are too striking to escape the notice of the most inattentive observer. The open plains and rising grounds of ci-devant Picardy which, from ten to fifteen years ago, I have frequently seen, in this season, mostly lying fallow, and presenting the aspect of one wide, neglected waste, are now all well cultivated, and chiefly laid down in corn; and the corn, in general, seems to have been sown with more than common attention.

My fellow-traveller, who was a lieutenant de vaisseau, belonging to Latouche Tréville's flotilla, proved a very agreeable companion, and extremely well-informed. This officer positively denied the circumstance of any of their gun-boats being moored with chains during our last attack. While he did ample justice to the bravery of our people, he censured the manner in which it had been exerted. The divisions of boats arriving separately, he said, could not afford to each other necessary support, and were thus exposed to certain discomfiture. I made the best defence I possibly could; but truth bears down all before it.

The loss on the side of the French, my fellow-traveller declared, was no more than seven men killed and forty-five wounded. Such of the latter as were in a condition to undergo the fatigue of the ceremony, were carried in triumphal procession through the streets of Boulogne, where, after being harangued by the mayor, they were rewarded with civic crowns from the hands of their fair fellow-citizens.

Early the second morning after our departure from Calais, we reached the town of St. Denis, which, at one time since the revolution, changed its name for that of Françiade. I never pass through this place without calling to mind the persecution which poor Abélard suffered from Adam, the abbot, for having dared to say, that the body of St. Denis, first bishop of Paris, in 240, which had been preserved in this abbey among the relics, was not that of the areopagite, who died in 95. The ridiculous stories, imposed on the credulity of the zealous catholics, respecting this wonderful saint, have been exhibited in their proper light by Voltaire, as you may see by consulting the Questions sur l'Encyclopédie, at the article Denis.

It is in every person's recollection that, in consequence of the National Convention having decreed the abolition of royalty in France, it was proposed to annihilate every vestige of it throughout the country. But, probably, you are not aware of the thorough sweep that was made among the sepultures in this abbey of St. Denis.

The bodies of the kings, queens, princes, princesses, and celebrated personages, who had been interred here for nearly fifteen hundred years, were taken up, and literally reduced to ashes. Not a wreck was left behind to make a relic.

The remains of TURENNE alone were respected. All the other bodies, together with the entrails or hearts, enclosed in separate urns, were thrown into large pits, lined with a coat of quick lime: they were then covered with the same substance; and the pits were afterwards filled up with earth. Most of them, as may be supposed, were in a state of complete putrescency; of some, the bones only remained, though a few were in good preservation.

The bodies of the consort of Charles I. Henrietta Maria of France, daughter of Henry IV, who died in 1669, aged 60, and of their daughter Henrietta Stuart, first wife of Monsieur, only brother to Lewis XIV, who died in 1670, aged 26, both interred in the vault of the Bourbons, were consumed in the general destruction.

The execution of this decree was begun at St. Denis on Saturday the 12th of October 1793, and completed on the 25th of the same month, in presence of the municipality and several other persons.

On the 12th of November following, all the treasure of St. Denis, (shrines, relics, &c.) was removed: the whole was put into large wooden chests, together with all the rich ornaments of the church, consisting of chalices, pyxes, cups, copes, &c. The same day these valuable articles were sent off, in great state, in waggons, decorated for the purpose, to the National Convention.

We left St. Denis after a hasty breakfast; and, on reaching Paris, I determined to drive to the residence of a man whom I had never seen; but from whom I had little doubt of a welcome reception. I accordingly alighted in the Rue neuve St. Roch, where I found B----a, who perfectly answered the character given me of him by M. S----i.

You already know that, through the interest of my friend, Captain O----y, I was so fortunate as to procure the exchange of B----a's only son, a deserving youth, who had been taken prisoner at sea, and languished two years in confinement in Portchester-Castle.

Before I could introduce myself, one of young B----a's sisters proclaimed my name, as if by inspiration; and I was instantly greeted with the cordial embraces of the whole family. This scene made me at once forget the fatigues of my journey; and, though I had not been in bed for three successive nights, the agreeable sensations excited in my mind, by the unaffected expression of gratitude, banished every inclination to sleep. If honest B----a and his family felt themselves obliged to me, I felt myself doubly and trebly obliged to Captain O----y; for, to his kind exertion, was I indebted for the secret enjoyment arising from the performance of a disinterested action.

S----i was no sooner informed of my arrival, than he hastened to obey the invitation to meet me at dinner, and, by his presence, enlivened the family party. After spending a most agreeable day, I retired to a temporary lodging, which B----a had procured me in the neighbourhood. I shall remain in it no longer than till I can suit myself with apartments in a private house, where I can be more retired, or at least subject to less noise, than in a public hotel.

Of the fifty-eight hours which I employed in performing my journey hither from London, forty-four were spent on my way between Calais and Paris; a distance that I have often travelled with ease in thirty-six, when the roads were in tolerable repair. Considerable delay too is at present occasioned by the erection of barrières, or turnpike-bars, which did not exist before the revolution. At this day, they are established throughout all the departments, and are an insuperable impediment to expedition; for, at night, the toll-gatherers are fast asleep, and the bars being secured, you are obliged to wait patiently till these good citizens choose to rise from their pillow.

To counterbalance this inconvenience, you are not now plagued, as formerly, by custom-house officers on the frontiers of every department. My baggage being once searched at Calais, experienced no other visit; but, at the upper town of Boulogne, a sight of my travelling passport was required; by mistake in the dark, I gave the commis a scrawl, put into my hands by Ducrocq, containing an account of the best inns on the road. Would you believe that this inadvertency detained us a considerable time, so extremely inquisitive are they, at the present moment, respecting all papers? At Calais, the custom-house officers even examined every piece of paper used in the packing of my baggage. This scrutiny is not particularly adopted towards Englishmen; but must, I understand, be undergone by travellers of every country, on entering the territory of the Republic.

P. S. Lord Cornwallis is expected with impatience; and, at St. Denis, an escort of dragoons of the 19th demi-brigade is in waiting to attend him into Paris.

[LETTER III.]

Paris, October 21, 1801.

On approaching this capital, my curiosity was excited in the highest degree; and, as the carriage passed rapidly along from the Barrière, through the Porte St. Denis, to the Rue neuve St. Roch, my eyes wandered in all directions, anxiously seeking every shade of distinction between monarchical and republican Paris.

The first thing that attracted my attention, on entering the faubourg, was the vast number of inscriptions placed, during the revolution, on many of the principal houses; but more especially on public buildings of every description. They are painted in large, conspicuous letters; and the following is the most general style in which they have been originally worded:

"RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE, UNE ET INDIVISIBLE."
"LIBERTÉ, ÉGALITÉ, FRATERNITÉ, OU LA MORT."

Since the exit of the French Nero, the last three words "ou la mort" have been obliterated, but in few places are so completely effaced as not to be still legible. In front of all the public offices and national establishments, the tri-coloured flag is triumphantly displayed; and almost every person you meet wears in his hat the national cockade.

The tumult which, ten or twelve years ago, rendered the streets of Paris so noisy, so dirty, and at the same time so dangerous, is now most sensibly diminished. Boileau's picture of them is no longer just. No longer are seen those scenes of confusion occasioned by the frequent stoppages of coaches and carts, and the contentions of the vociferating drivers. You may now pass the longest and most crowded thoroughfares, either on foot or otherwise, without obstacle or inconvenience. The contrast is striking.

Indeed, from what I have observed, I should presume that there is not, at the present day, one tenth part of the number of carriages which were in use here in 1780-90. Except on the domestics of foreign ambassadors and foreigners, I have as yet noticed nothing like a livery; and, in lieu of armorial bearings, every carriage, without distinction, has a number painted on the pannel. However, if private equipages are scarce, thence ensues more than one advantage; the public are indemnified by an increased number of good hackney coaches, chariots, and cabriolets; and, besides, as I have just hinted, pedestrians are not only far less exposed to being bespattered, but also to having their limbs fractured.

Formerly, a seigneur de la cour conceived himself justified in suffering his coachman to drive at a mischievous rate; and in narrow, crowded streets, where there is no foot-pavement, it was extremely difficult for persons walking to escape the wheels of a great number of carriages rattling along in this shameful manner. But he who guided the chariot of a ministre d'état, considered it as a necessary and distinctive mark of his master's pre-eminence to brûler le pavé. This is so strictly true, that, before the revolution, I have here witnessed repeated accidents of the most serious nature, resulting from the exercise of this sort of ministerial privilege: on one occasion particularly, I myself narrowly escaped unhurt, when a decent, elderly woman was thrown down, close by my feet, and had both her thighs broken through the unfeeling wantonness of the coachman of the Baron de Breteuil, at that time minister for the department of Paris.

Owing to the salutary regulations of the police, the recurrence of these accidents is now, in a great measure, prevented; and, as the empirics say in their hand-bills: "Prevention is better than cure."

But for these differences, a person who had not seen Paris for some years, might, unless he were to direct his visits to particular quarters, cross it from one extremity to the other, without remarking any change to inform his mind, that here had been a revolution, or rather that, for the last ten years, this city had been almost one continual scene of revolutions.

Bossnet, once preaching before Lewis XIV, exclaimed: "Kings die, and so do kingdoms!" Could that great preacher rise from his grave into the pulpit, and behold France without a king, and that kingdom, not crumbled away, but enlarged, almost with the rapid accumulation of a snow-ball, into an enormous mass of territory, under the title of French Republic, what would he not have to say in a sermon? Rien de nouveau sous le ciel, though an old proverb, would not now suit as a maxim. This, in fact, seems the age of wonders. The league of monarchs has ended by producing republics; while a republic has raised a dukedom into a monarchy, and, by its vast preponderance, completely overturned the balance of power.

Not knowing when I may have an opportunity of sending this letter, I shall defer to close it for the present, as I may possibly lengthen it. But you must not expect much order in my narrations. I throw my thoughts on paper just as they happen to present themselves, without any studied arrangement.

October 21, in continuation.

When we have been for some time in the habit of corresponding with strangers, we are apt to draw such inferences from their language and style, as furnish us with the means of sketching an ideal portrait of their person. This was the case with myself.

Through the concurrence of the two governments, I had, as you know, participated, in common with others, in the indulgence of being permitted to correspond, occasionally, on subjects of literature with several of the savans and literati of France. Indeed, the principal motive of my journey to Paris was to improve that sort of acquaintance, by personal intercourse, so as to render it more interesting to both parties. In my imagination, I had drawn a full-length picture of most of my literary correspondents. I was now anxious to see the originals, and compare the resemblance.

Yesterday, having first paid my respects to Mr. M----y, the successor to Captain C----s, as commissary for the maintenance and exchange of British prisoners of war, and at present Chargé d'affaires from our court to the French Republic, I called on M. F----u, formerly minister of the naval department, and at present counsellor of state, and member of the National Institute, as well as of the board of longitude. I then visited M. O----r, and afterwards M. L------re, also members of the Institute, and both well known to our proficients in natural history, by the works which each has published in the different branches of that interesting science.

In one only of my ideal portraits had I been very wide of the likeness. However, without pretending to be a Lavater, I may affirm that I should not have risked falling into a mistake like that committed, on a somewhat similar occasion, by Voltaire.

This colossus of French literature, having been for a long time in correspondence with the great Frederic, became particularly anxious to see that monarch. On his arrival in a village where the head-quarters of the Prussian army were then established, Voltaire inquired for the king's lodging: thither he paced with redoubled speed; and, being directed to the upper part of the house, he hastily crossed a large garret; he then found himself in a second, and was just on the point of entering the third, when, on turning round, he perceived in one of the comers of the room, a soldier, not overclean in appearance, lying on a sorry bedstead. He went up and said to him with eagerness: "Where's the king?"—"I am Frederic," replied the soldier; and, sure enough, it was the monarch himself.

I am now settled in my new apartments, which are situated in the most centrical part of Paris. When you visit this capital, I would by all means, recommend to you, should you intend to remain here a few weeks, to get into private lodgings.

I know of no article here so much augmented in price, within the last ten years, as the apartments in all the hotels. After looking at several of them in the Rue de la Loi, accompanied by a French friend, who was so obliging as to take on himself all the trouble of inquiry, while I remained a silent bystander, I had the curiosity to go to the Hôtel d'Angleterre, in the Rue des Filles St. Thomas, hot far from the ci-devant Palais Royal. The same apartments on the first floor of this hotel which I occupied in 1789, happened to be vacant. At that time I paid for them twelve louis d'or a month; the furniture was then new; it is now much the worse for nearly eleven years' wear; and the present landlord asked twenty-five louis a month, and even refused twenty-two, if taken for three months certain. The fact is, that all the landlords of ready-furnished hotels in Paris seem to be buoyed up with an idea that, on the peace, the English and foreigners of other nations will flock hither in such numbers as to enable them to reap a certain and plentiful harvest. Not but all lodgings are considerably increased in price, which is ascribed to the increase of taxes.

To find private lodgings, you have only to cast your eye on the daily advertiser of Paris, called Les Petites Affiches. There I read a description of my present quarters, which are newly fitted up in every particular, and, I assure you, with no small degree of tasteful fancy. My landlady, who is a milliner, and, for aught I know, a very fashionable one, left not the smallest convenience to my conjecture, but explained the particular use of every hole and corner in the most significant manner, not even excepting the boudoir.

This would be a most excellent situation for any one whose principal object was to practise speaking French; for, on the right hand of the porte-cochère or gateway, (which, by the bye, is here reckoned an indispensable appendage to a proper lodging), is the magazin des modes, where my landlady presides over twenty damsels, many of whom, though assiduously occupied in making caps and bonnets, would, I am persuaded, find repartee for the most witty gallant.

[LETTER IV.]

Paris, October 23, 1801.

Since my arrival, I have been so much engaged in paying and receiving visits, that I really have not yet been able to take even a hasty view of any of the grand sights introduced here since the revolution,

On Wednesday I dined with M. S----i, whose new 8vo edition of Buffon proceeds, I find, with becoming spirit. It is quite a journey to his residence; for he lives in one of the most retired quarters of Paris, However, I had no reason to repine at the distance, as the party was exceedingly cheerful. Naturalists and literati were not wanting.

Egypt was a subject that engrossed much of the conversation: it was mentioned as a matter of regret that, during the dominion of the French in that country, curiosity had not prompted the Institute, established at Cairo, to open one of the pyramids, with a view of ascertaining the object of the erection of those vast masses. At the desert, we had luscious grapes as large as damsons, in bunches of from three to five pounds in weight. They were of the species of the famous chasselas de Fontainebleau, which are said to have sprung from a stock of vine-plants, imported by Francis I. from the island of Cyprus. These did not come from that town, but grew against the naked wall in S----i's garden. From this you may form a judgment of the climate of Paris.

The persons with whom I have had any correspondence, respecting literature, vie with each other in shewing me every mark of cordial hospitality; and those to whom I have been introduced, are by no means backward in friendly attention. All the lovers of science here seem to rejoice that the communication, which has been so long interrupted between the two countries, promises to be shortly re-opened.

After dining yesterday with Mr. M----y, the British minister, in company with Mr. D----n, the member for Ilchester, we all three went to an exhibition almost facing Mr. M----y's residence in the Rue St. Dominique. This was the third time of its being open to the public. As it is of a novel kind, some account of it may not be uninteresting. In French, it is denominated

THERMOLAMPES,
or stoves which afford heat and light on an economical plan.

The author of this invention, for which a patent has been obtained, is M. LEBON, an engineer of bridges and highways. The place of exhibition was the ground floor of one of the large hotels in the Faubourg St. Germain, on which was a suite of rooms, extremely favourable for displaying the effect of this new method of lighting and warming apartments.

In lieu of fire or candle, on the chimney stood a large crystal globe, in which appeared a bright and clear flame diffusing a very agreeable heat; and on different pieces of furniture were placed candlesticks with metal candles, from the top of each of which issued a steady light, like that of a lamp burning with spirits of wine. These different receptacles were supplied with inflammable gas by means of tubes communicating with an apparatus underneath. By this contrivance, in short, all the apartments were warmed very comfortably, and illuminated in a brilliant manner.

On consulting M. LEBON, he communicated to me the following observations: "You may have remarked," said he, "in sitting before a fire, that wood sometimes burns without flame, but with much smoke, and then you experience little heat, sometimes with flame, but with little smoke, and then you find much warmth. You may have remarked too, that ill-made charcoal emits smoke; it is, on that account, susceptible of flaming again; and the characteristic difference between wood and charcoal is, that the latter has lost, together with its smoke, the principle and aliment of flame, without which you obtain but little heat. Experience next informs us, that this portion of smoke, the aliment of flame, is not an oily vapour condensable by cooling, but a gas, a permanent air, which may be washed, purified, conducted, distributed, and afterwards turned into flame at any distance from the hearth.

"It is almost needless," continued he, "to point out the formation of verdigrise, white lead, and a quantity of other operations, in which acetous acid is employed. I shall only remark that it is this pyroligneous acid which penetrates smoked meat and fish, that it has an effect on leather which it hardens, and that thermolampes are likely to render tanning-mills unnecessary, by furnishing the tan without further trouble. But to return to the aëriform principle.

"This aliment of flame is deprived of those humid vapours, so perceptible and so disagreeable to the organs of sight and smell. Purified to a perfect transparency, it floats in the state of cold air, and suffers itself to be directed by the smallest and most fragil pipes. Chimnies of an inch square, made in the thickness of the plaster of ceilings or walls, tubes even of gummed silk would answer this purpose. The end alone of the tube, which, by bringing the inflammable gas into contact with the atmospheric air, allows it to catch fire, and on which the flame reposes, ought to be of metal.

"By a distribution so easy to be established, a single stove may supply the place of all the chimnies of a house. Every where inflammable air is ready to diffuse immediately heat and light of the most glowing or most mild nature, simultaneously or separately, according to your wishes. In the twinkling of an eye, you may conduct the flame from one room to another; an advantage equally convenient and economical, and which can never be obtained with our common stoves and chimnies. No sparks, no charcoal, no soot, to trouble you; no ashes, no wood, to soil your apartments. By night, as well as by day, you can have a fire in your room, without a servant being obliged to look after it. Nothing in the thermolampes, not even the smallest portion of inflammable air, can escape combustion; while in our chimnies, torrents evaporate, and even carry off with them the greater part of the heat produced.

"The advantage of being able to purify and proportion, in some measure, the principles of the gas which feeds the flame is," said M. LEBON, "set forth in the clearest manner. But this flame is so subjected to our caprice, that even to tranquilize the imagination, it suffers itself to be confined in a crystal globe, which is never tarnished, and thus presents a filter pervious to light and heat. A part of the tube that conducts the inflammable air, carries off, out of doors, the produce of this combustion, which, nevertheless, according to the experiments of modern chymists, can scarcely be any thing more than an aqueous vapour.

"Who cannot but be fond of having recourse to a flame so subservient? It will dress your victuals, which, as well as your cooks, will not be exposed to the vapour of charcoal; it will warm again those dishes on your table; dry your linen; heat your oven, and the water for your baths or your washing, with every economical advantage that can be wished. No moist or black vapours; no ashes, no breaze, to make a dirt, or oppose the communication of heat; no useless loss of caloric; you may, by shutting an opening, which is no longer necessary for placing the wood in your oven, compress and coerce the torrents of heat that were escaping from it.

"It may easily be conceived, that an inflammable principle so docile and so active may be made to yield the most magnificent illuminations. Streams of fire finely drawn out, the duration, colour, and form of which may be varied at pleasure, the motion of suns and turning-columns, must produce an effect no less agreeable than brilliant." Indeed, this effect was exhibited on the garden façade of M. LEBON'S residence.

"Wood," concluded he, "yields in condensable vapours two thirds of its weight; those vapours may therefore be employed to produce the effects of our steam-engines, and it is needless to borrow this succour from foreign water."

P. S.. On the 1st of last Vendémiaire, (23rd of September), the government presented to the Chief Consul a sword, whose hilt was adorned with fourteen diamonds, the largest of which, called the Regent, from its having been purchased by the Duke of Orleans, when Regent, weighs 184 carats. This is the celebrated Pitt diamond, of which we have heard so much: but its weight is exceeded by that of the diamond purchased by the late empress of Russia, which weighs 194 carats; not to speak of the more famous diamond, in possession of the Great Mogul, which is said to weigh 280 carats.

[LETTER V.]

Paris, October 24, 1801.

Last night I received yours of the 20th ult. and as Mr. M----y purposes to send off a dispatch this morning, and will do me the favour to forward this, with my former letters, I hasten to write you a few lines.

I scarcely need assure you, my dear friend, that I will, with pleasure, communicate to you my remarks on this great city and its inhabitants, and describe to you, as far as I am able, the principal curiosities which it contains, particularizing, as you desire, those recently placed here by the chance of war; and giving you a succinct, historical account of the most remarkable national establishments and public buildings. But to pass in review the present state of the arts, sciences, literature, manners, &c. &c. in this capital, and contrast it with that which existed before the revolution, is a task indeed; and far more, I fear, than it will be in my power to accomplish.

However, if you will be content to gather my observations as they occur; to listen to my reflections, while the impression of the different scenes which produced them, is still warm in my mind; in short, to take a faithful sketch, in lieu of a finished picture, I will do the best I can for your satisfaction.

Relying on your indulgence, you shall know the life I lead: I will, as it were, take you by the arm, and, wherever I go, you shall be my companion. Perhaps, by pursuing this plan, you will not, at the expiration of three or four months, think your time unprofitably spent. Aided by the experience acquired by having occasionally resided here, for several months together, before the revolution, it will be my endeavour to make you as well acquainted with Paris, as I shall then hope to be myself. For this purpose, I will lay under contribution every authority, both written and oral, worthy of being consulted.

[LETTER VI]

Paris, October 26, 1801.

From particular passages in your letter, I clearly perceive your anxiety to be introduced among those valuable antiques which now adorn the banks of the Seine. On that account, I determined to postpone all other matters, and pay my first visit to the CENTRAL MUSEUM OF THE ARTS, established in the

LOUVRE.

But, before, we enter the interior of this building, it may not be amiss to give you some account of its construction, and describe to you its exterior beauties.

The origin of this palace, as well as the etymology of its name, is lost in the darkness of time. It is certain, however, that it existed, under the appellation of Louvre, in the reign of Philip Augustus, who surrounded it with ditches and towers, and made it a fortress. The great tower of the Louvre, celebrated in history, was insulated, and built in the middle of the court. All the great feudatories of the crown derived their tenure from this tower, and came hither to swear allegiance and pay homage. "It was," says St. Foix, "a prison previously prepared for them, if they violated their oaths."[[1]] Three Counts of Flanders were confined in it at different periods.

The Louvre, far from being cheerful from its construction, received also from this enormous tower a melancholy and terrifying aspect which rendered it unworthy of being a royal residence. Charles V. endeavoured to enliven and embellish this gloomy abode, and made it tolerably commodious for those times. Several foreign monarchs successively lodged in it; such as Manuel, emperor of Constantinople; Sigismund, emperor of Germany; and the emperor Charles the Fifth.

This large tower of the Louvre, which had, at different periods, served as a palace to the kings of France, as a prison to the great lords, and as a treasury to the state, was at length taken down in 1528.

The Tower of the Library was famous, among several others, because it contained that of Charles V. the most considerable one of the time, and in which the number of volumes amounted to nine hundred.

OLD LOUVRE

The part of this palace which, at the present day, is called the Old Louvre, was begun under Francis I. from the plan of PIERRE LESCOT, abbot of Clugny; and the sculpture was executed by JEAN GOUGEON, whose minute correctness is particularly remarkable in the festoons of the frieze of the second order, and in the devices emblematic of the amours of Henry II. This edifice, though finished, was not inhabited during the reign of that king, but it was by his son Charles IX.

Under him, the Louvre became the bloody theatre of treacheries and massacres which time will never efface from the memory of mankind, and which, till the merciless reign of Robespierre, were unexampled in the history of this country. I mean the horrors of St. Bartholemew's day.

While the alarmed citizens were swimming across the river to escape from death, Charles IX. from a window of this palace, was firing at them with his arquebuse. During that period of the revolution, when all means were employed to excite and strengthen the enmity of the people against their kings, this act of atrocity was called to their mind by an inscription placed under the very window, which looks on the Quai du Louvre.

Indeed, this instance of Charles's barbarity is fully corroborated by historians. "When it was day-light," says Brantome, "the king peeped out of his chamber-window, and seeing some people in the Faubourg St. Germain moving about and running away, he took a large arquebuse which he had ready at hand, and, calling out incessantly: Kill, kill! fired a great many shots at them, but in vain; for the piece did not carry so far."—This prince, according to Masson, piqued himself on his dexterity in cutting off at a single blow the head of the asses and pigs which he met with on his way. Lansac, one of his favourites, having found him one day with his sword drawn and ready to strike his mule, asked him seriously: "What quarrel has then happened between His Most Christian Majesty and my mule?" Murad Bey far surpassed this blood-thirsty monarch in address and strength. The former, we are told by travellers in Egypt, has been known, when riding past an ox, to cut off its head with one stroke of his scimitar.

The capital was dyed with the blood of Charles's murdered subjects. Into this very Louvre, into the chamber of Marguerite de Valois, the king's sister, and even to her bed, in which she was then lying, did the fanatics pursue the officers belonging to the court itself, as is circumstantially related by that princess in her Memoirs.

Let us draw the curtain on these scenes of horror, and pass rapidly from this period of fanaticism and cruelty, when the Louvre was stained by so many crimes to times more happy, when this palace became the quiet cradle of the arts and sciences, the school for talents, the arena for genius, and the asylum of artists and literati.

The centre pavilion over the principal gate of the Old Louvre, was erected under the reign of Lewis XIII. from the designs of LE MERCIER, as well as the angle of the left part of the building, parallel to that built by Henry II. The eight gigantic cariatides which are there seen, were sculptured by SARRASIN.

The façade towards the Jardin de l'Infante, (as it is called), that towards the Place du Louvre, and that over the little gate, towards the river, which were constructed under the reigns of Charles IX. and Henry III. in the midst of the civil wars of the League, partake of the taste of the time, in regard to the multiplicity of the ornaments; but the interior announces, by the majesty of its decorations, the refined taste of Lewis XIV.

NEW LOUVRE.

The part of the Louvre, which, with the two sides of the old building, forms the perfect square, three hundred and seventy-eight feet[[2]] in extent, called the New Louvre, consists in two double façades, which are still unfinished. LE VEAU, and after him D'ORBAY, were the architects under whose direction this augmentation was made by order of Lewis XIV.

That king at first resolved to continue the Louvre on the plan begun by Francis I.: for some time he caused it to be pursued, but having conceived a more grand and magnificent design, he ordered the foundation of the superb edifice now standing, to be laid on the 17th of October 1665, under the administration of COLBERT.

Through a natural prejudice, Lewis XIV. thought that he could find no where but in Italy an artist sufficiently skilful to execute his projects of magnificence. He sent for the Cavaliere BERNINI from Rome. This artist, whose reputation was established, was received in France with all the pomp due to princes of the blood. The king ordered that, in the towns through which he might pass, he should be complimented and receive presents from the corporations, &c.

BERNINI was loaded with wealth and honours: notwithstanding the prepossession of the court in favour of this Italian architect, notwithstanding his talents, he did not succeed in his enterprise. After having forwarded the foundation of this edifice, he made a pretext of the impossibility of spending the winter in a climate colder than that of Italy. "He was promised," says St. Foix, "three thousand louis a year if he would stay; but," he said, "he would positively go and die in his own country." On the eve of his departure, the king sent him three thousand louis, with the grant of a pension of five hundred. He received the whole with great coolness.

Several celebrated architects now entered the lists to complete this grand undertaking.—MANSARD presented his plans, with which COLBERT was extremely pleased: the king also approved of them, and absolutely insisted on their being executed without any alteration. MANSARD replied that he would rather renounce the glory of building this edifice than the liberty of correcting himself, and changing his design when he thought he could improve it. Among the competitors was CLAUDE PERRAULT, that physician so defamed by Boileau, the poet. His plans were preferred, and merited the preference. Many pleasantries were circulated at the expense of the new medical architect; and PERRAULT replied to those sarcasms by producing the beautiful colonnade of the Louvre, the master-piece of French architecture, and the admiration of all Europe.

The façade of this colonnade, which is of the Corinthian order; is five hundred and twenty-five feet in length: it is divided into two peristyles and three avant-corps. The principal gate is in the centre avant-corps, which is decorated with eight double columns, crowned by a pediment, whose raking cornices are composed of two stones only, each fifty-four feet in length by eight in breadth, though no more than eighteen inches in thickness. They were taken from the quarries of Meudon, and formed but one single block, which was sawed into two. The other two avant-corps are ornamented by six pilasters, and two columns of the same order, and disposed in the same manner. On the top, in lieu of a ridged roof, is a terrace, bordered by a stone balustrade, the pedestals of which are intended to bear trophies intermixed with vases.

PERRAULT'S enemies disputed with him the invention of this master-piece. They maintained that it belonged to LE VEAU, the architect; but, since the discovery of the original manuscript and drawings of PERRAULT, there no longer remains a doubt respecting the real author of this beautiful production.

In front of this magnificent colonnade, a multitude of salesmen erect their stalls, and there display quantities of old clothes, rags, &c. This contrast, as Mercier justly remarks, still speaks to the eye of the attentive observer. It is the image of all the rest, grandeur and beggary, side by side.

However, it is not on the outside of these walls only, that beggary has been so nearly allied to grandeur. At least we have a solitary instance of this truth of a very sinking nature.

Cardinal de Retz tells us, that going one morning to the Louvre to see the Queen of England, he found her in the chamber of her daughter, aftenwards Dutchess of Orleans, and that she said to him: "You see, I come to keep Henriette company: the poor girl could not leave her bed to-day, for want of fuel."—It is true, he adds, that, for six months past Cardinal Mazarin had not paid her pension; the tradesmen, would no longer give her credit, and she had not a piece of wood to warm her.

Like St. Paul's in London, the façade of the Louvre cannot be seen to the best advantage, on account of the proximity of the surrounding buildings; and, like many other great undertakings too, will, probably, never be completed, but remain a monument of the fickleness of the nation.

Lewis XIV, after having for a long time made the Louvre his residence; abandoned it for Versailles: "Sire," said Dufreny once to that prince, "I never look at the New Louvre, without exclaiming, superb monument of the magnificence of our greatest kings, you would have been finished, had you been given to one of the begging orders of friars!" From that period, the Louvre was wholly consecrated to the sittings of different academies, and to the accommodation of several men of science and artists, to whom free apartments were allotted.

I much regret having, for this year at least, lost a sight here, which I should have viewed with no inconsiderable degree of attention. This is the

PUBLIC EXHIBITION OF THE PRODUCTIONS OF FRENCH INDUSTRY.

Under the directorial government, this exhibition was opened in the Champ de Mars; but it now takes place, annually, in the square of the Louvre, during the five complementary days of the republican calendar; namely, from the 18th to the 22d of September, both inclusive.

The exhibition not only includes manufactures of every sort, but also every new discovery, invention, and improvement. For the purpose of displaying these objects to advantage, temporary buildings are erected along the four interior walls of this square, each of which are subdivided into twenty-five porticoes; so that the whole square of the Louvre, during that period, represents a fair with a hundred booths. The resemblance, I am told, is rendered still more perfect by the prodigious crowd; persons of all ranks being indiscriminately admitted to view these productions. Precautions, however, are taken to prevent the indiscreet part of the public from rushing into the porticoes, and sentinels are posted at certain intervals to preserve order.

This, undoubtedly, is a very laudable institution, and extremely well calculated to excite emulation in the national manufactures, specimens of which being sent from all the principal manufacturing towns, the hundred porticoes may be said to comprise an epitome of the present state of all the flourishing manufactures of France. Indeed, none but new inventions and articles of finished workmanship, the fabrication of which is known, are suffered to make part of the exhibition. Even these are not admitted till after a previous examination, and on the certificate of a private jury of five members, appointed for that purpose by the prefect of each department. A new jury, composed of fifteen members, nominated by the Minister of the Interior, again examine the different articles admitted; and agreeably to their decision, the government award premiums and medals to those persons who have made the greatest improvement in any particular fabric or branch of industry, or produced any new discovery or invention. The successful candidates are presented to the Chief Consul by the Minister of the Interior, and have the honour of dining with him at his public monthly dinner.

From all that I can learn concerning this interesting exhibition, it appears, that, though the useful arts, in general, cannot at present be put in competition here with those of a similar description among us, the object of the French government is to keep up a spirit of rivalship, and encourage, by every possible means, the improvement of those manufactures in which England is acknowledged to surpass other countries.

I am reminded that it is time to prepare for going out to dinner. I must therefore not leave this letter, like the Louvre, unfinished. Fortunately, my good friend, the prevailing fashion here is to dine very late, which leaves me a long morning; but for this, I know not when I should have an opportunity of writing long letters. Restrain then your impatience, and I promise that you shall very shortly be ushered into the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES,

"Where the smooth chisel all its force has shewn,
And soften'd into flesh the rugged stone."

[Footnote 1]: Essais historiques sur Paris. [Return to text]

[Footnote 2]: It may be necessary to observe that, throughout these letters, we always speak of French feet. The English foot is to the French as 12 to 12.789, or as 4 to 4.263. [Return to text]

[LETTER VII.]

Paris, October 28, 1801.

Having, in my last letter, described to you the outside of the Louvre, (with the exception of the Great Gallery, of which I shall speak more at length in another place), I shall now proceed to give you an account of some of the principal national establishments contained within its walls.

Before the revolution, the Louvre was, as I have said, the seat of different academies, such as the French Academy, the Academy of Sciences, the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres, the Academy of Painting and Sculpture, and the Academy of Architecture. All these are replaced by the National Institute of Arts and Sciences, of which, however, I shall postpone further mention till I conduct you to one of its public sittings.

At the period to which I revert, there existed in the Louvre a hall, called the Salle des Antiques, where, besides, some original statues by French artists, were assembled models in plaster of the most celebrated master-pieces of sculpture in Italy, together with a small number of antiques. In another apartment, forming part of those assigned to the Academy of Painting, and called the Galérie d'Apollon, were seen several pictures, chiefly of the French school; and it was intended that the Great Gallery should be formed into a Museum, containing a collection of the finest pictures and statues at the disposal of the crown.

This plan, which had partly been carried into execution under the old régime, is now completed, but in a manner infinitely more magnificent than could possibly have been effected without the advantages of conquest. The Great Gallery and Saloon of the Louvre are solely appropriated to the exhibition of pictures of the old masters of the Italian, Flemish, and French schools; and the Gallery of Apollo to that of their drawings; while a suite of lofty apartments has been purposely fitted up in this palace for the reception of original antiques, in lieu of those copies of them before-mentioned. In other rooms, adjoining to the Great Gallery, are exhibited, as formerly, that is during one month every year, the productions of living painters, sculptors, architects, and draughtsmen.

These different exhibitions are placed under the superintendance of a board of management, or an administration, (as the French term it), composed of a number of antiquaries, artists, and men of science, inferior to none in Europe in skill, judgment, taste, or erudition. The whole of this grand establishment bears the general title of

CENTRAL MUSEUM OF THE ARTS.

The treasures of painting and sculpture which the French nation have acquired by the success of their arms, or by express conditions in treaties of alliance or neutrality, are so immense as to enable them, not only to render this CENTRAL MUSEUM the grandest collection of master-pieces in the world, but also to establish fifteen departmental Museums in fifteen of the principal towns of France. This measure, evidently intended to favour the progress of the fine arts, will case Paris of a great number of the pictures, statues, &c. amassed here from different parts of France, Germany, Belgium, Holland, Italy, Piedmont, Savoy, and the States of. Venice.

If you cast your eye on the annexed Plan of Paris, and suppose yourself near the exterior south-west angle of the Louvre, or, as it is more emphatically styled, the NATIONAL PALACE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES, you will be in the right-hand corner of the Place du Vieux Louvre, in which quarter is the present entrance to the CENTRAL MUSEUM OF THE ARTS. Here, after passing through a court, you enter a vestibule, on the left of which is the Hall of the Administration of the Museum. On the ground-floor, facing the door of this vestibule, is the entrance to the

GALLERY OF ANTIQUES.

In this gallery, which was, for the first time, opened to the public on the 18th of Brumaire, year ix. of the French republic, (9th of November 1800), are now distributed no less than one hundred and forty-six statues, busts, and bas-reliefs. It consists of several handsome apartments, bearing appropriate denominations, according to the principal subjects which each contains. Six only are at present completely arranged for public inspection: but many others are in a state of preparation.

The greater part of the statues here exhibited, are the fruit of the conquests of the army of Italy. Conformably to the treaty of Tolentino, they were selected at Rome, from the Capitol and the Vatican, by BARTHÉLEMY, BERTHOLET, MOITTE, MONGE, THOUIN, and TINET, who were appointed, by the French government, commissioners for the research of objects appertaining to the Arts and Sciences.

In the vestibule, for the moderate price of fifteen sous, is sold a catalogue, which is not merely a barren index, but a perspicuous and satisfactory explanation of the different objects that strike the eye of the admiring spectator as he traverses the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES. It is by no means my intention to transcribe this catalogue, or to mention every statue; but, assisted by the valuable observations with which I was favoured by the learned antiquary, VISCONTI, long distinguished for his profound knowledge of the fine arts, I shall describe the most remarkable only, and such as would fix the attention of the connoisseur.

On entering the gallery, you might, perhaps, be tempted to stop in the first hall; but we will visit them all in regular succession, and proceed to that which is now the furthest on the left hand. The ceiling of this apartment, painted by ROMANELLI, represents the four seasons; whence it is called the

HALL OF THE SEASONS.

In consequence, among other antiques, here are placed the statues of the rustic divinities, and those relating to the Seasons. Of the whole, I shall distinguish the following:

Diana, habited as a huntress, in a short tunic without sleeves, is holding her bow in one hand; while, with the other, she is drawing an arrow from her quiver, which is suspended at her shoulder. Her legs are bare, and her feet are adorned with rich sandals. The goddess, with a look expressive of indignation, appears to be defending the fabulous hind from the pursuit of Hercules, who, in obedience to the oracle of Apollo, was pursuing it, in order to carry it alive to Eurystheus; a task imposed on him by the latter as one of his twelve labours.

To say that, in the opinion of the first-rate connoisseurs, this statue might serve as a companion to the Apollo of Belvedere, is sufficient to convey an idea of its perfection; and, in fact, it is reckoned the finest representation of Diana in existence. It is of Parian marble, and, according to historians, has been in France ever since the reign of Henry IV. It was the most perfect of the antiques which adorned the Gallery of Versailles. The parts wanting have been recently restored with such skill as to claim particular admiration.

In this bust, the city of Rome is personified as an Amazon. The helmet of the female warrior is adorned with a representation of the she-wolf, suckling the children of Mars.

This antique, of Parian marble, is of a perfect Greek style, and in admirable preservation. It formerly belonged to the Gallery of Richelieu-Castle.

This bronze figure represents a young man seated, who seems employed in extracting a thorn from his left foot.

It is a production of the flourishing period of the art, but, according to appearance, anterior to the reign of Alexander the Great. It partakes a little of the meagre style of the old Greek school; but, at the same time, is finished with astonishing truth, and exhibits a graceful simplicity of expression. In what place it was originally discovered is not known. It was taken from the Capitol, where it was seen in the Palazzo dei Conservatori.

This young faun, with no other covering than a deer's skin thrown over his shoulders, is standing with his legs crossed, and leaning on the trunk of a tree, as if resting himself.

The grace and finished execution that reign throughout this figure, as well as the immense number of copies still existing of it, and all antiques, occasion it to be considered as the copy of the Faun in bronze, (or Satyr as it is termed by the Greeks), of Praxiteles. That statue was so celebrated, that the epithet of περιζοητος, or the famous, became its distinctive appellation throughout Greece.

This Faun is of Pentelic marble: it was found in 1701, near Civita Lavinia, and placed in the Capitol by Benedict XIV.

In this beautiful figure, Ariadne is represented asleep on a rock in the Isle of Naxos, abandoned by the faithless Theseus, and at the moment when Bacchus became enamoured of her, as described by several ancient poets.

It is astonishing how the expression of sleep could be mistaken for that of death, and cause this figure to be called Cleopatra. The serpent on the upper part of the left arm is evidently a bracelet, of that figure which the Greek women called οφιδιον, or the little serpent.

For three successive centuries, this statue of Parian marble constituted one of the principal ornaments of the Belvedere of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II.

This head of Augustus, adorned with the civic crown of oak leaves, is one of the fine portraits of that emperor. It is executed in Parian marble, and comes from Verona, where it was admired in the Bevilacqua cabinet.

On quitting the HALL OF THE SEASONS, we return to that through which we first passed to reach it. This apartment, from being ornamented with the statues of ZENO, TRAJAN, DEMOSTHENES, and PHOCION, is denominated the

HALL OF ILLUSTRIOUS MEN.

It is decorated with eight antique granite pillars brought from Aix-la-Chapelle, where they stood in the nave of the church, which contained the tomb of Charlemagne.

Among the antiques placed in it, I shall particularize

This figure represents the poet, honoured by the Greeks with the title of Prince of the New Comedy, sitting on a hemi-cycle, or semicircular seat, and resting after his literary labours. He is clad in the Grecian tunic and pallium.

The dress of Posidippus, who was reckoned among the Greeks one of the best authors of what was called the New Comedy, is nearly that of Menander, the poet. Like him, he is represented sitting on a hemi-cycle.

These two statues, which are companions, are admirable for the noble simplicity of their execution. They are both of Pentelic marble, and were found in the XVIth century at Rome, in the gardens of the convent of San Lorenzo, on Mount Viminal. After making part of the baths of Olympius, they were placed by Sixtus V. at Negroni, whence they were removed to the Vatican by Pius VI.

Continuing our examination, after leaving the HALL OF ILLUSTRIOUS MEN, we next come to the

HALL OF THE ROMANS.

The ceiling of this hall is ornamented with subjects taken from the Roman history, painted by ROMANELLI; and in it are chiefly assembled such works of sculpture as have a relation to that people.

Among several busts and statues, representing ADRIAN, PUBLIUS CORNELIUS SCIPIO, MARCUS JUNIUS BRUTUS, LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, &c. I shall point out to your notice,

This admirable remnant of a figure seated, though the head, arms, and legs are wanting, represents the apotheosis of Hercules. The lion's skin spread on the rock, and the enormous size of the limbs, leave no doubt as to the subject of the statue. Notwithstanding the muscles are strongly marked, the veins in the body of the hero are suppressed, whence antiquaries have inferred, that the intention of the author was to indicate the very moment of his deification. According to this idea, our countryman FLAXMAN has immortalized himself by restoring a copy of the Torso, and placing Hebe on the left of Hercules, in the act of presenting to him the cup of immortality.

On the rock, where the figure is seated, is the following Greek inscription:

ΑΠΟΛΛωΝΙΟΣ
ΝΕΣΤΟΡΟΣ
ΑΘΗΝΑΙΟΣ
ΕΠΟΙΕΙ.

By which we are informed, that it is the production of APOLLONIUS, the Athenian, the son of Nestor, who, probably, flourished in the time of Pompey the Great.

This valuable antique is of Pentelic marble, and sculptured in a most masterly style. It was found at Rome, near Pompey's theatre, now Campo di Fiore. Julius II. placed it in the garden of the Vatican, where it was long the object of the studies of MICHAEL ANGELO, RAPHAEL, &c. those illustrious geniuses, to whom we are indebted for the improvement of the fine arts. Among artists, it has always been distinguished by the appellation of the Torso of Belvedere.

This figure, represents a barbarian soldier, dying on the field of battle, without surrendering. It is remarkable for truth of imitation, of a choice nature, though not sublime, (because the subject would not admit of it,) and for nobleness of expression, which is evident without affectation.

This statue formerly belonged to the Villa-Ludovisi, whence it was removed to the Museum of the Capitol by Clement XII. It is from the chisel of AGASIAS, a sculptor of Ephesus, who lived 450 years before the Christian era.

This charming figure is rather that of a Muse than of the goddess of agriculture. It is admirable for the ideal beauty of the drapery. She is clad in a tunic; over this is thrown a mantle, the execution of which is so perfect, that, through it, are perceived the knots of the strings which fasten the tunic below the bosom.

It formerly belonged to the Villa-Mattei, on Mount Esquiline; but was taken from the Museum of the Vatican, where it had been placed by Clement XIV.

Hitherto this admirable figure of a Roman orator, with the attributes of Mercury, the god of eloquence, has passed for that of Germanicus, though it is manifestly too old for him. Here we have another model of beautiful elegance of form, though not of an ideal sublimity.

On the shell of a tortoise, at tide foot of the statue, is inscribed in beautiful Greek characters:

ΚΛΕΟΜΕΝΗΣ
ΚΛΕΟΜΕΝΟΥΣ
ΑΘΗΝΑΙΟΣΕ
ΠΟΙΗΣΕΝ.

Whence we learn that it is the production of CLEOMENES, an Athenian artist, mentioned by Pliny, and who flourished towards the end of the Roman republic, about 500 years before Christ. This statue was taken from the Gallery of Versailles, where it had been placed in the reign of Lewis XIV. It formerly belonged to the garden of Sixtus V. at Villa-Montalto, in Rome.

In this monument, Adrian's favourite is represented as having scarcely attained the age of puberty. He is naked, and his attitude has some affinity to that of Mercury. However, his countenance seems to be impressed with that cast of melancholy, by which all his portraits are distinguished: Hence has been applied to him that verse of Virgil on Marcellus;

"Sed frons læta parum, et dejecto lumina vultu"

This beautiful figure, of Carrara marble, is sculptured in a masterly manner. It comes from the Museum of the Capitol, and previously belonged to the collection of Cardinal Alessandro Albani. The fore-arm and left leg are modern.

In this colossal bust of the Bithynian youth, are some peculiarities which call to mind the images of the Egyptian god Harpocrates. It is finely executed in hard Greek marble, and comes from the Museum of the Vatican. As recently as the year 1790, it was dug from the ruins of the Villa-Fede at Tivoli.

But enough for to-day—to-morrow I will resume my pen, and we will complete our survey of the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES.

[LETTER VIII.]

Paris, October 29, 1801.

If the culture of the arts, by promoting industry and increasing commerce, improves civilization, and refines manners, what modern people can boast of such advantages as are now enjoyed by the French nation? While the sciences keep pace with the arts, good taste bids fair to spread, in time, from the capital throughout the country, and to become universal among them. In antiquity, Athens attests the truth of this proposition, by rising, through the same means, above all the cities of Greece; and, in modern times, have we not seen in Florence, become opulent, the darkness of ignorance vanish, like a fog, before the bright rays of knowledge, diffused by the flourishing progress of the arts and sciences?

When I closed my letter yesterday, we had just terminated our examination of the HALL OF THE ROMANS. On the same line with it, the next apartment we reach, taking its name from the celebrated group here placed, is styled the

HALL OF THE LAOCOON.

Here are to be admired four pillars of verde antico, a species of green marble, obtained by the ancients, from the environs of Thessalonica. They were taken from the church of Montmorency, where they decorated the tomb of Anne, the constable of that name. The first three apartments are floored with inlaid oak; but this is paved with beautiful marble.

Of the chefs d'œuvre exhibited in this hall, every person of taste cannot but feel particular gratification in examining the undermentioned;

The pathetic story which forms the subject of this admirable group is known to every classic reader. It is considered as one of the most perfect works that ever came from the chisel; being at once a master-piece of composition, design, and feeling. Any sort of commentary could but weaken the impression which it makes on the beholder.

It was found in 1506, under the pontificate of Julius II, at Rome, on Mount Esquiline, in the ruins of the palace of Titus. The three Rhodian artists, AGESANDER, POLYDORUS, and ATHENOPORUS, mentioned by Pliny, as the sculptors of this chef d'œuvre flourished during the time of the Emperors, in the first century of the Christian era.

The group is composed of five blocks, but joined in so skilful a manner, that Pliny thought them of one single piece. The right arm of the father and two arms of the children are wanting.

This uncommonly beautiful figure of Parian marble represents a woman, whose feminine features and form seem to have contracted the impression of the masculine habits of warfare. Clad in a very fine tunic, which, leaving the left breast exposed, is tucked up on the hips, she is in the act of bending a large bow. No attitude could be better calculated for exhibiting to advantage the finely-modelled person of this heroine.

For two centuries, this statue was at the Villa-Mattei, on Mount Cœlius at Rome, whence it was removed to the Museum of the Vatican by Clement XIV.

The son of Œneus, king of Calydon, with nothing but a chlamis fastened on his shoulders, and winding round his left arm, is here represented resting himself, after having killed the formidable wild boar, which was ravaging his dominions; at his side is the head of the animal, and near him sits his faithful dog.

The beauty of this group is sublime, and yet it is of a different cast, from either that of the Apollo of Belvedere, or that of the Mercury, called Antinoüs, of which we shall presently have occasion to speak.

This group is of Greek marble of a cinereous colour: there are two different traditions respecting the place where it was found; but the preference is given to that of Aldroandi, who affirms that it was discovered in a vineyard bordering on the Tiber. It belonged to Fusconi, physician to Paul III, and was for a long time in the Pighini palace at Rome, whence Clement XIV had it conveyed to the Vatican.

These colossal heads of Bacchantes adorned the entrance of the theatre of the Villa-Adriana at Tivoli. Though the execution of them is highly finished, it is no detriment to the grandeur of the style.

The one is of Pentelic marble; and the other, of Parian. Having been purchased of Count Fede by Pius VI, they were placed in the Museum of the Vatican.

This bust is particularly deserving of attention, on account of its beauty, its excellent preservation, and perfect resemblance to the medals which remain of Adrian's favourite.

It is of Parian marble of the finest quality, and had been in France long before the revolution.

Some sculptors have determined to call this beautiful head that of BACCHUS; while the celebrated VISCONTI, and other distinguished antiquaries, persist in preserving to it its ancient name of ARIADNE, by which it was known in the Museum of the Capitol.

Whichever it may be, it is of Pentelic marble, and unquestionably one of the most sublime productions of the chisel, in point of ideal beauty.

From the HALL OF THE LAOCOON, we pass into the apartment, which, from the famous statue, here erected, and embellished in the most splendid manner, takes the appellation of the

HALL OF THE APOLLO.

This hall is ornamented with four pillars of red oriental granite of the finest quality: those which decorate the niche of the Apollo were taken from the church that contained the tomb of Charlemagne at Aix-la-Chapelle. The floor is paved with different species of scarce and valuable marble, in large compartments, and, in its centre, is placed a large octagonal table of the same substance.

In proportion to the dimensions of this apartment, which is considerably larger than any of the others, a greater number of antiques are here placed, of which the following are the most pre-eminent.

The name alone of this chef d'œuvre might be said to contain its eulogium. But as you may, probably, expect from me some remarks on it, I shall candidly acknowledge that I can do no better than communicate to you the able and interesting description given of it by the Administration of the Museum, of which the following is a fair abridgment.

"Apollo has just discharged the mortal arrow which has struck the serpent Python, while ravaging Delphi. In his left hand is held his formidable bow; his right has but an instant quitted it: all his members still preserve the impression given them by this action. Indignation is seated on his lips; but in his looks is the assurance of success. His hair, slightly curled, floats in long ringlets round his neck, or is gracefully turned up on the crown of his head, which is encircled by the strophium, or fillet, characteristic of kings and gods. His quiver is suspended by a belt to the right shoulder: his feet are adorned with rich sandals. His chlamis fastened on the shoulder, and tucked up only on the left arm, is thrown back, as if to display the majesty of his divine form to greater advantage.

"An eternal youth is spread over all his beautiful figure, a sublime mixture of nobleness and agility, of vigour and elegance, and which holds a happy medium between the delicate form of Bacchus, and the more manly one of Mercury."

This inimitable master-piece is of Carrara marble, and, consequently, was executed by some Greek artist who lived in the time of the Romans; but the name of its author is entirely unknown. The fore-arm and the left hand, which were wanting, were restored by GIOVANNI ANGELO DE MONTORSOLI, a sculptor, who was a pupil of Michael Angelo.

Towards the end of the fifteenth century, it was discovered at Capo d'Anzo, twelve leagues from Rome, on the sea-shore, near the ruins of the ancient Antium. Julius II, when cardinal, purchased this statue, and placed it in his palace; but shortly after, having arrived at the pontificate, he had it conveyed to the Belvedere of the Vatican, where, for three centuries, it was the admiration of the world.

On the 16th of Brumaire, year IX, (7th of November, 1801) BONAPARTE, as First Consul, celebrated, in great pomp, the inauguration of the Apollo; on which occasion he placed between the plinth of the statue, and its pedestal, a brass tablet bearing a suitable inscription.

The Apollo stands facing the entrance-door of the apartment, in an elevated recess, decorated, as I have before observed, with beautiful granite pillars. The flight of steps, leading to this recess, is paved with the rarest marble, inlaid with squares of curious antique mosaic, and on them are placed two Egyptian sphynxes of red oriental granite, taken from the Museum of the Vatican.

This figure of Parian marble represents the goddess of beauty issuing from the bath. Her charms are not concealed by any veil or garment. She is slightly turning her head to the left, as if to smile on the Graces, who are supposed to be preparing to attire her.

In point of execution, this is allowed to be the most beautiful of all the statues of Venus which we have remaining. The Venus of Medicis surpasses it in sublimity of form, approaching nearer to ideal beauty.

Bupalus, a sculptor of the Isle of Scio, is said to have produced this master-piece. He lived 600 years before Christ, so that it has now been in existence upwards of two thousand four hundred years. It was found about the middle of the eighteenth century, near San-Vitale, at Rome. Benedict XIV having purchased it of the Stati family, placed it in the Capitol.

This statue, also of the finest Parian marble, is one of the most beautiful that can be imagined. More robust in form than either that of the Apollo or of the Meleager, it loses nothing by being contemplated after the former. In short, the harmony which reigns between its parts is such, that the celebrated POUSSIN, in preference to every other, always took from it the proportions of the human figure.

It was found at Rome, on Mount Esquiline, under the pontificate of Paul III, who placed it in the Belvedere of the Vatican, near the Apollo and the Laocoon.

In this statue, Antinoüs is represented as a divinity of Egypt. He is standing in the usual attitude of the Egyptian gods, and is naked, with the exception of his head and wrist, which are covered with a species of drapery in imitation of the sacred garments.

This beautiful figure is wrought with superior excellence. It is of white marble, which leads to a conjecture that it might have been intended to represent Orus, the god of light, it having been the custom of the Egyptians to represent all their other divinities in coloured marble. It was discovered in 1738, at Tivoli, in the Villa-Adriana, and taken from the Museum of the Capitol.

To judge from the great number of figures of Antinoüs, sculptured by order of Adrian to perpetuate the memory of that favourite, the emperor's gratitude for him must have been unbounded. Under the form of different divinities, or at different periods of life, there are at present in the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES no less than five portraits of him, besides three statues and two busts. Three other statues of Antinoüs, together with a bust, and an excellent bass-relief, in which he is represented, yet remain to be placed.

The god of wine is here represented standing, and entirely naked. He is leaning carelessly with his left arm on the trunk of an elm, round which winds a grape-vine.

This statue, of the marble called at Rome Greco duro, is reckoned one of the finest extant of the mirth-inspiring deity.

Having surveyed every object deserving of notice in the HALL OF THE APOLLO, we proceed, on the right hand, towards its extremity, and reach the last apartment of the gallery, which, from being consecrated to the tuneful Nine, is called the

HALL OF THE MUSES.

It is paved with curious marble, and independently of the Muses, and their leader, Apollo, here are also assembled the antique portraits of poets and philosophers who have rendered themselves famous by cultivating them. Among these we may perceive HOMER and VIRGIL; but the most remarkable specimen of the art is

In this hermes we have a capital representation of the features of the rival of Sophocles. The countenance is at once noble, serious, and expressive. It bears the stamp of the genius of that celebrated tragic poet, which was naturally sublime and profound, though inclined to the pathetic.

This hermes is executed in Pentelic marble, and was taken from the academy of Mantua.

Since the revival of the arts, the lovers of antiquity have made repeated attempts to form a collection of antique statues of the Muses; but none was ever so complete as that assembled in the Museum of the Vatican by Pius VI, and which the chance of war has now transferred to the banks of the Seine. Here the bard may offer up to them a solemn invocation, and compose his lay, as it were, under their very eyes.

The statues of CLIO, THALIA, TERPSICHORE, ERATO, POLYHYMNIA, and CALLIOPE, together with the APOLLO MUSAGETES, were discovered in 1774, at Tivoli, among the ruins of the villa of Cassius. To complete the number, Pius VI obtained the EUTERPE and the URANIA from the Lancellotti palace at Veletri. They are supposed to be antique copies of the statues of the Nine Muses by Philiscus, which, according to Pliny, graced the portico of Octavia.

The air of grandeur that reigns in the general arrangement of the gallery is very striking: and the tasteful and judicious distribution of this matchless assemblage of antiques does great honour to the Council of the CENTRAL MUSEUM. Among the riches which Rome possessed, the French commissioners also, by their choice selection, have manifested the depth of their knowledge, and the justness of their discrimination.

The alterations and embellishments made in the different apartments of the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES have been executed under the immediate direction of their author, M. RAYMOND, member of the National Institute, and architect to the NATIONAL PALACE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. In winter, the apartments are kept warm by means of flues, which diffuse a genial vapour. Here, without the expense of a single liard, the young draughtsman may form his taste by studying the true antique models of Grecian sculpture; the more experienced artist may consult them as he finds occasion in the composition of his subjects; while the connoisseur, the amateur, or the simple observer may spend many an agreeable hour in contemplating these master-pieces which, for centuries, have inspired universal admiration.

These are the materials on which Genius ought to work, and without which the most promising talent may be greatly misapplied, if not entirely lost. It was by studying closely these correct models, that the great MICHAEL ANGELO, the, sublime RAPHAEL, and other eminent masters, acquired that idea of excellence which is the result of the accumulated experience of successive ages. Here, in one visit, the student may imbibe those principles to ascertain which many artists have consumed the best part of their days; and penetrated by their effect, he is spared the laborious investigation by which they came to be known and established. It is unnecessary to expatiate on the advantages which the fine arts may expect to derive from such a repository of antiques in a capital so centrical as Paris. The contemplation of them cannot fail to fire the genius of any artist of taste, and prompt his efforts towards the attainment of that grand style, which, disdaining the minute accidental particularities of individual objects, improves partial representation by the general and invariable ideas of nature.

A vast collection of antiquities of every description is still expected from Italy, among which are the Venus of Medicis and the Pallas of Veletri, a finely-preserved statue, classed by artists among those of the first rank, dug up at Veletri in 1799, in consequence of the researches made there by order of the French commissioners. Upwards of five hundred cases were lying on the banks of the Tiber, at Rome, ready to be sent off to France, when the Neapolitans entered that city. They carried them all away: but by the last article of the treaty of peace with the king of Naples, the whole of them are to be restored to the French Republic. For the purpose of verifying their condition, and taking measures for their conveyance to Paris, two commissioners have been dispatched to Italy: one is the son of CHAPTAL, Minister of the Interior, and the other is DUFOURNY, the architect. On the arrival of these cases, even after the fifteen departmental Museums have been supplied, it is asserted that there will yet remain in the French capital, antiquities in sufficient number to form a museum almost from Paris to Versailles.

The CENTRAL MUSEUM OF THE ARTS is open to the public in general on the 8th, 9th, and 10th of each decade;[[1]] the other days are appropriated to the study of young pupils; but a foreigner has only to produce his permis de séjour to gain admission gratis every day from the hour of ten o'clock to four. To the credit of the nation, I must observe that this exception in favour of foreigners excites no jealousy whatever.

It is no more than a justice due to the liberality of the French republican government to add, that they set a noble example which is worthy of being followed, not only in England, but in every other country, where the arts and sciences are honoured, or the general interests of mankind held in estimation. From persons visiting any national establishment, whether museum, library, cabinet, or garden, in this capital, no sort of fee or perquisite is now expected, or allowed to be taken. Although it was not a public day when I paid my first visit to the CENTRAL MUSEUM, no sooner did I shew my permis de séjour, than the doors were thrown open; and from M. VISCONTI, and other members of the Council, who happened to be present, I experienced the most polite and obliging attention. As an Englishman, I confess that I felt a degree of shame on reflecting to what pitiful exaction a foreigner would be subject, who might casually visit any public object of curiosity in our metropolis.

[Footnote 1]: By a subsequent regulation, Saturday and Sunday are the days on which the CENTRAL MUSEUM is open to public inspection. [Return to text]

[LETTER IX.]

Paris, October 31, 1801.

In answer to your question, I shall begin by informing you that I have not set eyes on the petit caporal, as some affect to style the Chief Consul. He spends much of his time, I am told, at Malmaison, his country-seat; and seldom appears in public, except in his box at the Opera, or at the French theatre; but at the grand monthly parade, I shall be certain to behold him, on the 15th of the present month of Brumaire, according to the republican calendar, which day answers to the 6th of November. I have therefore to check my impatience for a week longer.

However, if I have not yet seen BONAPARTE himself, I have at least seen a person who has seen him, and will take care that I shall have an opportunity of seeing him too: this person is no less than a general—who accompanied him in his expedition to Egypt—who was among the chosen few that returned with him from that country—who there surveyed the mouths of the Nile—who served under him in the famous campaign of Syria; and who at this day is one of the first military engineers in Europe. In a word, it is General A----y, of the artillery, at present Director of that scientific establishment, called the DÉPÔT DE LA GUERRE. He invited me the day before yesterday to breakfast, with a view of meeting some of his friends whom he had purposely assembled.

I am not fond of breakfasting from home; mais il faut vivre à Rome comme à Rome. Between ten and eleven o'clock I reached the Dépôt, which is situated in the Rue de l'Université, Faubourg St, Germain, at the ci-devant Hôtel d'Harcourt, formerly belonging to the duke of that name. Passing through the gate-way, I was proceeding boldly to the principal entrance of the hotel, when a sentinel stopped me short by charging his bayonet. "Citizen," said he fiercely, at the same time pointing to the lodge on the right, "you must speak to the porter." I accordingly obeyed the mandate. "What's your business, citizen?" inquired the porter gruffly.—"My business, citizen," replied I, "is only to breakfast with the general."—"Be so good, citizen," rejoined he in a milder tone, "as to take the trouble to ascend the grand stair-case, and ring the bell on the first-floor."

Being introduced into the general's apartments, I there found eight or ten persons of very intelligent aspect, seated at a round table, loaded with all sorts of good things, but, in my mind, better calculated for dinner than breakfast. Among a great variety of delicacies, were beef-steaks, or, as they are here termed, bif-ticks à l'Anglaise. Oysters too were not forgotten: indeed, they compose an essential part of a French breakfast; and the ladies seem particularly partial to them, I suppose, because they are esteemed strengthening to a delicate constitution.

Nothing could be more pleasant than this party. Most of the guests were distinguished literati, or military men of no ordinary stamp. One of the latter, a chef de brigade of engineers, near whom I considered myself fortunate in being placed, spoke to me in the highest terms of Mr. SPENCER SMITH, Sir Sidney's brother, to whose interference at Constantinople, he was indebted for his release from a Turkish prison.

Notwithstanding the continual clatter of knives and forks, and the occasional gingle of glasses, the conversation, which suffered no interruption, was to me extremely interesting: I never heard any men express opinions more liberal on every subject that was started. It was particularly gratifying to my feelings, as an Englishman, to hear a set of French gentlemen, some of whom had participated in the sort of disgrace attached to the raising of the siege of St. Jean d'Acre, generously bestow just encomiums on my brother-officer, to whose heroism they owed their failure. Addison, I think, says, somewhere in the Spectator, that national prejudice is a laudable partiality; but, however laudable it may be to indulge such a partiality, it ought not to render us blind to the merit of individuals of a rival nation.

General A----y, being one of those whose talents have been found too useful to the State to be suffered to remain in inaction, was obliged to attend at the Conseil des Mines soon after twelve o'clock, when the party separated. Just as I was taking leave, he did me the favour to put into my hand a copy of his Histoire du Canal du Midi, of which I shall say more when I have had leisure to peruse it.

I do not know that a man in good health, who takes regular exercise, is the worse for breakfasting on a beef-steak, in the long-exploded style of Queen Bess; but I am no advocate for all the accessories of a French déjeûner à la fourchette. The strong Mocha coffee which I swallowed, could not check the more powerful effect of the Madeira and crème de rose. I therefore determined on taking a long walk, which, when saddle-horses are not to be procured, I have always found the best remedy for the kind of restlessness created by such a breakfast.

I accordingly directed my steps across the Pont & Place de la Concorde, traversed the street of the same name; and, following the Boulevard for a certain distance, struck off to the left, that is, towards the north, in order to gain the summit of

MONTMARTRE.

In ancient times, there stood on this hill a temple dedicated to Mars, whence the name Mons Martis, of which has been made Montmartre. At the foot of it, was the Campus Martius, or Champ de Mars, where the French kings of the first race caused their throne to be erected every year on the first of May. They came hither in a car, decorated with green boughs and flowers, and drawn by four oxen. Such, indeed, was the town-equipage of king DAGOBERT.

"Quatre bœufs attelés, d'un pas tranquil et lent,
Promenaient dans Paris le monarque indolent."

Having seated themselves on the throne, they gave a public audience to the people, at the same time giving and receiving presents, which were called estrennes. Hence annual presents were afterwards termed étrennes, and this gave rise to the custom of making them.

On this hill too fell the head of Διονυσιος or St. Denis; and in latter times, this was the spot chosen by the Marshal DE BROGLIE, who commanded the thirty-five thousand troops by which the French capital was surrounded in May 1789, for checking the spirit of the turbulent Parisians, by battering their houses' about their ears, and burying them under the ruins.

On the summit of Montmartre, is a circular terrace, in the centre of which stands a windmill, and not far from it, are several others. Round its brow are several maisonettes, or little country boxes, and also some public gardens with bowers, where lovers often regale their mistresses. Hence you command a full view of the city of Paris. You behold roof rising above roof; and the churches towering above the houses have, at this distance, somewhat the appearance of lofty chimnies. You look down on the capital as far as the Seine, by which it is intersected: beyond that river, the surface of the land rises again in the form of an amphitheatre. On all sides, the prospect is bounded by eminences of various degrees of elevation, over which, as well as over the plains, and along the banks of the river, are scattered villas, windmills, country-seats, hamlets, villages, and coppices; but, from want of enclosures, the circumjacent country has not that rich and variegated aspect which delights the eye in our English rural scenery. This was always one of my favourite walks during my residence in Paris before the revolution; and I doubt not, when you visit the French capital, that you will have the curiosity to scale the heights of Montmartre.

As to the theatres, concerning which you interrogate me, I shall defer entering into any particular detail of them, till I have made myself fully acquainted with the attractions of each: this mode of proceeding will not occasion any material delay, as I generally visit one of them every evening, but always endeavour to go to that house where the best performers are to be seen, in their best characters, and in the best pieces. I mention this, in order that you may not think me inattentive to your request, by having hitherto omitted to point out to you the difference between the theatrical amusements here under the monarchy, and those of the republic.

The thèâtre des arts or grand French opera, the opera buffa or Italian comic opera, the théâtre Feydeau or French comic opera, and the théâtre Français, chiefly engage my attention. Yesterday evening I went to the last-mentioned theatre purposely to see Mademoiselle CONTAT, who played in both pieces. The first was Les Femmes Savantes, a comedy, in which Molière, wishing to aim a blow at female pedantry, has, perhaps, checked, in some French women, a desire for improvement; the second was La fausse Agnès, a laughable afterpiece. Notwithstanding the enormous embonpoint which this celebrated comic actress has acquired since I saw her last on the Parisian stage upwards of ten years ago, she acquitted herself with her accustomed excellence. I happened to sit next to a very warm admirer of her superior talents, who told me that, bulky as she was become, he had been highly gratified in seeing her perform at Rouen not long since, in her favourite character of Roxalane, in Les Trois Sultanes. "She was much applauded, no doubt." observed I.—"Not at all," replied he, "for the crowd was so great, that in no part of the house was it possible for a man to use his hands."

[a]LETTER X.]

Paris, November 2, 1801.

On reaching Paris, every person, whether Jew or Gentile, foreigner or not, coming from any department of the republic, except that of La Seine, in which the capital is situated, is now bound to make his appearance at the Préfecture de Police.

The new-comer, accompanied by two housekeepers, first repairs to the Police-office of the arrondissement, or district, in which he has taken up his residence, where he delivers his travelling passport; in lieu of which he receives a sort of certificate, and then he shews himself at the Préfecture de Police, or General Police-office, at present established in the Cité.

Here, his name and quality, together with a minute description of his person and his place of abode, are inserted in a register kept for that purpose, to which he puts his signature; and a printed paper, commonly called a permis de séjour, is given to him, containing a duplicate of all these matters, filled up in the blanks, which he also signs himself. It is intended that he should always carry this paper about him, in order that he may produce it when called on, or, in case of necessity, for verifying his person, on any particular occasion, such as passing by a guard-house on foot after eleven o'clock at night, or being unexpectedly involved in any affray. In a word, it answers to a stranger the same end as a carte de sureté, or ticket of safety, does to an inhabitant of Paris.

I accordingly went through this indispensable ceremony in due form on my arrival here; but, having neglected to read a nota bene in the margin of the permis de séjour, I had not been ten hours in my new apartments before I received a visit from an Inspector of Police of the arrondissement, who, very civilly reminding me of the omission, told me that I need not give myself the trouble of going to the Central Police-office, as he would report my removal. However, being determined to be strictly en règle, I went thither myself to cause my new residence to be inserted in the paper.

I should not have dwelt on the circumstance, were it not to shew you the precision observed in the administration of the police of this great city.

Under the old régime, every master of a ready-furnished hotel was obliged to keep a register, in which he inserted the name and quality of his lodgers for the inspection of the police-officers whenever they came: this regulation is not only strictly adhered to at present; but every person in Paris, who receives a stranger under his roof as an inmate, is bound, under penalty of a fine, to report him to the police, which is most vigilantly administered by Citizen FOUCHÉ.

Last night, not being in time to find good places at the Théâtre des Arts, or Grand French Opera, I went to the Théâtre Louvois, which is within a few paces of it, in hopes of being more successful. I shall not at present attempt to describe the house, as, from my arriving late, I was too ill accommodated to be able to view it to advantage.

However, I was well seated for seeing the performance. It consisted of three petites pièces: namely, Une heure d'absence, La petite ville, and Le café d'une petite ville. The first was entertaining; but the second much more so; and though the third cannot claim the merit of being well put together, I shall say a few words of it, as it is a production in honour of peace, and on that score alone, would, at this juncture, deserve notice.

After a few scenes somewhat languid, interspersed with common-place, and speeches of no great humour, a dénouement, by no means interesting, promised not to compensate the audience for their patience. But the author of the Café d'une petite ville, having eased himself of this burden, revealed his motive, and took them on their weak side, by making a strong appeal to French enthusiasm. This cord being adroitly struck, his warmth became communicative, and animating the actors, good humor did the rest. The accessories were infinitely more interesting than the main subject. An allemande, gracefully danced by two damsels and a hero, in the character of a French hussar, returned home from the fatigues of war and battle, was much applauded; and a Gascoon poet, who declares that, for once in his life, he is resolved to speak truth, was loudly encored in the following couplets, adapted to the well-known air of "Gai, le cœur à la danse."

"Celui qui nous donne la paix,
Comme il fit bien la guerre!
Sur lui déjà force conplets....
Mai il en reste à faire:
Au diable nous nous donnions,
Il revient, nous respirons....
Il fait changer la danse;
Par lui chez nous plus de discord;
Il regle la cadence,
Et nous voilà d'accord."

True it is, that BONAPARTE, as principal ballet-master, has changed the dance of the whole nation; he regulates their step to the measure of his own music, and discord is mute at the moment: but the question is, whether the French are bona-fide d'accord, (as the Gascoon affirms,) that is, perfectly reconciled to the new tune and figure? Let us, however, keep out of this maze; were we to enter it, we might remain bewildered there, perhaps, till old Father Time came to extricate us.

The morning is inviting: suppose we take a turn in the Tuileries, not with a view of surveying this garden, but merely to breathe the fresh air, and examine the

PALAIS DU GOUVERNEMENT.

Since the Chief Consul has made it his town-residence, this is the new denomination given to the Palais des Tuileries, thus called, because a tile-kiln formerly stood on the site where it is erected. At that time, this part of Paris was not comprised within its walls, nothing was to be seen here, in the vicinity of the tile-kiln, but a few coppices and scattered habitations.

Catherine de Medicis, wishing to enlarge the capital on this side, visited the spot, and liking the situation, directed PHILIBERT DE L'ORME and JEAN BULLAN, two celebrated French architects, to present her with a plan, from which the construction of this palace was begun in May 1564. At first, it consisted only of the large square pavilion in the centre of the two piles of building, which have each a terrace towards the garden, and of the two pavilions by which they are terminated.

Henry IV enlarged the original building, and, in 1600, began the grand gallery which joins it to the Louvre, from the plan of DU CERCEAU. Lewis XIII made some alterations in the palace; and in 1664, exactly a century from the date of its construction being begun, Lewis XIV directed LOUIS DE VEAU to finish it, by making the additions and embellishments which have brought it to its present state. These deviations from the first plan have destroyed the proportions required by the strict rules of art; but this defect would, probably, be overlooked by those who are not connoisseurs, as the architecture, though variously blended, presents, at first sight, an ensemble which is magnificent and striking.

The whole front of the palace of the Tuileries consists of five pavilions, connected by four piles of building, standing on the same line, and extending for the space of one thousand and eleven feet. The first order of the three middle piles is Ionic, with encircled columns. The two adjoining pavilions are also ornamented with Ionic pillars; but fluted, and embellished with foliage, from the third of their height to the summit. The second order of these two pavilions is Corinthian. The two piles of building, which come next, as well as the two pavilions of the wings, are of a Composite order with fluted pillars. From a tall iron spindle, placed on the pinnacle of each of the three principal pavilions is now seen floating a horizontal tri-coloured streamer. Till the improvements made by Lewis XIV, the large centre pavilion had been decorated with the Ionic and Corinthian orders only, to these was added the Composite.

On the façade towards the Place du Carrousel, the pillars of all these orders are of brown and red marble. Here may be observed the marks of several cannon-balls, beneath each of which is inscribed, in black, 10 AOÛT.

This tenth of August 1792, a day ever memorable in the history of France, has furnished many an able writer with the subject of an episode; but, I believe, few of them were, any more than myself, actors in that dreadful scene. While I was intently remarking the particular impression of a shot which struck the edge of one of the casements of the first floor of the palace, my valet de place came up to know at which door I would have the carriage remain in waiting.

On turning round, I fancied I beheld the man who "drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night." That messenger, I am sure, could not have presented a visage more pale, more spiritless than my Helvetian. Recollecting that he had served in the Swiss guards, I was the less at a loss to account for his extreme agitation. "In what part of the château were you, Jean," said I, "when these balls were aimed at the windows?"----"There was my post," replied he, recovering himself, and pointing to one of the centre casements.—"Is it true," continued I, "that, by way of feigning a reconciliation, you threw down cartridges by handfuls to the Marseillese below, and called out; vive la nation?"----"It is but too true," answered Jean; "we then availed ourselves of the moment when they advanced under the persuasion that they were to become our friends, and opened on them a tremendous fire, by which we covered the place with dead and dying. But we became victims of our own treachery: for our ammunition being, by this ruse de guerre, the sooner expended, we presently had no resource left but the bayonet, by which we could not prevent the mob from closing on us."—"And how did you contrive to escape," said I?—"Having thrown away my Swiss uniform," replied he, "in the general confusion, I fortunately possessed myself of the coat of a national volunteer, which he had taken off on account of the hot weather. This garment, bespattered with blood, I instantly put on, as well as his hat with a tri-coloured cockade."—"This disguise saved your life," interrupted I.—"Yes, indeed;" rejoined he. "Having got down to the vestibule, I could not find a passage into the garden; and, to prevent suspicion, I at once mixed with the mob on the place where we are now standing."—"How did you get off at last," said I?—"I was obliged," answered he, "to shout and swear with the poissardes, while the heads of many of my comrades were thrown out of the windows."—"The poissardes," added I, "set no bounds to their cruelty?"—"No," replied he, "I expected every moment to feel its effects; my disguise alone favoured my escape: on the dead bodies of my countrymen they practised every species of mutilation." Here Jean drew a picture of a nature too horrid to be committed to paper. My pen could not trace it.----In a word, nothing could exceed the ferocity of the infuriate populace; and the sacking of the palace of the Trojan king presents but a faint image of what passed here on the day which overset the throne of the Bourbons.

According to a calculation, founded as well on the reports of the police as on the returns of the military corps, it appears that the number of men killed in the attack of the palace of the Tuileries on the 10th of August 1792, amounted in the whole to very near six thousand, of whom eight hundred and fifty-two were on the side of the besieged, and three thousand seven hundred and forty on the side of the besiegers.

The interior of this palace is not distinguished by any particular style of architecture, the kings who have resided here having made such frequent alterations, that the distribution throughout is very different from that which was at first intended. Here it was that Catherine de Medicis shut herself up with the Guises, the Gondis, and Birague, the chancellor, in order to plan the horrible massacre of that portion of the French nation whose religious tenets trenched on papal power, and whose spirit of independence alarmed regal jealousy.

Among the series of entertainments, given on the marriage of the king of Navarre with Marguerite de Valois, was introduced a ballet, in which the papists, commanded by Charles IX and his brothers, defended paradise against the huguenots, who, with Navarre at their head, were all repulsed and driven into hell. Although this pantomime, solely invented by Catherine, was evidently meant as a prelude to the dreadful proscription which awaited the protestants, they had no suspicion of it; and four days after, was consummated the massacre, where that monster to whom nature had given the form of a woman, feasted her eyes on the mangled corpses of thousands of bleeding victims!

No sooner was the Pope informed of the horrors of St. Bartholemew's day; by the receipt of Admiral de Coligny's head which Catherine embalmed and sent to him, than he ordered a solemn procession, by way of returning thanks to heaven for the happy event. The account of this procession so exasperated a gentlemen of Anjou, a protestant of the name of Bressaut de la Rouvraye, that he swore he would make eunuchs of all the monks who should fall into his hands; and he rendered himself famous by keeping his word, and wearing the trophies of his victory.

The Louvre and the palace of the Tuileries were alternately the residence of the kings of France, till Lewis XIV built that of Versailles, after which it was deserted till the minority of Lewis XV, who, when a little boy, was visited here by Peter the Great, but, in 1722, the court quitted Paris altogether for Versailles, where it continued fixed till the 5th of October 1789.

During this long interval, the palace was left under the direction of a governor, and inhabited only by himself, and persons of various ranks dependent on the bounty of the crown. When Lewis XVI and his family were brought hither at that period, the two wings alone were in proper order; the remainder consisted of spacious apartments appointed for the king's reception when he came occasionally to Paris, and ornamented with stately, old-fashioned furniture, which had not been deranged for years. The first night of their arrival, they slept in temporary beds, and on the king being solicited the next day to choose his apartments, he replied: "Let everyone shift for himself; for my part, I am very well where I am." But this fit of ill-humor being over, the king and queen visited every part of the palace, assigning particular rooms to each person of their suite, and giving directions for sundry repairs and alterations.

Versailles was unfurnished, and the vast quantity of furniture collected in that palace, during three successive reigns, was transported to the Tuileries for their majesties' accommodation. The king chose for himself three rooms on the ground-floor, on the side of the gallery to the right as you enter the vestibule from the garden; on the entresol, he established his geographical study; and on the first floor, his bed-chamber: the apartments of the queen and royal family were adjoining to those of the king; and the attendants were distributed over the palace to the number of between six and seven hundred persons.

The greater part of the furniture, &c. in the palace of the Tuileries was sold in the spring of 1793. The sale lasted six months, and, had it not been stopped, would have continued six months longer. Some of the king's dress-suits which had cost twelve hundred louis fetched no more than five. By the inventory taken immediately after the 10th of August 1792, and laid before the Legislative Assembly, it appears that the moveables of every description contained in this palace were valued at 12,540,158 livres (circa £522,560 sterling,) in which was included the amount of the thefts, committed on that day, estimated at 1,000,000 livres, and that of the dilapidations, at the like sum, making together about £84,000 sterling.

When Catherine de Medicis inhabited the palace of the Tuileries, it was connected to the Louvre by a garden, in the middle of which was a large pond, always well stocked with fish for the supply of the royal table. Lewis XIV transformed this garden into a spacious square or place, where in the year 1662, he gave to the queen dowager and his royal consort a magnificent fête, at which, were assembled princes, lords, and knights, with their ladies, from every part of Europe. Hence the square was named

PLACE DU CARROUSEL.

Previously to the revolution, the palace of the Tuileries, on this side, was defended by a wall, pierced by three gates opening into as many courts, separated by little buildings, which, in part, served for lodging a few troops and their horses. All these buildings are taken down; the Place du Carrousel is considerably enlarged by the demolition of various circumjacent edifices; and the wall is replaced by a handsome iron railing, fixed on a parapet about four feet high. In this railing are three gates, the centre one of which is surmounted by cocks, holding in their beak a civic crown over the letters R. F. the initials of the words République Française. On each side of it are small lodges, built of stone; and at the entrance are constantly posted two vedettes, belonging to the horse-grenadiers of the consular guard.

On the piers of the other two gates are placed the four famous horses of gilt bronze, brought from St. Mark's place at Venice, whither they had been carried after the capture of Byzantium. These productions are generally ascribed to the celebrated Lysippus, who flourished in the reign of Alexander the Great, about 325 years before the christian era; though this opinion is questioned by some distguished antiquaries and artists. Whoever may be the sculptor, their destiny is of a nature to fix attention, as their removal has always been the consequence of a political revolution. After, the conquest of Greece by the Romans, they were transported from Corinth to Rome, for the purpose of adorning the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus. Hence they were removed to Byzantium, when that city became the seat of the eastern empire. From Byzantium, they were conveyed to Venice, and from Venice they have at last reached Paris.

As on the plain of Pharsalia the fate of Rome was decided by Cæsar's triumph over Pompey, so on the Place du Carrousel the fate of France by the triumph of the Convention over Robespierre and his satellites. Here, Henriot, one of his most devoted creatures, whom he had raised to the situation of commandant general of the Parisian guard, after having been carried prisoner before the Committee of Public Safety, then sitting in the palace of the Tuileries, was released by Coffinhal, the President of the Revolutionary Tribunal, who suddenly made his appearance at the head of a large body of horse and foot, supported by four pieces of cannon served by gunners the most devoted to Robespierre.

It was half past seven o'clock in the evening, where Coffinhal, decorated with his municipal scarf, presented himself before the Committee: all the members thought themselves lost, and their fright communicating to the very bosom of the Convention, there spread confusion and terror. But Coffinhal's presence of mind was not equal to his courage: he availed himself only in part of his advantage. After having, without the slightest resistance, disarmed the guards attached to the Convention, he loosened the fettered hands of Henriot and his aides-de-camp, and conducted them straight to the Maison Commune.

It is an incontestable fact that had either Coffinhal or Henriot imitated the conduct of Cromwell in regard to the Levellers, and marched at the head of their troops into the hall of the Convention, he might have carried all before him, and Robespierre's tyranny would have been henceforth established on a basis not to be shaken.

But, when Henriot soon after appeared on the Place du Carrousel, with his staff and a number of followers, he in vain endeavoured by haranguing the people to stir them up to act against the Convention; his voice was drowned in tumultuous clamours, and he was deserted by his hitherto-faithful gunners. The Convention had had time to recover from their panic, and to enlighten the Sections. Henriot was outlawed by that assembly, and, totally disconcerted by this news, he fled for refuge to the Maison Commune, where Robespierre and all his accomplices were soon surrounded, and fell into the hands of those whom but an instant before, they had proscribed as conspirators deserving of the most exemplary punishment.

Henriot, confused and terrified, sought his safety in flight, and was stealing along one of the galleries of the Maison Commune when he met Coffinhal, who was also flying. At the sight of Henriot, who on coming from the Committee, had pledged his life on the success of his measures, Coffinhal was unable to check his rage. "Coward!" said he to him, "to this then has led your certain means of defence! Scoundrel! you shall not escape the death you are endeavouring to avoid!" Saying these words, he seized Henriot by the middle, and threw him out of a window of the second story of the Maison Commune. Henriot falling on the roof of a building in a narrow street adjoining, was not killed; but he had scarcely recovered himself before he was recognized by some soldiers in quest of him: he then crawled into a sewer, close to the spot where he had fallen; when a soldier thrusting his bayonet into the sewer, put out one of his eyes, and forced him to surrender.

Thus, the destiny of France, as is seen, hung by the thread of the moment. It will be recollected that Henriot had the arsenal at his disposal; he commanded the Parisian guard, and six thousand men encamped on the Plaine des Sablons, close to the capital: in a word, all the springs of the public force were in his hands. Had he seized the critical minute, and attacked the Convention at the instant of his release, the scene of the 10th of August would have been renewed, and the Place du Carrousel again stained with the blood of thousands.

[LETTER XI.]

Paris, November 5, 1801.

I rise much later to-day than usual, in consequence of not having gone to bed till near seven o'clock this morning. Happening to call yesterday on a French lady of my acquaintance, I perceived some preparations which announced that she expected company. She did not leave me long in suspense, but invited me to her party for that evening.

This good lady, who is no longer in the flower of her age, was still in bed, though it was four o'clock when I paid my visit. On expressing my fears that she was indisposed, she assured me of the contrary, at the same time adding that she seldom rose till five in the afternoon, on account of her being under the necessity of keeping late hours. I was so struck by the expression, that I did not hesitate to ask her what was the necessity which compelled her to make a practice of turning day into night? She very courteously gave me a complete solution of this enigma, of which the following is the substance.

"During the reign of terror," said she, "several of us ci-devant noblesse lost our nearest relatives, and with them our property, which was either confiscated, or put under sequestration, so that we were absolutely threatened by famine. When the prisoners were massacred in September 1792, I left nothing unattempted to save the life of my uncle and grandfather, who were both in confinement in the Abbaye. All my efforts were unavailing. My interference served only to exasperate their murderers and contributed, I fear, to accelerate their death, which it was my misfortune to witness. Their inhuman butchers, from whom I had patiently borne every species of insult, went so far as to present to me, on the end of a pike, a human heart, which had the appearance of having been broiled on the embers, assuring me that, as it was the heart of my uncle, I might eat it with safety."—Here an ejaculation, involuntarily escaping me, interrupted her for a moment.

"For my part," continued she, "I was so overwhelmed by a conflict of rage, despair, and grief, that I scarcely retained the use of my senses. The excess of my horror deprived me of utterance.—What little I was able to save from the wreck of my fortune, not affording me sufficient means of subsistence, I was, however reluctantly, at length compelled to adopt a plan of life, by which I saw other women, in my forlorn situation, support a decent appearance. I therefore hired suitable apartments, and twice in each decade, I receive company. On one of these two nights I give a ball and supper, and on the other, under the name of société, I have cards only.

"Having a numerous circle of female acquaintance," concluded she, "my balls are generally well attended: those who are not fond of dancing, play at the bouillotte; and the card-money defrays the expenses of the entertainment, leaving me a handsome profit. In short, these six parties, during the month, enable me to pay my rent, and produce me a tolerable pittance."

This meloncholy recital affected me so much, that, on its being terminated, I was unable to speak; but I have reason to think that a favourable construction was put on my silence. A volume, of the size of a family bible, would not be sufficient to display half the contrasts engendered by the revolution. Many a Marquise has been obliged to turn sempstress, in order to gain a livelihood; but my friend the Comtesse had much ready wit, though no talents of that description. Having soothed her mind by venting a few imprecations against the murderers of her departed relatives, she informed me that her company began to assemble between the hours of eleven and twelve, and begged that I would not fail to come to her

PRIVATE BALL.

About twelve o'clock, I accordingly went thither, as I had promised, when I found the rooms perfectly crowded. Among a number of very agreeable ladies, several were to be distinguished for the elegance of their figure, though there were no more than three remarkable for beauty. These terrestrial divinities would not only have embarrassed the Grand Signior for a preference, but even have distracted the choice of the Idalian shepherd himself. The dancing was already begun to an excellent band of music, led by Citizen JULIEN, a mulatto, esteemed the first player of country-dances in Paris. Of the dancers, some of the women really astonished me by the ease and gracefulness of their movements: steps, which are known to be the most difficult, seemed to cost them not the smallest exertion. Famous as they have ever been for dancing, they seem now, in Cibber's words, "to outdo their usual outdoings."

In former times, an extraordinary degree of curiosity was excited by any female who excelled in this pleasing accomplishment. I remember to have read that Don Juan of Austria, governor of the Low Countries, set out post from Brussels, and came to Paris incog. on purpose to see Marguerite de Valois dance at a dress-ball, this princess being reckoned, at that time, the best dancer in Europe. What then would be the admiration of such an amateur, could he now behold the perfection attained here by some of the beauties of the present day?

The men, doubtless, determined to vie with the women, seemed to pride themselves more on agility than grace, and, by attempting whatever required extraordinary effort, reminded me of figurans on the stage, so much have the Parisian youth adopted a truly theatrical style of dancing.

The French country-dances (or cotilions, as we term them in England) and waltzes, which are as much in vogue here as in Germany, were regularly interchanged. However, the Parisians, in my opinion, cannot come up to the Germans in this, their native dance. I should have wished to have had Lavater by my side, and heard his opinion of the characters of the different female waltzers. It is a very curious and interesting spectacle to see one woman assume a languishing air, another a vacant smile, a third an aspect of stoical indifference; while a fourth seems lost in a voluptuous trance, a fifth captivates by an amiable modesty, a sixth affects the cold insensibility of a statue, and so on in ever-varying succession, though all turning to the animating changes of the same lively waltz. In short I observed that, in this species of dance, the eyes and feet of almost every woman appeared to be constantly at variance.

Without assuming the part of a moralist, I cannot help thinking that Werter was not altogether in the wrong when he swore, that, were it to cost him his life, no woman on whom he had set his affections, should ever waltz with any one but himself. I am not singular in this opinion; for I recollect to have met with the same ideas in a book written by M. JACOBI, I think, a German author.

Speaking of the waltz, "We either ought," says he, "not to boast so much of the propriety of our manners, or else not suffer that our wives and daughters, in a complete delirium, softly pressed in the arms of men, bosom to bosom, should thus be hurried away by the sound of intoxicating music. In this whirligig dance, every one seems to forget the rules of decorum; and though an innocent, young creature, exposed in this manner, were to remain pure and spotless, can she, without horror, reflect that she becomes, the sport of the imagination of the licentious youths to whom she so abandons herself? It were to be wished," adds he, "that our damsels (I mean those who preserve any vestige of bashfulness), might, concealed in a private corner, hear sometimes the conversation of those very men to whom they yield themselves with so little reserve and caution."

To the best of my recollection, these are the sentiments of M. JACOBI, expressed twelve or fourteen years ago; yet I do not find that the waltz is discontinued, or even less practised, in Germany, than it was at the time when his work first appeared. This dance, like every other French fashion, has now found its way into England, and is introduced between the acts, by way of interlude I presume, at some of our grand private balls and assemblies. But, however I may be amused by the waltzing of the Parisian belles, I feel too much regard for my fair country-women to wish to see them adopt a dance, which, by throwing them off their guard, lays them completely open to the shafts of ridicule and malice.

Leaving this point to be settled by the worthy part of our British matrons, let us return to the Parisian ball, from which I have been led into a little digression.

The dancing continued in this manner, that is, French country-dances and waltzes alternately, till four o'clock, when soup was brought round to all the company. This was dispatched sans façon, as fast as it could be procured. It was a prelude to the cold supper, which was presently served in another spacious apartment. No sooner were the folding-doors of an adjoining room thrown open, than I observed that, large as it was, it could not possibly afford accommodation to more than half of the number present. I therefore remained in the back-ground, naturally supposing that places would first be provided for all the women. Not so, my friend; several men seated themselves, and, in the twinkling of an eye, deranged the economy of the whole table; while the female bystanders were necessitated to seek seats at some temporary tables placed in the ballroom. Here too were they in luck if they obtained a few fragments from the grand board; for, such determined voracity was there exhibited, that so many vultures or cormorants could not have been more expeditious in clearing the dishes.

For instance, an enormous salmon, which would have done honour to the Tweed or the Severn, graced the middle of the principal table. In less than five minutes after the company were seated, I turned round, and missing the fish, inquired whether it had proved tainted. No: but it is all devoured, was the reply of a young man, who, pointing to the bone, offered me a pear and a piece of bread, which he shrewdly observed was all that I might probably get to recruit my strength at this entertainment. I took the hint, and, with the addition of a glass of common wine, at once made my supper.

In half an hour, the tables being removed, the ball was resumed, and apparently with renewed spirit. The card-room had never been deserted. Mind the main chance is a wholesome maxim, which the good lady of the house seemed not to have forgotten. Assisted by a sort of croupier, she did the honours of the bouillotte with that admirable sang-froid which you and I have often witnessed in some of our hostesses of fashion; and, had she not communicated to me the secret, I should have been the last to suspect, while she appeared so indifferent, that she, like those ladies, had so great an interest in the card-party being continued till morning.

As an old acquaintance, she took an opportunity of saying to, me, with joy in her eyes: "Le jeu va bien;" but, at the same time, expressed her regret that the supper was such a scramble. While we were in conversation, I inquired the name and character of the most striking women in the room, and found that, though a few of them might be reckoned substantial in fortune, as well as in reputation, the female part of the company was chiefly composed of ladies who, like herself, had suffered by the revolution; several were divorced from their husbands, but as incompatibility of temper was the general plea for such a disunion, that alone could not operate as a blemish.

To judge of the political predilection of these belles from their exterior, a stranger would, nine times out of ten, be led into a palpable error. He might naturally conclude them to be attached to a republican system, since they have, in general, adopted the Athenian form of attire as their model; though they have not, in the smallest degree, adopted the simple manners of that people. Their arms are bare almost to the very shoulder; their bosom is, in a great measure, uncovered; their ankles are encircled by narrow ribbands in imitation of the fastenings of sandals; and their hair, turned up close behind, is confined on the crown of the head in a large knot, as we see it in the antique busts of Grecian beauties.

The rest of their dress is more calculated to display, than to veil the contours of their person. It was thus explained to me by my friend, the ci-devant Comtesse, who at the same time assured me that young French women, clad in this airy manner, brave all the rigour of winter. "A simple piece of linen, slightly laced before," said she, "while it leaves the waist uncompressed, answers the purpose of a corset. If they put on a robe, which is not open in front, they dispense with petticoats altogether; their cambric chemise having the semblance of one, from its skirt being trimmed with lace. When attired for a ball, those who dance, as you may observe, commonly put on a tunic, and then a petticoat becomes a matter of necessity, rather than of choice. Pockets being deemed an incumbrance, they wear none: what money they carry, is contained in a little morocco leather purse; this is concealed in the centre of the bosom, whose form, in our well-shaped women, being that of the Medicean Venus, the receptacle occasionally serves for a little gold watch, or some other trinket, which is suspended to the neck by a collar of hair, decorated with various ornaments. When they dance, the fan is introduced within the zone or girdle; and the handkerchief is kept in the pocket of some sedulous swain, to whom the fair one has recourse when she has occasion for it. Some of the elderly ladies, like myself," added she, "carry these appendages in a sort of work-bag, denominated a ridicule. Not long since, this was the universal fashion first adopted as a substitute for pockets; but, at present, it is totally laid aside by the younger classes."

The men at this ball, were, for the most part, of the military class, thinly interspersed with returned emigrants. Some of the generals and colonels were in their hussar dress-uniform, which is not only exceedingly becoming to a well-formed man, but also extremely splendid and costly. All the seams of the jacket and pantaloons of the generals are covered with rich and tasteful embroidery, as well as their sabre-tash, and those of the colonels with gold or silver lace: a few even wore boots of red morocco leather.

Most of the Gallic youths, having served in the armies, either a few years ago under the requisition, or more recently under the conscription, have acquired a martial air, which is very discernible, in spite of their habit bourgeois. The brown coat cannot disguise the soldier. I have met with several young merchants of the first respectability in Paris, who had served, some two, others four years in the ranks, and constantly refused every sort of advancement. Not wishing to remain in the army, and relinquish the mercantile profession in which they had been educated, they cheerfully passed through their military servitude as privates, and, in that station, like true soldiers, gallantly fought their country's battles.

The hour of six being arrived, I was assailed, on all sides, by applications to set down this or that lady, as the morning was very rainy, and, independently of the long rank of hackney-coaches, which had been drawn up at the door, every vehicle that could be procured, had long been in requisition. The mistress of the house had informed two of her particular female friends that I had a carriage in waiting; and as I could accommodate only a certain number at a time, after having consented to take those ladies home first; I conceived myself at liberty, on my return, to select the rest of my convoy. To relieve beauty in distress was one of the first laws of ancient chivalry; and no knight ever accomplished that vow with greater ardour than I did on this occasion.

[LETTER XII.]

Paris, November 7, 1801.

My impatience is at length gratified. I have seen BONAPARTE. Yesterday, the 6th, as I mentioned in a former letter, was the day of the grand parade, which now takes place on the fifteenth only of every month of the Republican Calendar. The spot where this military spectacle is exhibited, is the court-yard of the palace of the Tuileries, which, as I have before observed, is enclosed by a low parapet wall, surmounted by a handsome iron railing.

From the kind attention of friend, I had the option of being admitted into the palace, or introduced into the hotel of Cn. MARET, the Secretary of State, which adjoins to the palace, and standing at right angles with it, commands a full view of the court where the troops are assembled. In the former place, I was told, I should not, on account of the crowd, have an opportunity to see the parade, unless I took my station at a window two or three hours before it began; while from the latter, I should enjoy the sight without any annoyance or interruption.

Considering that an interval of a month, by producing a material change in the weather, might render the parade far less brilliant and attractive, and also that such an offer might not occur a second time, I made no hesitation in preferring Cn. MARET'S hotel.

Accompanied by my introducer, I repaired thither about half past eleven o'clock, and certainly I had every reason to congratulate myself on my election. I was ushered into a handsome room on the first-floor, where I found the windows partly occupied by some lovely women. Having paid my devoirs to the ladies, I entered into conversation with an officer of rank of my acquaintance, who had introduced me to them; and from him I gathered the following particulars respecting the

GRAND MONTHLY PARADE.

On the fifteenth of every month, the First Consul in person reviews all the troops of the consular guard, as well as those quartered in Paris, as a garrison, or those which may happen to be passing through this city.

The consular guard is composed of two battalions of foot-grenadiers, two battalions of light infantry, a regiment of horse-grenadiers, a regiment of mounted chasseurs or guides, and two companies of flying artillery. All this force may comprise between six and seven thousand men; but it is in contemplation to increase it by a squadron of Mamalûks, intermixed with Greeks and Syrians, mounted on Arabian horses.

This guard exclusively does duty at the palace of the Tuileries, and at Malmaison, BONAPARTE's country-seat: it also forms the military escort of the Consuls. At present it is commanded by General LASNES; but, according to rumour, another arrangement is on the point of being made. The consular guard is soon to have no other chief than the First Consul, and under him are to command, alternately, four generals; namely, one of infantry, one of cavalry, one of artillery, and one of engineers; the selection is said to have fallen on the following officers, BESSIÈRES, DAVOUST, SOULT, and SONGIS.

The garrison (as it is termed) of Paris is not constantly of the same strength. At this moment it consists of three demi-brigades of the line, a demi-brigade of light infantry, a regiment of dragoons, two demi-brigades of veterans, the horse gendarmerie, and a new corps of choice gendarmerie, comprising both horse and foot, and commanded by the Chef de brigade SAVABY, aide-de-camp to the First Consul. This garrison may amount to about 15,000 effective men.

The consular guard and all these different corps, equipped in their best manner, repair to the parade, and, deducting the troops on duty, the number of men assembled there may, in general be from twelve to fifteen thousand.

By a late regulation, no one, during the time of the parade, can remain within the railing of the court, either on foot or horseback, except the field and staff officers on duty; but persons enter the apartments of the Tuileries, by means of tickets, which are distributed to a certain number by the governor of the palace.

While my obliging friend was communicating to me the above information, the troops continued marching into the court below, till it was so crowded that, at first sight, it appeared impracticable for them to move, much less to manœuvre. The morning was extremely fine; the sun shone in full splendour, and the gold and silver lace and embroidery on the uniforms of the officers and on the trappings of their chargers, together with their naked sabres, glittered with uncommon lustre. The concourse of people without the iron railing was immense: in short, every spot or building, even to the walls and rafters of houses under demolition, whence a transient view of the parade could be obtained, was thronged with spectators.

By twelve o'clock, all the troops were drawn up in excellent order, and, as you may suppose, presented a grand coup d'œil. I never beheld a finer set of men than the grenadiers of the consular guard; but owing, perhaps, to my being accustomed to see our troops with short skirts, I thought that the extreme length of their coats detracted from their military air. The horses mostly of Norman breed, could not be compared to our English steeds, either for make or figure; but, sorry and rough as is their general appearance, they are, I am informed, capable of bearing much fatigue, and resisting such privations as would soon render our more sleek cavalry unfit for service. That they are active, and surefooted, I can vouch; for, in all their sudden wheelings and evolutions in this confined space, not one of them stumbled. They formed, indeed, a striking contrast to the beautiful white charger that was led about in waiting for the Chief Consul.

The band of the consular guard, which is both numerous and select, continued playing martial airs, till the colours having been brought down from the palace, under the escort of an officer and a small detachment, the drums beat aux champs, and the troops presented arms, when they were carried to their respective stations. Shortly after, the impatient steed, just mentioned, was conducted to the foot of the steps of the grand vestibule of the palace. I kept my eye stedfastly fixed on that spot; and such was the agility displayed by BONAPARTE in mounting his horse, that, to borrow the words of Shakspeare, he seemed to

"Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship."

Off he went at a hand canter, preceded by his aides-de-camp, and attended, on his right, by General LASNES and followed by other superior officers, particularly the general commanding the garrison of Paris, and him at the head of the district.

BONAPARTE was habited in the consular dress, scarlet velvet embroidered with gold, and wore a plain cocked hat with the national cockade. As I purpose to obtain a nearer view of him, by placing myself in the apartments of the palace on the next parade day, I shall say nothing of his person till that opportunity offers, but confine myself to the military show in question.

Having rid rapidly along the several lines of infantry and cavalry, and saluted the colours as he passed, BONAPARTE (attended by all his retinue, including a favourite Mamalûk whom he brought from Egypt), took a central position, when the different corps successively filed off before him with most extraordinary briskness; the corps composing the consular guard preceded those of the garrison and all the others: on inquiry, however, I find, that this order is not always observed.

It is no less extraordinary than true, that the news of the establishment of this grand parade produced on the mind of the late emperor of Russia the first impression in favour of the Chief Consul. No sooner did Paul I. hear of the circumstance, than he exclaimed: "BONAPARTE is, however, a great man."

Although the day was so favourable, the parade was soon over, as there was no distribution of arms of honour, such as muskets, pistols, swords, battle-axes, &c. which the First Consul presents with his own hand to those officers and soldiers who have distinguished themselves by deeds of valour or other meritorious service.

The whole ceremony did not occupy more than half an hour, when BONAPARTE alighted at the place where he had taken horse, and returned to his audience-room in the palace, for the purpose of holding his levee. I shall embrace a future opportunity to speak of the interior etiquette observed on this occasion in the apartments, and close this letter with an assurance that you shall have an early account of the approaching fête.

[LETTER XIII.]

Paris, November 8, 1801.

Great preparations for the fête of to-morrow have, for several days, employed considerable numbers of people: it therefore becomes necessary that I should no longer delay to give you an idea of the principal scene of action. For that purpose, we must direct our steps to the

JARDIN DES TUILERIES.

This garden, which is the most magnificent in Paris, was laid out by the celebrated LE NOTRE in the reign of Lewis XIV. It covers a space of three hundred and sixty toises[[1]] long by one hundred and sixty-eight broad. To the north and south, it is bordered, throughout its length, by two terraces, one on each side, which, with admirable art, conceal the irregularity of the ground, and join at the farther end in the form of a horse-shoe. To the east, it is limited by the palace of the Tuileries; and to the west, by the Place de la Concorde.

From the vestibule of the palace, the perspective produces a most striking effect: the eye first wanders for a moment over the extensive parterre, which is divided into compartments, planted with shrubs and flowers, and decorated with basins, jets-d'eau, vases, and statues in marble and bronze; it then penetrates through a venerable grove which forms a beautiful vista; and, following the same line, it afterwards discovers a fine road, bordered with trees, leading by a gentle ascent to Pont de Neuilly, through the Barrière de Chaillot, where the prospect closes.

The portico of the palace has been recently decorated with several statues. On each side of the principal door is a lion in marble.

The following is the order in which the copies of antique statues, lately placed in this garden, are at present disposed.

On the terrace towards the river, are: 1. Venus Anadyomene. 2. An Apollo of Belvedere. 3. The group of Laocoon. 4. Diana, called by antiquaries, Succincta. 5. Hercules carrying Ajax.

In front of the palace: 1. A dying gladiator. 2. A fighting gladiator. 3. The flayer of Marsyas. 4. VENUS, styled à la coquille, crouched and issuing from the bath. N. B. All these figures are in bronze.

In the alley in front of the parterre, in coming from the terrace next the river: 1. Flora Farnese. 2. Castor and Pollux. 3. Bacchus instructing young Hercules. 4. Diana.

On the grass-plot, towards the manège or riding-house, Hippomenes and Atalanta. At the further end is an Apollo, in front of the horse-shoe walk, decorated with a sphynx at each extremity.

In the corresponding gras-plot towards the river, Apollo and Daphne; and at the further end, a Venus Callypyga, or (according to the French term) aux belles fesses.

In the compartment by the horse-chesnut trees, towards the riding-house, the Centaur. On the opposite side, the Wrestlers. Farther on, though on the same side, an Antinoüs.

In the niche, under the steps in the middle of the terrace towards the river, a Cleopatra.

In the alley of orange-trees, near the Place de la Concorde, Meleager; and on the terrace, next to the riding-house, Hercules Farnese.

In the niche to the right, in front of the octagonal basin, a Faun carrying a kid. In the one to the left, Mercury Farnese.

Independently of these copies after the antique, the garden is decorated with several other modern statues, by COYZEVOX, REGNAUDIN, COSTOU, LE GROS, LE PAUTRE, &c. which attest the degree of perfection that had been attained, in the course of the last century, by French sculptors. For a historical account of them, I refer you to a work, which I shall send you by the first opportunity, written by the learned MILLIN.

Here, in summer, the wide-spreading foliage of the lofty horse-chesnut trees afford a most agreeable shade; the air is cooled by the continual play of the jets-d'eau; while upwards of two hundred orange-trees, which are then set out, impregnate it with a delightful perfume. The garden is now kept in much better order than it was under the monarchy. The flower-beds are carefully cultivated; the walks are well gravelled, rolled, and occasionally watered; in a word, proper attention is paid to the convenience of the public.

But, notwithstanding these attractions, as long as it was necessary for every person entering this garden to exhibit to the sentinels the national cockade, several fair royalists chose to relinquish its charming walks, shaded by trees of a hundred years' growth, rather than comply with the republican mandate. Those anti-revolutionary élégantes resorted to other promenades; but, since the accession of the consular government, the wearing of this doubtful emblem of patriotism has been dispensed with, and the garden of the Tuileries is said to be now as much frequented in the fine season as at any period of the old régime.

The most constant visiters are the quidnuncs, who, according to the difference of the seasons, occupy alternately three walks; the Terrasse des Feuillans in winter; that which is immediately underneath in spring; and the centre or grand alley during the summer or autumn.

Before the revolution, this garden was not open to the populace, except on the festival of St. Lewis, and the eve preceding, when there was always a public concert, given under a temporary amphitheatre erected against the west façade of the palace: at present no person whatever is refused admittance.

There are six entrances, at each of which sentinels are regularly mounted from the grenadiers of the consular guard; and, independently of the grand guard-room over the vestibule of the palace, there is one at the end of the garden which opens on the Place de la Concorde, and another on the Terrasse des Feuillans.

But what is infinitely more interesting, on this terrace, is a new and elegant building, somewhat resembling a casino, which at once unites every accommodation that can be wished for in a coffee-house, a tavern, or a confectioner's. Here you may breakfast à l'Anglaise or à la fourchette, that is in the most substantial manner, in the French fashion, read the papers, dine, or sup sumptuously in any style you choose, or drink coffee and liqueurs, or merely eat ices. While thus engaged, you enjoy a full view of the company passing and repassing, and what adds beyond measure to the beauty of the scene, is the presence of the ladies, who not unfrequently come hither with their admirers to indulge in a téte-à-téte, or make larger parties to dine or sup at these fashionable rendezvous of good cheer.

According to the scandalous chronicle, Véry, the master of the house, is indebted to the charms of his wife for the occupation of this tasteful edifice, which had been erected by the government on a spot of ground that was national property, and, of course, at its disposal. Several candidates were desirous to be tenants of a building at once so elegant and so centrical. Véry himself had been unsuccessful, though he had offered a pot de vin (that is the Parisian term for good-will) of five hundred louis, and six thousand francs a year rent. His handsome wife even began to apprehend that her mission would be attended with no better fortune. She presented herself, however, to the then Minister of the Interior, who, unrelenting as he had hitherto been to all the competitors, did not happen to be a Scipio. On the contrary, he is said to have been so struck by the person of the fair supplicant, that he at once declared his readiness to accede to her request, on condition that she would favour him with her company to supper, and not forget to put her night-cap in her pocket. Relata refero.

Be this as it may, I assure you that Madame Véry, without being a perfect beauty, is what the French call a beau corps de femme, or, in plain English, a very desirable woman, and such as few ministers of L'n. B--------te's years would choose to dismiss unsatisfied. This is not the age of continence, and I am persuaded that any man who sees and converses with the amiable Madame Véry, if he do not envy the Minister the nocturnal sacrifice, will, on contemplating the elegance of her arrangements, at least allow that this spot of ground has not been disposed of to disadvantage.

Every step we take, in this quarter of Paris, calls to mind some remarkable circumstance of the history of the revolution. As the classic reader, in visiting Troas, would endeavour to trace the site of those interesting scenes described in the sublime numbers of the prince of poets; so the calm observer, in perambulating this garden, cannot but reflect on the great political events of which it has been the theatre. In front of the west façade of the palace, the unfortunate Lewis XVI, reviewed the Swiss, and some of the national guards, very early in the morning of the 10th of August 1792. On the right, close to the Terrasse des Feuillans, still stands the manège or riding-house, where the National Assembly at that time held their sittings, and whither the king, with his family, was conducted by ROEDERER, the deputy. That building, after having since served for various purposes, is at present shut up, and will, probably, be taken down, in consequence of projected improvements in this quarter.

In the centre of the west end of the garden, was the famous Pont tournant, by which, on the 11th of July 1789, the Prince de Lambesc entered it at the head of his regiment of cavalry, and, by maltreating some peaceable saunterers, gave the Parisians a specimen of what they were to expect from the disposition of the court. This inconsiderate galopade, as the French term it, was the first signal of the general insurrection.

The Pont tournant is destroyed, and the ditch filled up. Leaving the garden of the Tuileries by this issue, we enter the

PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.

This is the new name given to the Place de Louis XV. After the abolition of royalty in France, it was called the Place de la Révolution. When the reign of terror ceased, by the fall of Robespierre, it obtained its present appellation, which forms a strong contrast to the number of victims that have here been sacrificed to the demon of faction.

This square, which is seven hundred and eighty feet in length by six hundred and thirty in breadth, was planned after the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, and finished in 1763. It forms a parallelogram with its angles cut off, which are surrounded by ditches, guarded by balustrades, breast high. To repair from the Tuileries to the Champs Elysées, you cross it in a straight line from east to west, and from north to south, to proceed from the Rue de la Concorde (ci-devant Rue Royale) to the Pont de la Concorde (ci-devant Pont de Louis XVI.)

Near the intersection of these roads stood the equestrian statue in bronze of Lewis XV, which caught the eye in a direct line with the centre of the grand alley of the garden of the Tuileries. It has since been replaced by a statue of Liberty. This colossal figure was removed a few days ago, and, by all accounts, will not be re-erected.

The north part of this square, the only one that is occupied by buildings, presents, on each side of the Rue de la Concorde, two edifices, each two hundred and forty-eight feet in front, decorated with insulated columns of the Corinthian order, to the number of twelve, and terminated by two pavilions, with six columns, crowned by a pediment. On the ground-floor of these edifices, one of which, that next the Tuileries, was formerly the Garde-Meuble de la Couronne, are arcades that form a gallery, in like manner as the colonnade above, the cornice of which is surmounted by a balustrade. I have been thus particular in describing this façade, in order to enable you to judge of the charming effect which it must produce, when illuminated with thousands of lamps on the occasion of the grand fête in honour of peace, which takes place to-morrow.

It was in the right hand corner of this square, as you come out of the garden of the Tuileries by the centre issue, that the terrible guillotine was erected. From the window of a friend's room, where I am now writing, I behold the very spot which has so often been drenched with the mixed blood of princes, poets, legislators, philosophers, and plebeians. On that spot too fell the head of one of the most powerful monarchs in Europe.

I have heard much regret expressed respecting this execution; I have witnessed much lamentation excited by it both in England and France; but I question whether any of those loyal subjects, who deserted their king when they saw him in danger, will ever manifest the sincere affection, the poignant sensibility of DOMINIQUE SARRÈDE.

To follow Henry IV to the battle of Ivry in 1533, SARRÈDE had his wounded leg cut off, in order that he might be enabled to sit on horseback. This was not all. His attachment to his royal master was so great, that, in passing through the Rue de la Ferronnerie two days after the assassination of that prince, and surveying the fatal place where it had been committed, he was so overcome by grief, that he fell almost dead on the spot, and actually expired the next morning. I question, I say, whether any one of those emigrants, who made so officious a display of their zeal, when they knew it to be unavailing, will ever moisten with a single tear the small space of earth stained with the blood of their unfortunate monarch.

Since I have been in Paris, I have met with a person of great respectability, totally unconnected with politics, who was present at several of those executions: at first he attended them from curiosity, which soon degenerated into habit, and at last became an occupation. He successively beheld the death of Charlotte Corday, Madame Roland, Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, Philippe Egalité, Madame du Barry, Danton, Robespierre, Couthon, St. Just, Henriot, Fouquier-Tinville, cum mullis aliis, too numerous to mention.

Among other particulars, this person informed me that Lewis XVI struggled much, by which the fatal instrument cut through the back of his head, and severed his jaw: the queen was more resigned; on the scaffold, she even apologized to Samson, the executioner in chief, for treading accidentally on his toe. Madame Roland met her fate with the calm heroism of a Roman matron. Charlotte Corday died with a serene and dignified countenance; one of the executioners having seized her head when it fell, and given it several slaps, this base act of cowardice raised a general murmur among the people.

As to Robespierre, no sooner had he ascended the scaffold, amid the vociferous acclamations of the joyful multitude, than the executioner tore off the dirty bandage in which his wounded head was enveloped and which partlv concealed his pale and ferocious visage. This made the wretch roar like a wild beast. His under jaw then falling from the upper, and streams of blood gushing from the wound, gave him the most ghastly appearance that can be imagined. When the national razor, as the guillotine was called by his partisans, severed Robespierre's head from his body; and the executioner, taking it by the hair, held it up to the view of the spectators, the plaudits lasted for twenty minutes. Couthon, St. Just, and Henriot, his heralds of murder, who were placed in the same cart with himself, next paid the debt of their crimes. They were much disfigured, and the last had lost an eye. Twenty-two persons were guillotined at the same time with Robespierre, all of them his satellites. The next day, seventy members of the commune, and the day following twelve others, shared the fate of their atrocious leader, who, not many hours before, was styled the virtuous and incorruptible patriot.

You may, probably, imagine that, whatever dispatch might be employed, the execution of seventy persons, would demand a rather considerable portion of time, an hour and a half, or two hours, for instance. But, how wide of the mark! Samson, the executioner of Paris, worked the guillotine with such astonishing quickness, that, including the preparatives of the punishment, he has been known to cut off no less than forty-five heads, the one after the other, in the short space of fifteen minutes; consequently, at this expeditious rate of three heads in one minute it required no more than twenty-three minutes and twenty seconds to decapitate seventy persons.

Guillotin, the physician, who invented or rather improved this machine, which is called after his name with a feminine termination, is said to have been a man of humanity; and, on that principle alone, he recommended the use of it, from the idea of saving from painful sensations criminals condemned to die. Seeing the abuse made of it, from the facility which it afforded of dispatching several persons in a few minutes, he took the circumstance so much to heart that grief speedily shortened his existence.

According to Robespierre, however, the axe of the guillotine did not do sufficient execution. One of his satellites announced to him the invention of an instrument which struck off nine heads at once: the discovery pleased him, and he caused several trials of this new machine to be made at Bicêtre. It did not answer; but human nature gained nothing by its failure. Instead of half a dozen victims a day, Robespierre wished to have daily fifty or sixty, or more; and he was but too well obeyed. Not only had he his own private lists of proscription; but all his creatures, from the president of the revolutionary tribunal down to the under-jailers, had similar lists; and the almanac royal, or French court calendar, was converted into one by himself.

The inhabitants of the streets through which the unfortunate sufferers were carried, wearied at length by the daily sight of so melancholy a spectacle, ventured to utter complaints. Robespierre, no less suspicious than cruel, was alarmed, and, dreading an insurrection, removed the scene of slaughter. The scaffold was erected on the Place de la Bastille: but the inhabitants of this quarter also murmured, and the guillotine was transferred to the Barrière St. Antoine.

Had not this modern Nero been cut off in the midst of his cruelties, it is impossible to say where he would have stopped. Being one day asked the question, he coolly answered: "The generation which has witnessed the old règime, will always regret it. Every individual who was more than fifteen in 1789, must be put to death: this is the only way to consolidate the revolution."

It was the same in the departments as in Paris. Every where blood ran in streams. In all the principal towns the guillotine was rendered permanent, in order, as Robespierre expressed himself, to regenerate the nation. If this sanguinary monster did not intend to "wade through slaughter to a throne," it is certain at least that he "shut the gates of mercy on mankind."

But what cannot fail to excite your astonishment and that of every thinking person, is, that, in the midst of these executions, in the midst of these convulsions of the state, in the midst of these struggles for power, in the midst of these outcries against the despots of the day, in the midst of famine even, not artificial, but real; in short, in the midst of an accumulation of horrors almost unexampled, the fiddle and tambourin never ceased. Galas, concerts, and balls were given daily in incredible numbers; and no less than from fifteen to twenty theatres, besides several, other places of public entertainment, were constantly open, and almost as constantly filled.

P. S. I am this moment informed of the arrival of Lord Cornwallis.

[Footnote 1]: The ratio between the English fathom and the French toise, as determined between the first astronomers of both countries, is as 72 to 76.734. [Return to text]

[LETTER XIV.]

Paris, November 10, 1801.

On the evening of the 8th, there was a representation gratis at all the theatres, it being the eve of the great day, of the occurrences of which I shall now, agreeably to my promise, endeavour to give you a narrative. I mean the

NATIONAL FÉTE,
IN HONOUR OF PEACE,
Celebrated on the 18th of Brumaire, year X,
the anniversary of BONAPARTE'S
accession to the consulate.

Notwithstanding the prayers which the Parisians had addressed to the sun for the preceding twenty-four hours,

"----Nocte pluit totà, redeunt spectacula mane,"

it rained all night, and was still raining yesterday morning, when the day was ushered in by discharges of artillery from the saluting battery at the Hôtel des Invalides. This did not disturb me; I slept soundly till, about eight o'clock, a tintamarre of trumpets, kettle-drums, &c. almost directly under my window, roused me from my peaceful slumber. For fear of losing the sight, I immediately presented myself at the casement, just as I rose, in my shirt and night-cap. The officers of the police, headed by the Prefect, and escorted by a party of dragoons, came to the Place des Victoires, as the third station, to give publicity, by word of mouth, to the Proclamation of the Consuls, of which I inclose you a printed copy. The civil officers were habited in their dresses of parade, and decorated with tricoloured sashes; the heads of their steeds, which, by the bye, were not of a fiery, mettlesome race, being adorned in like manner.

This ceremony being over, I returned not to bed, but sat down to a substantial breakfast, which I considered necessary for preparing my strength for the great fatigues of so busy a day. Presently the streets were crowded with people moving towards the river-side, though small, but heavy rain continued falling all the forenoon. I therefore remained at home, knowing that there was nothing yet to be seen for which it was worth while to expose myself to a good wetting.

At two o'clock the sun appeared, as if to satisfy the eager desire of the Parisians; the mist ceased, and the weather assumed a promising aspect. In a moment the crowd in the streets was augmented by a number of persons who had till now kept within doors, in readiness to go out, like the Jews keeping Easter, cincti renibus & comedentes festinantur. I also sallied forth, but alone, having previously refused every invitation from my friends and acquaintance to place myself at any window, or join any party, conceiving that the best mode to follow the bent of my humour was to go unaccompanied, and, not confining myself to any particular spot or person, stroll about wherever the most interesting objects presented themselves.

With this view, I directed my steps towards the Tuileries, which, in spite of the immense crowd, I reached without the smallest inconvenience. The appearance of carriages of every kind had been strictly prohibited, with the exception of those belonging to the British ambassador; a compliment well intended, no doubt, and very gratifying when the streets were so extremely dirty.

For some time I amused myself with surveying the different countenances of the groups within immediate reach of my observation, and which to me was by no means the least diverting part of the scene; but on few of them could I discover any other impression than that of curiosity: I then took my station in the garden of the Tuileries, on the terrace next the river. Hence was a view of the Temple of Commerce rising above the water, on that part of the Seine comprised between the Pont National and the Pont Neuf. The quays on each side were full of people; and the windows, as well as the roofs of all the neighbouring houses, were crowded beyond conception. In the newspapers, the sum of 500 francs, or £20 sterling, was asked for the hire of a single window of a house in that quarter.

Previously to my arrival, a flotilla of boats, decked with streamers and flags of different colours, had ascended the river from Chaillot to this temple, and were executing divers evolutions around it, for the entertainment of the Parisians, who quite drowned the music by their more noisy acclamations.

About half after three, the First Consul appeared at one of the windows of the apartments of the Third Consul, LEBRUN, which, being situated in the Pavillon de Flore, as it is called, at the south end of the palace of the Tuileries, command a complete view of the river. He and LEBRUN were both dressed in their consular uniform.

In a few minutes, a balloon, previously prepared at this floating Temple of Commerce, and adorned with the flags of different nations, ascended thence with majestic slowness, and presently took an almost horizontal direction to the south-west. In the car attached to it were Garnerin, the celebrated aëronaut, his wife, and two other persons, who kept waving their tricoloured flags, but were soon under the necessity of putting them away for a moment, and getting rid of some of their ballast, in order to clear the steeples and other lofty objects which appeared to lie in their route. The balloon, thus lightened, rose above the grosser part of the atmosphere, but with such little velocity as to afford the most gratifying spectacle to an immense number of spectators.

While following it with my eyes, I began to draw comparisons in my mind, and reflect on the rapid improvement made in these machines, since I had seen Blanchard and his friend, Dr. Jefferies, leave Dover Cliff in January 1785. They landed safely within a short distance of Calais, as every one knows: yet few persons then conceived it possible, or at least probable, that balloons could ever be applied to any useful purpose, still less to the art of war. We find, however, that at the battle of Fleurus, where the Austrians were defeated, Jourdan, the French General, was not a little indebted for his victory to the intelligence given him of the enemy's dispositions by his aëronautic reconnoitring-party.

The sagacious Franklin seems to have had a presentiment of the future utility of this invention. On the first experiments being made of it, some one asked him: "Of what use are balloons?"—"Of what use is a new-born child!" was the philosopher's answer.

Garnerin and his fellow-travellers being now at such a distance as not to interest an observer unprovided with a telespope, I thought it most prudent to gratify that ever-returning desire, which, according to Dr. Johnson, excites once a day a serious idea in the mind even of the most thoughtless. I accordingly retired to my own apartments, where I had taken care that dinner should be provided for myself and a friend, who, assenting to the propriety of allowing every man the indulgence of his own caprice, had, like me, been taking a stroll alone among the innumerable multitude of Paris.

After dinner, my friend and I sat chatting over our dessert, in order that we might not arrive too soon at the scene of action. At six, however, we rose from table, and separated. I immediately proceeded to the Tuileries, which I entered by the centre gate of the Place du Carrousel. The whole facade of the palace, from the base of the lowest pillars up to the very turrets of the pavilions, comprising the entablatures, &c. was decorated with thousands of lampions, whence issued a steady, glaring light. By way of parenthesis, I must inform you that these lampions are nothing more than little circular earthen pans, somewhat resembling those which are used in England as receptacles for small flower-pots. They are not filled with oil, but with a substance prepared from the offals of oxen and in which a thick wick is previously placed. Although the body of light proceeding from lampions of this description braves the weather, yet the smoke which they produce, is no inconsiderable drawback on the effect of their splendour.

Nothing could exceed the brilliancy of the coup d'œil from the vestibule of the palace of the Tuileries. The grand alley, as well as the end of the parterre on each side and the edges of the basins, was illuminated in a style equally tasteful and splendid. The frame-work on which the lamps were disposed by millions, represented lofty arcades of elegant proportion, with their several pillars, cornices, and other suitable ornaments. The eye, astonished, though not dazzled, penetrated through the garden, and, directed by this avenue of light, embraced a view of the temporary obelisk erected on the ridge of the gradual ascent, where stands the Barrière de Chaillot; the road on each side of the Champs Elysées presenting an illuminated perspective, whose vanishing point was the obelisk before-mentioned.

After loitering a short time to contemplate the west façade of the palace, which, excelling that of the east in the richness of its architecture, also excelled it in the splendour of its illuminations, I advanced along the centre or grand alley to the Place de la Concorde. Here, rose three Temples of correct design and beautiful symmetry, the most spacious of which, placed in the centre, was dedicated to Peace, that on the right hand to the Arts, and that on the left to Industry.

In front of these temples, was erected an extensive platform, about five feet above the level of the ground, on which was exhibited a pantomime, representing, as I was informed, the horrors of war succeeded by the blessings of peace. Though I arrived in time to have seen at least a part of it, I saw nothing, except the back of the spectators immediately before me, and others, mounted on chairs and benches, some of whom seemed to consider themselves fortunate if they recovered their legs, when they came now and then to the ground, by losing their equilibrium. These little accidents diverted me for the moment; but a misadventure of a truly-comic nature afforded me more entertainment than any pantomime I ever beheld, and amply consoled me for being thus confined to the back-ground.

A lusty young Frenchman, who, from his head-dress à la Titus, I shall distinguish by that name, escorting a lady whom, on account of her beautiful hair, I shall style Berenice, stood on one of the hindmost benches. The belle, habited in a tunic à la Grecque, with a species of sandals which displayed the elegant form of her leg, was unfortunately not of a stature sufficiently commanding to see over the heads of the other spectators. It was to no purpose that the gentleman called out "à bas les chapeaux!" When the hats were off, the lady still saw no better. What will not gallantry suggest to a man of fashionable education? Our considerate youth perceived, at no great distance, some persons standing on a plank supported by a couple of casks. Confiding the fair Berenice to my care, he vanished: but, almost in an, instant, he reappeared, followed by two men, bearing an empty hogshead, which, it seems, he procured from the tavern at the west entrance of the Tuileries. To place the cask near the feet of the lady, pay for it, and fix her on it, was the business of a moment. Here then she was, like a statue on its pedestal, enjoying the double gratification of seeing and being seen. But, for enjoyment to be complete, we must share it with those we love. On examining the space where she stood, the lady saw there was room for two, and accordingly invited the gentleman to place himself beside her. In vain he resisted her entreaties; in vain he feared to incommode her. She commanded; he could do no less than obey. Stepping up on the bench, he thence nimbly sprang to the cask; but, O! fatal catastrophe! while, by the light of the neighbouring clusters of lamps, every one around was admiring the mutual attention of this sympathizing pair, in went the head of the hogshead.

Our till-then-envied couple fell suddenly up to the middle of the leg in the wine-lees left in the cask, by which they were bespattered up to their very eyes. Nor was this all: being too eager to extricate themselves, they overset the cask, and came to the ground, rolling in it and its offensive contents. It would be no easy matter to picture the ludicrous situation of Citizen Titus and Madame Berenice. This being the only mischief resulting from their fall, a universal burst of laughter seized the surrounding spectators, in which I took so considerable a share, that I could not immediately afford my assistance.

[LETTER XV.]

Paris, November 11, 1801.

What fortunate people are the Parisians! Yesterday evening so thick a fog came on, all at once, that it was almost impossible to discern the lamps in the streets, even when they were directly over-head. Had the fog occurred twenty-four hours earlier, the effect of the illuminations would have been entirely lost; and the blind would have had the advantage over the clear-sighted. This assertion experience has proved: for, some years ago, when there was, for several successive days, a duration of such fogs in Paris, it was found necessary, by persons who had business to transact out of doors, to hire the blind men belonging to the hospital of the Quinze-Vingts, to lead them about the streets. These guides, who were well acquainted with the topography of the capital, were paid by the hour, and sometimes, in the course of the day, each of them cleared five louis.

Last night, persons in carriages, were compelled to alight, and grope their way home as they could: in this manner, after first carefully ascertaining where I was, and keeping quite close to the wall, I reached my lodgings in safety, in spite of numberless interrogations put to me by people who had, or pretended to have, lost themselves.

When I was interrupted in my account of the fète, we were, if I mistake not, on the Place de la Concorde.

Notwithstanding the many loads of small gravel scattered here, with a view of keeping the place clean, the quantity of mud collected in the space of a few hours was really astonishing. N'importe was the word. No fine lady, by whatever motive she was attracted hither, regretted at the moment being up to her ankles in dirt, or having the skirt of her dress bemired. All was busy curiosity, governed by peaceable order.

For my part, I never experienced the smallest uncomfortable squeeze, except, indeed, at the conclusion of the pantomime, when the impatient crowd rushed forward, and, regardless of the fixed bayonets of the guards in possession of the platform, carried it by storm. Impelled by the torrent, I fortunately happened to be nearly in front of the steps, and, in a few seconds, I found, myself safely landed on the platform.

The guard now receiving a seasonable reinforcement, order was presently restored without bloodshed; and, though several persons were under the necessity of making a retrograde movement, on my declaring that I was an Englishman, I was suffered to retain my elevated position, till the musicians composing the orchestras, appropriated to each of the three temples, had taken their stations. Admittance then became general, and the temples were presently so crowded that the dancers had much difficulty to find room to perform the figures.

Good-humour and decorum, however, prevailed to such a degree that, during the number, of hours I mixed in the crowd, I witnessed not the smallest disturbance.

Between nine and ten o'clock, I went to the Pont de la Concorde to view the fireworks played off from the Temple of Commerce on the river; but these were, as I understand, of a description far inferior to those exhibited at the last National Fête of the 14th of July, the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille.

This inferiority is attributed to the precaution dictated, by the higher authorities, to the authors of the fireworks to limit their ingenuity; as, on the former occasion, some accidents occurred of a rather serious nature. The spectators, in general, appeared to me to be disappointed by the mediocrity of the present exhibition.

I was compensated for the disappointment by the effect of the illumination of the quays, which, being faced with stone, form a lofty rampart on each embankment of the river. These were decorated with several tiers of lamps from the top of the parapet to the water's edge; the parapets and cornices of the bridges, together with the circumference of the arches, were likewise illuminated, as well as the gallery of the Louvre, and the stately buildings adjoining the quays.

The palace of the Legislative Body, which faces the south end of the Pont de la Concorde, formed a striking object, being adorned, in a magnificent style, with variegated lamps and transparencies. No less splendid, and in some respects more so, from the extent that it presented, was the façade of the ci-devant Garde-Meuble, and the corresponding buildings, which form the north side of the Place de la Concorde, whither I now returned.

The effect of the latter was beautiful, as you may judge from the description which I have already given you of this façade, in one of my preceding letters. Let it suffice then to say, that, from the base of the lower pillars to the upper cornice, it was covered with lamps so arranged as to exhibit, in the most brilliant manner, the style and richness of its architecture.

The crowd, having now been attracted in various directions, became more penetrable; and, in regaining the platform on the Place de la Concorde, I had a full view of the turrets, battlements, &c. erected behind the three temples, in which the skilful machinist had so combined his plan, by introducing into it a sight of the famous horses brought from Marly, and now occupying the entrance of the Champs Elysées, that these beautiful marble representations of that noble animal seemed placed here on purpose to embellish his scenery.

Finding myself chilled by standing so many hours exposed to the dampness of a November night, I returned to the warmer atmosphere of the temples, in order to take a farewell view of the dancers. The scene was truly picturesque, the male part of the groups being chiefly composed of journeymen of various trades, and the females consisting of a ludicrous medley of all classes; but it required no extraordinary penetration to perceive, that, with the exception of a few particular attachments, the military bore the bell, and, all things considered, this was no more than justice. Independently of being the best dancers, after gaining the laurels of victory in the hard-fought field, who can deny that they deserved the prize of beauty?

The dancing was kept up with the never-flagging vivacity peculiar to this nation, and, as I conclude, so continued till a very late hour in the morning. At half past eleven I withdrew, with a friend whom I chanced to meet, to Véry's, the famous restaurateur's in the Tuileries, where we supped. On comparing notes, I found that I had been more fortunate than he, in beholding to advantage all the sights of the day: though it was meant to be a day of jubilee, yet it was far from being productive of that mirth or gaiety which I expected. The excessive dearness of a few articles of the first necessity may, probably, be one cause of this gloom among the people. Bread, the staff of life, (as it may be justly termed in France, where a much greater proportion is, in general, consumed than in any other country,) is now at the enormous price of eighteen sous (nine-pence sterling) for the loaf of four pounds. Besides, the Parisians have gone through so much during the revolution, that I apprehend they are, to a certain degree, become callous to the spontaneous sensations of joy and pleasure. Be the cause what it may, I am positively assured that the people expressed not so much hilarity at this fête as at the last, I mean that of the 14th of July.

In my way home, I remarked that few houses were illuminated, except those of the rich in the streets which are great thorough-fares. People here, in general, I suppose, consider themselves dispensed from lighting up their private residence from the consideration that they collectively contribute to the public illumination, the expenses of which are defrayed by the government out of the national coffers.

Several songs have been composed and published in commemoration of this joyful event. Among those that have fallen under my notice, I have selected the following, of which our friend M---s, with his usual facility and taste, will, I dare say, furnish you an imitation.

CHANT D'ALLÉGRESSE,
Pour la paix.
Air: de la Marche Triomphante.
"Reviens pour consoler la terre,
Aimable Paix, descends des cieux,
Depuis assez long-tems la guerre
Afflige un peuple généreux,
Ah! quell' aurore pure & calme
S'offre à nos regards satisfaits!
Nous obtenons la double paline
De la victoire & de la paix. bis.
"Disparaissez tristes images,
D'un tems malheureux qui n'est plus,
Nous réparerons nos dommages
Par la sagesse & les vertus.
Que la paix enfin nous rallie!
Plus d'ingrats ni de mécontens,
O triomphe de la patrie!
Plus de Français indifférens. bis.
"Revenez phalanges guerrières,
Héros vengeurs de mon pays,
Au sein d'une épouse, d'un père,
De vos parens, de vos amis,
Revenez dans votre patrie
Après tant d'effrayans hazards,
Trouver ce qui charme la vie,
L'amitié, l'amour, et les arts. bis.
"Oh! vous qui, sous des catacombes,
Etes couchés au champ d'honneur,
Nos yeux sont fixés sur vos tombes,
En chantant l'hymne du vainqueur,
Nous transmettrons votre mémoire
Jusqu' aux siécles à venir,
Avec le burin de l'histoire,
Et les larmes du souvenir." bis.

SONG OF JOY,
In honor of peace.
Imitated from the French.
To the same tune: de la Marche Triomphante.
Come, lovely Peace, from heav'n descending,
Thy presence earth at length shall grace;
Those terrible afflictions ending,
That long have griev'd a gen'rous race:
We see Aurora rise refulgent;
Serene she comes to bless our sight;
While Fortune to our hopes indulgent,
Bids victory and peace unite.
Be gone, ye dark imaginations,
Remembrances of horrors past:
Virtue's and Wisdom's reparations
Shall soon be made, and ever last.
Now peace to happiness invites us;
The bliss of peace is understood:
With love fraternal peace delights us,
Our private ease, and country's good.
Re-enter, sons of war, your houses;
Heroic deeds for peace resign:
Embrace your parents and your spouses,
And all to whom your hearts incline:
Behold your countrymen invite you,
With open, arms, with open hearts;
Here find whatever can delight you;
Here friendship, love, and lib'ral arts.
Departed heroes, crown'd with glory,
While you are laid in Honour's bed,
Sad o'er your tombs we'll sing the story,
How Gallia's warriors fought and bled:
And, proud to shew to future ages
The claims to patriot valour due,
We'll vaunt, in our historic pages,
The debt immense we owe to you.

[LETTER XVI.]

Paris, November 13, 1801.

Enriched, as this capital now is, with the spoils of Greece and Italy, it may literally be termed the repository of the greatest curiosities existing. In the CENTRAL MUSEUM are collected all the prodigies of the fine arts, and, day after day, you may enjoy the sight of these wonders.

I know not whether you are satisfied with the abridged account I gave you of the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES; but, on the presumption that you did not expect from me a description of every work of sculpture contained in it, I called your attention to the most pre-eminent only; and I shall now pursue the same plan, respecting the master-pieces of painting exhibited in the great

GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE

This gallery, which is thirteen hundred and sixty-five feet in length by thirty in breadth, runs north and south all along the quays of the river Seine, and joins the Louvre to the palace of the Tuileries. It was begun by Charles IX, carried as far as the first wicket by Henry IV, to the second by Lewis XIII, and terminated by Lewis XIV. One half, beginning from a narrow strip of ground, called the Jardin de l'Infante, is decorated externally with large pilasters of the Composite order, which run from top to bottom, and with pediments alternately triangular and elliptical, the tympanums of which, both on the side of the Louvre, and towards the river, are charged with emblems of the Arts and Sciences. The other part is ornamented with coupled pilasters, charged with vermiculated rustics, and other embellishments of highly-finished workmanship.

In the inside of this gallery are disposed the chefs d'œuvre of all the great masters of the Italian, Flemish, and French schools. The pictures, particularly the historical ones, are hung according to the chronological order of the painters' birth, in different compartments, the number of which, at the present period, amounts to fifty-seven; and the productions of each school and of each master are as much as possible assembled; a method which affords the advantage of easily comparing one school to another, one master to another, and a master to himself. If the chronology of past ages be considered as a book from which instruction is to be imbibed, the propriety of such a classification requires no eulogium. From the pictures being arranged chronologically, the GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE becomes a sort of dictionary, in which may be traced every degree of improvement or decline that the art of painting has successively experienced.

The entrance to the great GALLERY OF PAINTINGS is precisely the same as that to the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES. After ascending a noble stone stair-case, and turning to the left, you reach the

SALOON OF THE LOUVRE.

This apartment, which serves as a sort of antichamber to the great Gallery, is, at the present moment, appropriated to the annual monthly exhibition of the productions of living painters, sculptors, architects, engravers, and draughtsmen. Of these modern works, I shall, perhaps, speak on a future occasion. But, in the course of a few days, they will give place to several master-pieces of the Italian School, some of which were under indispensable repair, when the others were arranged in the great Gallery.

It would be no easy task to express the various sentiments which take possession of the mind of the lover of the arts, when, for the first time, he enters this splendid repository. By frequent visits, however, the imagination becomes somewhat less distracted, and the judgment, by degrees, begins to collect itself. Although I am not, like you, conversant in the Fine Arts, would you tax me with arrogance, were I to presume to pass an opinion on some of the pictures comprised in this matchless collection?

Painting being a representation of nature, every spectator, according to the justness of his ideas, may form an opinion how far the representation is happily pourtrayed, and in beholding it, experience a proportionate degree of pleasure: but how different the sensations of him who, combining all the requisites of a connoisseur, contemplates the composition of a masterly genius! In tracing the merits of such a production, his admiration gradually becomes inflamed, as his eye strays from beauty to beauty.

In painting or sculpture, beauty, as you well know, is either natural, or generally admitted: the latter depends on the perfection of the performance, on certain rules established, and principles settled. This is what is termed ideal beauty, which is frequently not within the reach of the vulgar; and the merit of which may be lost on him who has not learned to know and appreciate it. Thus, one of the finest pictures, ever conceived and executed by man, might not, perhaps, make an impression on many spectators. Natural beauty, on the contrary, is a true imitation of nature: its effect is striking and general, so that it stands not in need of being pointed out, but is felt and admired by all.

Notwithstanding this truth, be assured that I should never, of my own accord, have ventured to pronounce on the various degrees of merit of so many chefs d'œuvre, which all at once solicit attention. This would require a depth of knowledge, a superiority of judgment, a nicety of discrimination, a fund of taste, a maturity of experience, to none of which have I any pretension. The greatest masters, who have excelled in a particular branch, have sometimes given to the world indifferent productions; while artists of moderate abilities have sometimes produced master-pieces far above their general standard. In a picture, which may, on the whole, merit the appellation of a chef d'œuvre, are sometimes to be found beauties which render it superior, negligences which border on the indifferent, and defects which constitute the bad. Genius has its flights and deviations; talent, its successes, attempts, and faults; and mediocrity even, its flashes and chances.

Whatever some persons may affect, a true knowledge of the art of painting is by no means an easy acquirement; it is not a natural gift, but demands much reading and study. Many there are, no doubt, who may be able to descant speciously enough, perhaps, on the perfections and defects of a picture; but, on that account alone, they are not to be regarded as real judges of its intrinsic merit.

Know then, that, in selecting the most remarkable productions among the vast number exhibited in the CENTRAL MUSEUM, I have had the good fortune to be directed by the same first-rate connoisseur who was so obliging as to fix my choice in the GALLERY OF ANTIQUES. I mean M. VISCONTI.

Not confining myself either to alphabetical or chronological order, I shall proceed to point out to you such pictures of each school as claim particular notice.

ITALIAN SCHOOL.

N. B. Those pictures to which no number is prefixed, are not yet publicly exhibited.

RAFFAELLO.

This is one of the master-pieces of RAPHAEL for vigour of colouring, and for the beauty of the heads and of the child. It is in his second manner; although his third is more perfect, seldom are the pictures of this last period entirely executed by himself. This picture was originally painted on pannel, and was in such a lamentable state of decay, that doubts arose whether it could safely be conveyed from Italy. It has been recently transferred to canvass, and now appears as fresh and as vivid, as if, instead of a lapse of three centuries, three years only had passed since it was painted. Never was an operation of the like nature performed in so masterly a manner. The process was attended by a Committee of the National Institute, appointed at the particular request of the Administration of the Museum. The Madonna di Foligno is to be engraved from a drawing taken by that able draughtsman DU TERTRE.

This valuable picture of RAPHAEL'S third manner is one of the most perfect that ever came from his pencil. It belonged to the old collection of the crown, and is engraved by EDELINCK. Although superior to the Madonna di Foligno as to style and composition, it is inferior in the representation of the child, and in vigour of colouring.

This is the last production of RAPHAEL, and his most admirable chef d'œuvre as to composition and grace of the contours in all its figures. It is not yet exhibited, but will be shortly. This picture is in perfect preservation, and requires only to be cleaned from a coat of dust and smoke which has been accumulating on it for three centuries, during which it graced the great altar of St. Peter's church at Rome.

Among the portraits by RAPHAEL, the most surprising are:

Every thing that RAPHAEL'S pencil has produced is in the first order. That master has something greatly superior in his manner: he really appears as a god among painters. Addison seems to have been impressed with the truth of this sentiment, when he thus expresses himself:

"Fain would I RAPHAEL'S godlike art rehearse,
And shew th' immortal labours in my verse,
When from the mingled strength of shade and light,
A new creation rises, to my sight:
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow,
From theme to theme with secret pleasure lost,
Amidst the soft variety I'm lost."

LEONARDO DA VINCI.

There are several pictures by this master in the present exhibition; but you may look here in vain for the portrait of La Gioconda, which he employed four years in painting, and in which he has imitated nature so closely, that, as a well-known author has observed, "the eyes have all the lustre of life, the hairs of the eye brows and lids seem real, and even the pores of the skin are perceptible."

This celebrated picture is now removed to the palace of the Tuileries; but the following one, which remains, is an admirable performance.

FRA BARTOLOMEO.

These two pictures, which were in the Pitti palace at Florence, give the idea of the most noble simplicity, and of no common taste in the distribution of the lights and shades.

GIULIO ROMANO.

This picture belonged to the old collection of the crown. The figures in it are about a foot and a half in height. It is a real chef d'œuvre, and has all the grace of the antique bas-reliefs.

TIZIANO.

This large picture, which presents a grand composition in colossal figures, with a country of extraordinary beauty in the back-ground, is considered as the chef d'œuvre of TITIAN. It was painted on pannel; but, having undergone the same operation as the Madonna di Foligno, is now placed on canvass, and is in such a state as to claim the admiration of succeeding ages.

Both these pictures belonged to the old collection of the crown, and are to be admired for grace and beauty.

There is a wonderful vigour of colouring in these two capital pictures.

The preceding are the most admirable of the productions which are at present exhibited of this inimitable master, the first of painters for truth of colouring.

CORREGGIO.

This picture, commonly distinguished by the appellation of the St. Jerome of CORREGGIO, is undoubtedly his chef d'œuvre. In the year 1749, the king of Portugal is said to have offered for it a sum equal in value to £18,000 sterling.

This last-mentioned picture has just been engraved in an excellent manner by an Italian artist, M. ROSA-SPINA.

The grace of his pencil and his chiaro oscuro place CORREGGIO in the first class of painters, where he ranks the third after RAPHAEL and TITIAN. He is inferior to them in design and composition; however the scarceness of his pictures frequently gives them a superior value. Poor CORREGGIO! It grieves one to recollect that he lost his life, in consequence of the fatigue of staggering home under a load of copper coin, which avaricious monks had given him for pictures now become so valuable that they are not to be purchased for their weight, even in gold.

No collection is so rich in pictures of CORREGGIO as that of the CENTRAL MUSEUM.

PAOLO VERONESE.

These are astonishing compositions for their vast extent, the number and beauty of the figures and portraits, and the variety and truth of the colouring. Nothing in painting can be richer.

ANDREA DEL SARTO.

ANDREA SQUAZZELLI (his pupil.)

This capital picture is not in the catalogue.

GIORGIONE DEL CASTEL-FRANCO.

This master-piece is worthy of TITIAN.

GUERCINO.

This large picture was executed for St. Peter's church in the Vatican, where it was replaced by a copy in Mosaic, on being removed to the pontificate palace of Monte Cavallo, at Rome.

In the great Gallery are exhibited no less than twenty-three pictures by GUERCINO: but to speak the truth, though, in looking at some of his productions, he appears an extremely agreeable painter, as soon as you see a number of them, you can no longer bear him. This is what happens to mannerists. The dark shades at first astonish you, afterwards they disgust you.

ANDREA SACCHI.

This picture was always one of the most esteemed of those in the churches at Rome. It was the altar-piece of the church of St. Remuald in that city.

ALBANO.

In the Gallery are twenty-nine pictures of this master, and all of them graceful; but the preceding four, representing the elements, which were taken from the royal Cabinet of Turin, are the most remarkable.

BAROCCIO.

These are the best pictures of BAROCCIO already exhibited. His colouring is enchanting. It is entirely transparent and seems as if impregnated with light: however, his forms, and every thing else, bespeak the mannerist.

ANNIBALE CARRACCI.

Of the CARRACCI, ANNIBALE is the most perfect. He is also remarkable for the different manners which he has displayed in his works. They appear to be by two or three different painters. Of more than twenty in the Gallery, the above are the best of his productions.

MICHAEL ANGELO DA CARAVAGGIO.

This wonderful picture, which was brought from Rome, is, for vigour of execution and truth of colouring, superior to all the others by the same master. Every one of his works bears the stamp of a great genius.

DOMENICHINO.

This picture, the master-piece of DOMENICHICO, comes from the great altar of the church of San Geronimo della Carità, at Rome. It will appear incredible that for a work of such importance, which cost him so much time, study, and labour, he received no more than the sum of about £10 sterling.

This capital performance is now removed to the drawing-room of the First Consul, in the palace of the Tuileries.

After RAPHAEL, DOMENICHINO is one of the most perfect masters; and his St. Jerome, together with RAPHAEL'S Transfiguration, are reckoned among the most famous chefs d'œuvre of the art of painting.

GUIDO.

These are the finest of the twenty pictures by that master, now exhibited in the CENTRAL MUSEUM. They both came from Rome; the former, from the Vatican; the latter, from the Capitol.

GUIDO is a noble and graceful painter; but, in general, he betrays a certain negligence in the execution of several parts.

LUINI.

In this picture, LUINI has fallen little short of his master, LEONARDO DA VINCI.

ANDREA SOLARIO.

SOLARIO is another worthy pupil of LEONARDO. This very capital picture belonged to the collection of the crown, and was purchased by Lewis XIV.

PIERUNO DEL VAGA.

An excellent picture from Versailles.

BALTASSARE PERUZZI.

A remarkably fine production.

SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO.

This picture is worthy of the pencil of RAPHAEL. It is not yet exhibited.

PIETRO DA CORTONA.

These are the finest pictures in the collection by this master.

We have now noticed the best productions of the Italian School: in our next visit to the CENTRAL MUSEUM, I shall point out the most distinguished pictures of the French and Flemish Schools.

P. S. Lord Cornwallis is sumptuously entertained here, all the ministers giving him a grand dinner, each in rotation. After having viewed the curiosities of Paris, he will, in about a fortnight, proceed to the congress at Amiens. On his Lordship's arrival, I thought it my duty to leave my name at his hotel, and was most agreeably surprised to meet with a very old acquaintance in his military Secretary, Lieut. Col. L--------s. For any of the ambassador's further proceedings, I refer you to the English newspapers, which seem to anticipate all his movements.

[LETTER XVII.]

Paris, November 15, 1801.

The more frequently I visit the CENTRAL MUSEUM OF THE ARTS, the more am I inclined to think that such a vast number of pictures, suspended together, lessen each other's effect. This is the first idea which now presents itself to me, whenever I enter the

GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE.

Were this collection rendered apparently less numerous by being subdivided into different apartments, the eye would certainly be less dazzled than it is, at present, by an assemblage of so many various objects, which, though arranged as judiciously as possible, somehow convey to the mind an image of confusion. The consequence is that attention flags, and no single picture is seen to advantage, because so many are seen together.

In proportion as the lover of the arts becomes more familiarized with the choicest productions of the pencil, he perceives that there are few pictures, if any, really faultless. In some, he finds beauties, which are general, or forming, as it were, a whole, and producing a general effect; in others, he meets with particular or detached beauties, whose effect is partial: assembled, they constitute the beautiful: insulated, they have a merit which the amateur appreciates, and the artist ought to study. General or congregated beauties always arise from genius and talent: particular or detached beauties belong to study, to labour, that is, to the nulla die sine lineâ and sometimes solely to chance, as is exemplified in the old story of Protogenes, the celebrated Rhodian painter.

To discover some of these beauties, requires no extraordinary discernment; a person of common observation might decide whether the froth at the mouth of an animal, panting for breath, was naturally represented: but a spectator, possessing a cultivated and refined taste, minutely surveys every part of a picture, examines the grandeur of the composition, the elevation of the ideas, the nobleness of the expression, the truth and correctness of the design, the grace scattered over the different objects, the imitation of nature in the colouring, and the masterly strokes of the pencil.

Our last visit to the CENTRAL MUSEUM terminated with the Italian School; let us now continue our examination, beginning with the

FRENCH SCHOOL.

LE BRUN.

The compositions of LE BRUN are grand and rich; his costume well-chosen, and tolerably scientific; the tone of his pictures well-suited to the subject. But, in this master, we must not look for purity and correctness of drawing, in an eminent degree. He much resembles PIETRO DA CORTONA. LE BRUN, however, has a taste more in the style of RAPHAEL and the antique, though it is a distant imitation. The colouring of PIETRO DA CORTONA is far more agreeable and more captivating.

Among the small pictures by LE BRUN, N°s. 14 and 16 deserve to be distinguished; but his chefs d'œuvre are the achievements of Alexander. When the plates from these historical paintings, engraved by AUDRAN, reached Rome, it is related that the Italians, astonished, exclaimed: "Povero Raffaello! non sei più il primo." But, when they afterwards saw the originals, they restored, to RAPHAEL his former pre-eminence.

CLAUDE LORRAIN.

The superior merit of CLAUDE in landscape-painting is too well known to need any eulogium, The three preceding are the finest of his pictures in this collection. However, at Rome, and in England, there are some more perfect than those in the CENTRAL MUSEUM. One of his chefs d'œuvre, formerly at Rome, is now at Naples, in the Gallery of Prince Colonna.

JOUVENET.

The above is the most remarkable picture here by this master.

MIGNARD.

NICOLAS POUSSIN.

In this collection, the above are the finest historical paintings of POUSSIN; and of his landscapes, the following deserve to be admired.

POUSSIN is the greatest painter of the French school. His compositions bear much resemblance to those of RAPHAEL, and to the antique: though they have not the same naïveté and truth. His back-grounds are incomparable; his landscapes, in point of composition, superior even to those of CLAUDE. His large altar-pieces are the least beautiful of his productions. His feeble colouring cannot support proportions of the natural size: in these pictures, the charms of the background are also wanting.

LE SUEUR.

This is the chef d'œuvre of LE SUEUR, who is to be admired for the simplicity of his pencil, as well as for the beauty of his compositions.

VALENTINO.

These are the finest productions of this master, who was a worthy rival of CARAVAGGIO.

VERNET.

This painter's style is generally correct and agreeable. In the above picture he rivals CLAUDE.

We now come to the school which, of all others, is best known in England. This exempts me from making any observations on the comparative merits of the masters who compose it. I shall therefore confine myself to a bare mention of the best of their performances, at present exhibited in the CENTRAL MUSEUM.

FLEMISH SCHOOL.

RUBENS.

In this repository, the above are the most remarkable productions of RUBENS.

VANDYCK.

These are superior to the other pictures by VANDYCK in this collection.

CHAMPAGNE.

The history of this piece is interesting. The eldest daughter of CHAMPAGNE was a nun in the convent of Port-Royal at Paris. Being reduced to extremity by a fever of fourteen months' duration, and given over by her physicians, she falls to prayers with another nun, and recovers her health.

CRAYER.

GERHARD DOUW.

HANS HOLBEIN.

JORDAENS.

ADRIAN VAN OSTADE.

PAUL POTTER.

This most remarkable picture represents, on the fore-ground, near an oak, a bull, a ewe with its lamb, and a herdsman, all as large as life.

REMBRANDT.

The pictures, exhibited in the Saloon of the Louvre, have infinitely the advantage of those in the Great Gallery; the former apartment being lighted from the top; while in the latter, the light is admitted through large windows, placed on both sides, those on the one side facing the compartments between those on the other; so that, in this respect, the master-pieces in the Gallery are viewed under very unfavourable circumstances.

The Gallery of the Louvre is still capable of containing more pictures, one eighth part of it (that next to the Tuileries), being under repair for the purpose.[[1]] It has long been a question with the French republican government, whether the palace of the Tuileries should not be connected to the Louvre, by a gallery parallel to that which borders the Seine. Six years ago, I understand, the subject was agitated, and dropped again, on consideration of the state of the country in general, and particularly the finances. It is now revived; and I was told the other day, that a plan of construction had absolutely been adopted. This, no doubt, is more easy than to find the sums of money necessary for carrying on so expensive an undertaking.

If the fact were true, it is of a nature to produce a great sensation in modern art, since it is affirmed that the object of this work is to give a vast display to every article appropriated to general instruction; for, according to report, it is intended that these united buildings, should, in addition to the National Library, contain the collections of statues, pictures, &c. &c. still remaining at the disposal of the government. I would not undertake to vouch for the precise nature of the object proposed; but it cannot be denied that, in this project, there is a boldness well calculated to flatter the ambition of the Chief Consul.

However, I think it more probable that nothing, in this respect, will be positively determined in the present state of affairs. The expedition to St. Domingo will cost an immense sum, not to speak of the restoration of the French navy, which must occasion great and immediate calls for money. Whence I conclude that the erection of the new Gallery, like that of the National Column, will be much talked of, but remain among other projects in embryo, and the discussion be adjourned sine die.

Leaving the Great Gallery, we return to the Saloon of the Louvre, which, being an intermediate apartment, serves as a point of communication between it and the

GALLERY OF APOLLO.

The old gallery of this name, first called La petite galérie du Louvre, was constructed under the reign of Henry IV, and, from its origin, ornamented with paintings. This gallery having been consumed by fire in 1661, owing to the negligence of a workman employed in preparing a theatre for a grand ballet, in which the king was to dance with all his court, Lewis XIV immediately ordered it to be rebuilt and magnificently decorated.

LE BRUN, who then directed works of this description in France, furnished the designs of all the paintings, sculpture, and ornaments, which are partly executed. He divided the vault of the roof into eleven principal compartments; in that which is in the centre, he intended to represent Apollo in his car, with all the attributes peculiar to the Sun, which was the king's device. The Seasons were to have occupied the four nearest compartments; in the others, were to have been Evening and Morning, Night and Day-break, the Waking of the Waters, and that of the Earth at Sun-rise.

Unfortunately for his fame, this vast project of LE BRUN was never completed. Lewis XIV, captivated by Versailles, soon turned all his thoughts towards the embellishment of that palace. The works of the GALLERY OF APOLLO were entirely abandoned, and, of all this grand composition, LE BRUN was enabled to execute no more than the following subjects:

1. Evening, represented by Morpheus, lying on a bed of poppies, and buried in a profound sleep.
2. Night succeeding to day, and lighted by the silvery disk of the Moon, which, under the figure of Diana, appears in a car drawn by hinds.
3. The Waking of the Waters. Neptune and Amphitrite on a car drawn by sea-horses, and accompanied by Tritons, Nereïds, and other divinities of the waters, seem to be paying homage to the rising sun, whose first rays dispel the Winds and Tempests, figured by a group to the left; while, to the right, Polyphemus, seated on a rock, is calling with his loud instrument to his Galatea.

The other compartments, which LE BRUN could not paint, on account of the cessation of the works, remained a long time vacant, and would have been so at this day, had not the ci-devant Academy of Painting, to whom the king, in 1764, granted the use of the GALLERY OF APOLLO, resolved that, in future, the historical painters who might be admitted members, should be bound to paint for their reception one of the subjects which were still wanting for the completion of the ceiling. In this manner, five of the compartments, which remained to be filled, were successively decorated, namely:

1. Summer, by DURAMEAU.
2. Autumn, by TARAVAL.
3. Spring, by CALLET.
4. Winter, by LAGRENÉE the younger,
5. Morning, or day-break, by RENOU.

The GALLERY OF APOLLO now making part of the CENTRAL MUSEUM, it would be worthy of the government to cause its ceiling to be completed, by having the three vacant compartments painted by skillful French artists.

Under the compartments, and immediately above the cornice, are twelve medallions, which were to represent the twelve months of the year, characterized by the different occupations peculiar to them: eight only are executed, and these are the months of summer, autumn, and winter.

The rich borders in gilt stucco, which serve as frames to all these paintings, the caryatides which support them, as well as the groups of Muses, Rivers, and Children, that are distributed over the great cornice, are worthy of remark. Not only were the most celebrated sculptors then in France, GASPAR and BALTHAZAR MARSY, REGNAUDIN, and GIRARDON, chosen to execute them; but their emulation was also excited by a premium of three hundred louis, which was promised to him who should excel. GIRARDON obtained it by the execution of the following pieces of sculpture:

1. The figure representing a river which is under the Waking of the Waters; at the south extremity of the gallery.
2. The two trophies of arms which are near that river.
3. The caryatides that support one of the octagonal compartments towards the quay, at the foot of which are seen two children; the one armed with a sickle, the other leaning on a lion.
4. The group of caryatides that supports the great compartment where Summer is represented, and below which is a child holding a balance.
5. The two grouped figures of Tragedy and Comedy, which rest on the great cornice.

In the GALLERY OF APOLLO will be exhibited in succession, about twelve thousand original drawings of the Italian, Flemish, and French schools, the greater part of which formerly belonged to the crown. This valuable collection had been successively enriched by the choice of those of JABAK, LANQUE, MONTARSIS, LE BRUN, CROZAT, MARIETTE, &c. yet never rendered public. Private and partial admission to it had, indeed, been granted; but artists and amateurs, in general, were precluded from so rich a source of study. By inconceivable neglect, it seemed almost to have escaped the attention of the old government, having been for a hundred years shut up in a confined place, instead of being exhibited to public view.

The variety of the forms and dimensions of these drawings having opposed the more preferable mode of arranging them by schools, and in chronological order, the most capital drawings of each master have been selected (for, in so extensive a collection, it could not be supposed that they were all equally interesting); and these even are sufficiently numerous to furnish several successive exhibitions.

The present exhibition consists of upwards of two hundred drawings by the most distinguished masters of the Italian school, about one hundred by those of the Flemish, and as many, or rather more, by those of the French. They are placed in glazed frames, so contrived as to admit of the subjects being changed at pleasure. Among the drawings by RAPHAEL, is the great cartoon of the Athenian School, a valuable fragment which served for the execution of the grand fresco painting in the Vatican, the largest and finest of all his productions. It was brought from the Ambrosian library at Milan, and is one of the most instructive works extant for a study.

Besides the drawings, is a frame containing a series of portraits of illustrious personages who made a figure in the reign of Lewis XIV. They are miniatures in enamel, painted chiefly by the celebrated PETITOT of Geneva.

Here are also to be seen some busts and antique vases. The most remarkable of the latter is one of Parian marble, about twenty-one inches in height by twelve in diameter. It is of an oval form; the handles, cut out of the solid stone, are ornamented with four swans' heads, and the neck with branches of ivy. On the swell is a bas-relief, sculptured in the old Greek style, and in the centre is an altar on which these words may be decyphered.

ΣΟΣΙΒΙΟΣ ΑΘΗΝΑΙΟΣ ΕΠΟΙΕΙ.
Sosibios of Athens fecit.

This beautiful vase[[2]] is placed on a table of violet African breccia, remarkable for its size, being twelve feet in length, three feet ten inches in breadth, and upwards of three inches in thickness.

It might, at first, be supposed that the indiscriminate admission of persons of all ranks to a Museum, which presents so many attractive objects, would create confusion, and occasion breaches of decorum. But this is by no means the case. Savoyards, poissardes, and the whole motley assemblage of the lower classes of both sexes in Paris, behave themselves with as much propriety as the more refined visiters; though their remarks, perhaps, may be expressed in language less polished. In conspicuous places of the various apartments, boards are affixed, on which is inscribed the following significant appeal to the uncultivated mind, "Citoyens, ne touchez à rien; mais respectez la Propriété Nationale." Proper persons are stationed here and there to caution such as, through thoughtlessness or ignorance, might not attend to the admonition.

On the days appropriated to the accommodation of students, great numbers are to be seen in different parts of the Museum, some mounted on little stages, others standing or sitting, all sedulously employed in copying the favourite object of their studies. Indeed, the epithet CENTRAL has been applied to this establishment, in order to designate a MUSEUM, which is to contain the choicest productions of art, and, of course, become the centre of study. Here, nothing has been neglected that could render such an institution useful, either in a political light, or in regard to public instruction. Its magnificence and splendour speak to every eye, and are calculated to attract the attention of foreigners from the four quarters of the globe; while, as a source of improvement, it presents to students the finest models that the arts and sciences could assemble. In a philosophical point of view, such a Museum may be compared to a torch, whose light will not only dispel the remnant of that bad taste which, for a century, has predominated in the arts dependent on design, but also serve to guide the future progress of the rising generation.

[Footnote 1]: In the great Gallery of the Louvre are suspended about nine hundred and fifty pictures; which, with ninety in the Saloon, extend the number of the present exhibition to one thousand and forty. [Return to text]

[Footnote 2]: Whatever may be the beauty of this vase, two others are to be seen in Paris, which surpass it, according to the opinion of one of the most celebrated antiquaries of the age, M. VISCONTI. They are now in the possession of M. AUBRI, doctor of Physic, residing at N°. 272, Rue St. Thomas du Louvre, but they formerly graced the cabinet of the Villa-Albani at Rome. In this apartment, Cardinal Alessandro had assembled some of the most valuable ornaments of antiquity. Here were to be seen the Apollo Sauroctonos in bronze, the Diana in alabaster, and the unique bas-relief of the apothesis of Hercules. By the side of such rare objects of art, these vases attracted no less attention. To describe them as they deserve, would lead me too far; they need only to be seen to be admired. Although their form is antique, the execution of them is modern, and ascribed to the celebrated sculptor, SILVIO DA VELETRI, who lived in the beginning of the seventeenth century. Indeed, M. VISCONTI affirms that antiquity affords not their equal; assigning as a reason that porphyry was introduced into Rome at a period when the fine arts were tending to their decline. Notwithstanding the hardness of the substance, they are executed with such taste and perfection, that the porphyry is reduced to the thinness of china. [Return to text]

[LETTER XVIII.]

Paris, November 17, 1801.

The Louvre, the Tuileries, together with the National Fête in honour of Peace, and a crowd of interesting objects, have so engrossed our attention, that we seem to have overlooked the ci-devant Palais Royal. Let us then examine that noted edifice, which now bears the name of

PALAIS DU TRIBUNAT.

In 1629, Cardinal Richelieu began the construction of this palace. When finished, in 1636, he called it the Palais Cardinal, a denomination which was much criticized, as being unworthy of the founder of the French Academy.

Like the politic Wolsey, who gave Hampton-Court to Henry VIII, the crafty Richelieu, in 1639, thought proper to make a present of this palace to Lewis XIII. After the death of that king, Anne of Austria, queen of France and regent of the kingdom, quitted the Louvre to inhabit the Palais Cardinal, with her sons Lewis XIV and the Duke of Anjou.

The first inscription was then removed, and this palace was called le Palais Royal, a name which it preserved till the revolution, when, after the new title assumed by its then owner, it was denominated la Maison Égalité, till, under the consular government, since the Tribunate have here established their sittings, it has obtained its present appellation of Palais du Tribunat.

In the sequel, Lewis XIV granted to Monsieur, his only brother, married to Henrietta Stuart, daughter of Charles I, the enjoyment of the Palais Royal, and afterwards vested the property of it in his grandson, the Duke of Chartres.

That prince, become Duke of Orleans, and regent of France, during the minority of Lewis XV, resided in this palace, and (to use Voltaire's expression) hence gave the signal of voluptuousness to the whole kingdom. Here too, he ruled it with principles the most daring; holding men, in general, in great contempt, and conceiving them to be all as insidious, as servile, and as covetous as those by whom he was surrounded. With the superiority of his character, he made a sport of governing this mass of individuals, as if the task was unworthy of his genius. The fact is illustrated by the following anecdote.

At the commencement of his regency, the debts of the State were immense, and the finances exhausted: such great evils required extraordinary remedies; he wished to persuade the people that paper-money was better than specie. Thousands became the dupes of their avarice, and too soon awoke from their dream only to curse the authors of a project which ended in their total ruin. It is almost needless to mention that I here allude to the Mississippi bubble.

In circumstances so critical, the Parliament of Paris thought it their duty to make remonstrances. They accordingly sent deputies to the regent, who was persuaded that they wished to stir up the Parisians against him. After having listened to their harangue with much phelgm, he gave them his answer in four words: "Go and be d----n'd." The deputy, who had addressed him, nothing disconcerted, instantly replied: "Sir, it is the custom of the Parliament to enter in their registers the answers which they receive from the throne: shall they insert this?"

The principles of the regent's administration, which succeeded those of Lewis XIV, form in history, a very striking shade. The French nation, which, plastic as wax, yields to every impression, was new-modelled in a single instant. As a rotten speck, by spreading, contaminates the finest fruit, so was the Palais Royal the corrupt spot, whence the contagion of debauchery was propagated, even to the remotest parts of the kingdom.

This period, infinitely curious and interesting, paved the way to the present manners. If the basis of morality be at this day overthrown in France, the regency of Philip of Orleans, by completing what the dissolute court of Lewis XIV had begun, has occasioned that rapid change, whose influence was felt long before the revolution, and will, in all probability, last for ages. At least, I think that such a conclusion is exemplified by what has occurred in England since the profligate reign of Charles II, the effects of whose example have never been done away.

Different circumstances have produced considerable alterations in this palace, so that, at the present day, its numerous buildings preserve of the first architect, LE MERCIER, no more than a small part of the second court.

The principal entrance of the Palais du Tribunat is from the Rue St. Honoré. The façade, on this side, which was constructed in 1763, consists of two pavilions, ornamented by Doric and Ionic pillars, and connected by a lofty stone-wall, perforated with arches, to three grand gates, by which you enter the first court. Here, two elegant wings present themselves, decorated with pilasters, also of the Doric and Ionic orders, which are likewise employed for the pillars of the avant-corps in the centre. This avant-corps is pierced with three arches, which serve as a passage into the second court, and correspond with the three gates before-mentioned.

Having reached the vestibule, between the two courts, where large Doric pillars rise, though partly concealed by a number of little shops and stalls, you see, on the right, the handsome elliptical stair-case, which leads to the apartments. It branches off into two divisions at the third step, and is lighted by a lofty dome. The balustrade of polished iron is beautiful, and is said to have cost thirty-two workmen two years' labour. Before the revolution, strangers repaired hither to admire the cabinet of gems and engraved stones, the cabinet of natural history, the collection of models of arts, trades, and manufactures, and the famous collection of pictures, belonging to the last duke of Orleans, and chiefly assembled, at a vast expense, by his grandfather, the regent.

This second court is larger than the first; but it still remains in an incomplete state. The right-hand wing only is finished, and is merely a continuation of that which we have seen in the other court. On the left hand, is the site of the new hall intended for the sittings of the Tribunate. Workmen are now employed in its construction; heaps of stones and mortar are lying about, and, the building seems to proceed with tolerable expedition. Here, in the back-ground, is a crowd of little stalls for the sale of various articles, such as prints, plays, fruit, and pastry. In front stand such carriages as remain in waiting for those who may have been set down at this end of the palace. Proceeding onward, you pass through two parallel wooden galleries, lined on each side with shops, and enter the formerly-enchanting regions of the

JARDIN DU PALAIS DU TRIBUNAT.

The old garden of the Palais Royal, long famous for its shady walks, and for being the most fashionable public promenade in Paris, had, from its centrical situation, gradually attracted to its vicinity a considerable number of speculators, who there opened ready-furnished hotels, coffee-houses, and shops of various descriptions. The success of these different establishments awakened the cupidity of its wealthy proprietor, then Duke, of Chartres, who, conceiving that the ground might be made to yield a capital augmentation to his income, fixed on a plan for enclosing it by a magnificent range of buildings.

Notwithstanding the clamours of the Parisian public, who, from long habit, considered that they had a sort of prescriptive right to this favourite promenade, the axe was laid to the celebrated arbre de Cracovie and other venerable trees, and their stately heads were soon levelled to the ground. Every one murmured as if these trees had been his own private property, and cut down against his will and pleasure. This will not appear extraordinary, when it is considered that, under their wide-spreading branches, which afforded a shelter impervious to the sun and rain, politicians by day, adjusted the balance of power, and arbiters of taste discussed the fashions of the moment; while, by night, they presented a canopy, beneath which were often arranged the clandestine bargains of opera-girls and other votaries of Venus.

After venting their spleen in vague conjectures, witty epigrams, and lampoons, the Parisians were silent. They presently found that they were, in general, not likely to be losers by this devastation. In 1782, the execution of the new plan was begun: in less than three years, the present inclosure was nearly completed, and the modern garden thrown open to the public, uniting to the advantages of the ancient one, a thousand others more refined and concentrated.

The form of this garden is a parallelogram, whose length is seven hundred and two feet by three hundred in breadth, taken at its greatest dimensions. It is bordered, on three of its sides, by new, uniform buildings, of light and elegant architecture. Rising to an elevation of forty-two feet, these buildings present two regular stories, exclusively of the mansarde, or attic story, decorated by festoons, bas-reliefs, and large Composite fluted pillars, bearing an entablature in whose frieze windows are pierced. Throughout its extent, the whole edifice is crowned by a balustrade, on the pedestals of which vases are placed at equal distances.

In the middle of the garden stood a most singular building, partly subterraneous, called a Cirque. This circus, which was first opened in 1789, with concerts, balls, &c. was also appropriated to more useful objects, and, in 1792, a Lyceum of Arts was here established; but in 1797, it was consumed by fire, and its site is now occupied by a grass-plot. On the two long sides of the garden are planted three rows of horse-chesnut trees, not yet of sufficient growth to afford any shade; and what is new, is a few shrubs and flowers in inclosed compartments. The walks are of gravel, and kept in good order.

On the ground-floor, a covered gallery runs entirely round the garden. The shops, &c. on this floor, as well as the apartments of the entresol above them, receive light by one hundred and eighty porticoes, which are open towards the garden, and used to have each a glass lantern, with reflectors, suspended in the middle of their arch. In lieu of these, some of a less brilliant description are now distributed on a more economical plan under the piazzas; but, at the close of day, the rivalship of the shopkeepers, in displaying their various commodities, creates a blaze of light which would strike a stranger as the effect of an illumination.

The fourth side of the garden towards the Rue St. Honoré is still occupied by a double gallery, constructed, as I have already mentioned, of wood, which has subsisted nearly in its present state ever since I first visited Paris in 1784. It was to have been replaced by a colonnade for the inclosure of the two courts. This colonnade was to have consisted of six rows of Doric pillars, supporting a spacious picture-gallery, (intended for the whole of the Orleans collection), which was to have constituted the fourth façade to the garden, and have formed a covered walk, communicating with the galleries of the other three sides.

These galleries, whose whole circumference measures upwards of a third of a mile, afford to the public, even in bad weather, a walk equally agreeable and convenient, embellished, on the one side, by the aspect of the garden, and, on the other, by the studied display of every thing that taste and fashion can invent to captivate the attention of passengers.

No place in Paris, however, exhibits such a contrast to its former attractions as this once-fashionable rendezvous. The change of its name from Palais Royal to Maison Égalité conveys not to the imagination a dissimilitude more glaring than is observable between the present frequenters of this favourite promenade, and those who were in the habit of flocking hither before the revolution.

At that period, the scene was enlivened by the most brilliant and most captivating company in the capital, both in point of exterior and manners. At this day, the medal is exactly reversed. In lieu of well-dressed or well-behaved persons of both sexes, this garden, including its purlieus, presents, morning and evening, nothing but hordes of stock-jobbers, money-brokers, gamblers, and adventurers of every description. The females who frequent it, correspond nearly to the character of the men; they are, for the greater part, of the most debauched and abandoned class: for a Laïs of bon ton seldom ventures to shew herself among this medley of miscreants.

In the crowd, may be occasionally remarked a few strangers attracted by curiosity, and other individuals of respectable appearance called hither on business, as well as some inoffensive newsmongers, resorting to the coffee-houses to read the papers. But, in general, the great majority, of the company, now seen here, is of a cast so extremely low, that no decent woman, whether married or single, thinks of appearing in a place where she would run a risk of being put out of countenance in passing alone, even in the daytime. In the evening, the company is of a still worse complexion; and the concourse becomes so great under the piazzas, particularly when the inclemency of the weather drives people out of the garden, that it is sometimes difficult to cross through the motley assemblage. At the conclusion of the performances in the neighbouring theatres, there is a vast accession of the inferior order of nymphs of the Cyprian corps; and then, amorous conversation and dalliance reach the summit of licentious freedom.

The greater part of the political commotions which have, at different times, convulsed Paris, took their rise in the ci-devant Palais Royal, or it has, in some shape, been their theatre. In this palace too originated the dreadful reverse of fortune which the queen experienced; and, indeed, when the cart in which her majesty was carried to the scaffold, passed before the gates of this edifice, she was unable to repress a sign of indignation.

All writers who have spoken of the inveterate hatred, which existed between the queen and M. d'Orléans, have ascribed it to despised love, whose pangs, as Shakspeare tells, us, are not patiently endured. Some insist that the duke, enamoured of the charms of the queen, hazarded a declaration, which her majesty not only received with disdain, but threatened to inform the king of in case of a renewal of his addresses. Others affirm that the queen, at one time, shewed that the duke was not indifferent to her, and that, on a hint being given to him to that effect, he replied: "Every one may be ambitious to please the queen, except myself. Our interests are too opposite for Love ever to unite them." On this foundation is built the origin of the animosity which, in the end, brought both these great personages to the scaffold.

Whatever may have been the motive which gave rise to it, certain it is that they never omitted any opportunity of persecuting each other. The queen had no difficulty in pourtraying the duke as a man addicted to the most profligate excesses, and in alienating from him the mind of the king: he, on his side, found it as easy, by means of surreptitious publications, to represent her as a woman given to illicit enjoyments; so that, long before the revolution, the character both of the queen and the duke were well known to the public; and their example tended not a little to increase the general dissoluteness of morals. The debaucheries of the one served as a model to all the young rakes of fashion; while the levity of the other, was imitated by what were termed the amiable women of the capital.

After his exile in 1788, the hatred of M. d'Orléans towards the queen roused that ambition which he inherited from his ancestors. In watching her private conduct, in order to expose her criminal weaknesses, he discovered a certain political project, which gave birth to the idea of his forming a plan of a widely-different nature. Hitherto he had given himself little trouble about State affairs; but, in conjunction with his confidential friends, he now began to calculate the means of profiting by the distress of his country.

The first shocks of the revolution had so electrified the greater part of the Parisians, that, in regard to the Duke of Orleans, they imperceptibly passed from profound contempt to blind infatuation. His palace became the rendezvous of all the malcontents of the court, and his garden the place of assembly of all the demagogues. His exile appeared a public calamity, and his recall was celebrated as a triumph. Had he possessed a vigour of intellect, and a daring equal to the situation of leader of a party, there is little doubt that he might have succeeded in his plan, and been declared regent. His immense income, amounting to upwards of three hundred thousand pounds sterling, was employed to gain partisans, and secure the attachment of the people.

After the taking of the Bastille, it is admitted that his party was sufficiently powerful to effect a revolution in his favour; but his pusillanimity prevailed over his ambition. The active vigilance of the queen thwarting his projects, he resolved to get rid of her; and in that intention was the irruption of the populace directed to Versailles. This fact seems proved: for, on some one complaining before him in 1792, that the revolution proceeded too slowly. "It would have been terminated long ago," replied he, "had the queen been sacrificed on the 5th of October 1789."

Two months before the fall of the throne, M. d'Orléans still reckoned to be able to attain his wishes; but he soon found himself egregiously mistaken. The factions, after mutually accusing each other of having him for their chief, ended by deserting him; and, after the death of the king, he became a stranger to repose, and, for the second time, an object of contempt. The necessity of keeping up the exaltation of the people, had exhausted his fortune, great as it was; and want of money daily detached different agents from his party. His plate, his pictures, his furniture, his books, his trinkets, his gems, all went to purchase the favour, and at length the protection, of the Maratists. Not having it in his power to satisfy their cupidity, he opened loans on all sides, and granted illusory mortgages. Having nothing more left to dispose of, he was reduced, as a last resource, to sell his body-linen. In this very bargain was he engaged, when he was apprehended and sent to Marseilles.

Although acquitted by the criminal tribunal, before which he was tried in the south of France, he was still detained there in prison. At first, he had shed tears, and given himself up to despair, but now hope once more revived his spirits, and he availed himself of the indulgence granted him, by giving way to his old habits of debauchery. On being brought to Paris after six months' confinement, he flattered himself that he should experience the same lenity in the capital. The jailer of the Conciergerie, not knowing whether M. d'Orléans would leave that prison to ascend the throne or the scaffold, treated him with particular respect; and he himself was impressed with the idea that he would soon resume an ascendency in public affairs. But, on his second trial, he was unanimously declared guilty of conspiring against the unity and indivisibility of the Republic, and condemned to die, though no proof whatever of his guilt was produced to the jury. One interrogatory put to him is deserving of notice. It was this: "Did you not one day say to a deputy: What will you ask of me when I am king? And did not the deputy reply: I will ask you for a pistol to blow out your brains?"

Every one who was present at the condemnation of M. d'Orléans, and saw him led to the guillotine affirms that if he never shewed courage before, he did at least on that day. On hearing the sentence, he called out: "Let it be executed directly." From the revolutionary tribunal he was conducted straight to the scaffold, where, notwithstanding the reproaches and imprecations which accompanied him all the way, he met his fate with unshaken firmness.

[LETTER XIX.]

Paris, November 18, 1801.

But if the ci-devant Palais Royal has been the mine of political explosions, so it still continues to be the epitome of all the trades in Paris. Under the arcades, on the ground-floor, here are, as formerly, shops of jewellers, haberdashers, artificial florists, milliners, perfumers, print-sellers, engravers, tailors, shoemakers, hatters, furriers, glovers, confectioners, provision-merchants, woollen-drapers, mercers, cutlers, toymen, money-changers, and booksellers, together with several coffee-houses, and lottery-offices, all in miscellaneous succession.

Among this enumeration, the jewellers' shops are the most attractive in point of splendour. The name of the proprietor is displayed in large letters of artificial diamonds, in a conspicuous compartment facing the door. This is a sort of signature, whose brilliancy eclipses all other names, and really dazzles the eyes of the spectators. But at the same time it draws the attention both of the learned and the illiterate: I will venture to affirm that the name of one of these jewellers is more frequently spelt and pronounced than that of any great man recorded in history, either ancient or modern.

With respect to the price of the commodities exposed for sale in the Palais du Tribunat, it is much the same as in Bond Street, you pay one third at least for the idea of fashion annexed to the name of the place where you make the purchase, though the quality of the article may be nowise superior to what you might procure elsewhere. As in Bond Street too, the rents in this building are high, on which account the shopkeepers are, in some measure, obliged to charge higher than those in other parts of the town. Not but I must do them the justice to acknowledge that they make no scruple to avail themselves of every prejudice formerly entertained in favour of this grand emporium, in regard to taste, novelty, &c. by a still further increase of their prices. No small advantage to the shopkeepers established here is the chance custom, arising from such a variety of trades being collected together so conveniently, all within the same inclosure. A person resorting hither to procure one thing, is sure to be reminded of some other want, which, had not the article presented itself to his eye, would probably have escaped his recollection; and, indeed, such is the thirst of gain, that several tradesmen keep a small shop under these piazzas, independently of a large warehouse in another quarter of Paris.

Pamphlets and other ephemeral productions usually make their first appearance in the Palais du Tribunat; and strangers may rely on being plagued by a set of fellows who here hawk about prohibited publications, of the most immoral tendency, embellished with correspondent engravings; such as Justine, ou les malheurs de la vertu, Les quarante manières, &c. They seldom, I am told, carry the publication about them, for fear of being unexpectedly apprehended, but keep it at some secret repository hard by, whence they fetch it in an instant. It is curious to see with what adroitness these vagrants elude the vigilance of the police, I had scarcely set my foot in this building before a Jew-looking fellow, coming close to me, whispered in my ear: "Monsieur veut-il la vie polissonne de Madame--------?" Madame who do you think? You will stare when I tell you to fill up the blank with the name of her who is now become the first female personage in France? I turned round with astonishment; but the ambulating book-vender had vanished, in consequence, as I conclude, of being observed by some mouchard. Thus, what little virtue may remain in the mind of youth is contaminated by precept, as well as example; and the rising generation is in a fair way of being even more corrupted than that which has preceded it.

"Ætas parentum, pejor avis, tulit
Nos nequiores, mox daturos
Progeniem vitiosiorem."

Besides the shops, are some auction-rooms, where you may find any article of wearing apparel or household furniture, from a lady's wig à la Caraculla to a bed à la Grecque: here are as many puffers as in a mock auction in London; and should you be tempted to bid, by the apparent cheapness of the object put up for sale, it is fifty to one that you soon repent of your bargain. Not so with the magazins de confiance à prix fixé, where are displayed a variety of articles, marked at a fixed price, from which there is no abatement.

These establishments are extremely convenient, not only to ingenious mechanics, who have invented or improved a particular production of art, of which they wish to dispose, but also to purchasers. You walk in, and if any article strikes your fancy, you examine it at your ease; you consider the materials, the workmanship, and lastly the price, without being hurried by a loquacious shopkeeper into a purchase which you may shortly regret. A commission of from five to one half per cent, in graduated proportions, according to the value of the article, is charged to the seller, for warehouse-room and all other expenses.

Such is the arrangement of the ground-floor; the apartments on the first floor are at present occupied by restaurateurs, exhibitions of various kinds, billiard-tables, and académies de jeu, or public gaming-tables, where all the passions are let loose, and all the torments of hell assembled.

The second story is let out in lodgings, furnished or unfurnished, to persons of different descriptions, particularly to the priestesses of Venus. The rooms above, termed mansardes, in the French architectural dialect, are mostly inhabited by old batchelors, who prefer economy to show; or by artists, who subsist by the employment of their talents. These chambers are spacious, and though the ceilings are low, they receive a more uninterrupted circulation of fresh air, than the less exalted regions.

Over the mansardes, in the very roof, are nests of little rooms, or cock-lofts, resembling, I am told, the cells of a beehive. Journeymen shopkeepers, domestics, and distressed females are said to be the principal occupiers of these aërial abodes.

I had nearly forgot to mention a species of apartment little known in England: I mean the entresol, which is what we should denominate a low story, (though here not so considered), immediately above the ground-floor, and directly under the first-floor. In this building, some of the entresols are inhabited by the shopkeepers below; some, by women of no equivocal calling, who throw out their lures to the idle youths sauntering under the arcades; and others again are now become maisons de pret, where pawnbrokers exercise their usurious dealings.

In the Palais du Tribunat, as you may remark, not an inch of space is lost; every hole and corner being turned to account: here and there, the cellars even: are converted into scenes of gaiety and diversion, where the master of the house entertains his customers with a succession of vocal and instrumental music, while they are taking such refreshments as he furnishes.

This speculation, which has, by all accounts, proved extremely profitable, was introduced in the early part of the revolution. Since that period, other speculations, engendered by the luxury of the times, have been set on foot within the precincts of this palace. Of two of these, now in full vigour and exercise, I must say a few words, as they are of a nature somewhat curious.

The one is a cabinet de décrotteur, where the art of blacking shoes is carried to a pitch of perfection hitherto unknown in this country.

Not many years ago, it was common, in Paris, to see counsellors, abbés, and military officers, as well as petits-maîtres of every denomination, full dressed, that is, with their hat under their arm, their sword by their side, and their hair in a bag, standing in the open street, with one leg cocked up on a stool, while a rough Savoyard or Auvergnat hastily cleaned their shoes with a coarse mixture of lamp-black and rancid oil. At the present day, the décrotteurs or shoe-blacks still exercise their profession on the Pont Neuf and in other quarters; but, as a refinement of the art, there is also opened, at each of the principal entrances of the Palais du Tribunat, a cabinet de décrotteur, or small apartment, where you are invited to take a chair, and presented with the daily papers.

The artist, with due care and expedition, first removes the dirt from your shoes or boots with a sponge occasionally moistened in water, and by means of several pencils, of different sizes, not unlike those of a limner, he then covers them with a jetty varnish, rivaling even japan in lustre. This operation he performs with a gravity and consequence that can scarcely fail to excite laughter. Yet, according to the trite proverb, it is not the customer who ought to indulge in mirth, but the artist. Although his price is much dearer than that demanded by the other professors of this art, his cabinet is seldom empty from morning to night; and, by a simple calculation, his pencil is found to produce more than that of some good painters of the modern French school.

At the first view of the matter, it should appear that the other speculation might have been hit on by any man with a nose to his face; but, on more mature consideration, one is induced to think that its author was a person of some learning, and well read in ancient history. He, no doubt, took the hint from VESPASIAN. As that emperor blushed not to make the urine of the citizens of Rome a source of revenue, so the learned projector in question rightly judged that, in a place of such resort as the Palais du Tribunat, he might, without shame or reproach, levy a small tax on the Parisians, by providing for their convenience in a way somewhat analogous. His penetration is not unhandsomely rewarded; for he derives an income of 12,000 francs, or £500 sterling, from his cabinets d'aisance.

Since political causes first occasioned the shuting up of the old Théâtre Français in the Faubourg St. Germain, now reduced to a shell by fire, Melpomene and Thalia have taken up their abode in the south-west angle of the Palais du Tribunat, and in its north-west corner is another theatre, on a smaller scale, where Momus holds his court; so that be you seriously, sentimentally, or humorously disposed, you may, without quitting the shelter of the piazzas, satisfy your inclination. Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce all lie before you within the purlieus of this extraordinary edifice.

To sum up all the conveniences of the Palais du Tribunat, suffice it to say, that almost every want, natural or artificial, almost every appetite, gross or refined, might be gratified without passing its limits; for, while the extravagant voluptuary is indulging in all the splendour of Asiatic luxury, the parsimonious sensualist need not depart unsatisfied.

Placed in the middle of Paris, the Palais du Tribunat has been aptly compared to a sink of vice, whose contagious effects would threaten society with the greatest evils, were not the scandalous scenes of the capital here concentrated into one focus. It has also been mentioned, by the same writer, Mercier, as particularly worthy of remark, that, since this building is become a grand theatre, where cupidity, gluttony, and licentiousness shew themselves under every form and excess, several other quarters of Paris are, in a manner, purified by the accumulation of vices which flourish in its centre.

Whether or not this assertion be strictly correct, I will not pretend to determine: but, certain it is that the Palais du Tribunat is a vortex of dissipation where many a youth is ingulfed. The natural manner in which this may happen I shall endeavour briefly to explain, by way of conclusion to this letter.

A young Frenchman, a perfect stranger in Paris, arrives there from the country, and, wishing to equip himself in the fashion, hastens to the Palais du Tribunat, where he finds wearing apparel of every description on the ground-floor: prompted by a keen appetite, he dines at a restaurateur's on the first-floor: after dinner, urged by mere curiosity, perhaps, if not decoyed by some sharper on the look-out for novices, he visits a public gaming-table on the same story. Fortune not smiling on him, he retires; but, at that very moment, he meets, on the landing-place, a captivating damsel, who, like Virgil's Galatea, flies to be pursued; and the inexperienced youth, after ascending another flight of stairs, is, on the second-floor, ushered into a brothel. Cloyed or disgusted there, he is again induced to try the humour of the fickle goddess, and repairs once more to the gaming-table, till, having lost all his money, he is under the necessity of descending to the entresol to pawn his watch, before he can even procure a lodging in a garret above.

What other city in Europe can boast of such an assemblage of accommodation? Here, under the same roof, a man is, in the space of a few minutes, as perfectly equipped from top to toe, as if he had all the first tradesmen in London at his command; and shortly after, without setting his foot into the street, he is as completely stripped, as if he had fallen into the hands of a gang of robbers.

To cleanse this Augæan stable, would, no doubt, be a Herculean labour. For that purpose, Merlin (of Douay), when Minister of the police, proposed to the Directory to convert the whole of the buildings of the ci-devant Palais Royal into barracks. This was certainly striking at the root of the evil; but, probably, so bold a project was rejected, lest its execution, in those critical times, should excite the profligate Parisians to insurrection.

[LETTER XX.]

Paris, November 20, 1801.

One of the private entertainments here in great vogue, and which is understood to mark a certain pre-eminence in the savoir-vivre of the present day, is a nocturnal repast distinguished by the insignificant denomination of a

THÉ.

A stranger might, in all probability, be led to suppose that he was invited to a tea-drinking party, when he receives a note couched in the following terms:

"Madame R------ prie Monsieur B--------- de lui faire l'honneur de venir au thé quelle doit donner le 5 de ce mois."

Considering in that light a similar invitation which I received, I was just on the point of sending an apology, when I was informed that a thé was nothing more or less than a sort of rout, followed by substantial refreshments, and generally commencing after the evening's performance was ended at the principal theatres.

On coming out of the opera-house then the other night, I repaired to the lady's residence in question, and arriving there about twelve o'clock, found that I had stumbled on the proper hour. As usual, there were cards, but for those only disposed to play; for, as this lady happened not to be under the necessity of recurring to the bouillotte as a financial resource, she gave herself little or no concern about the card-tables. Being herself a very agreeable, sprightly woman, she had invited a number of persons of both sexes of her own character, so that the conversation was kept up with infinite vivacity till past one o'clock, when tea and coffee were introduced. These were immediately followed by jellies, sandwiches, pâtés, and a variety of savoury viands, in the style of a cold supper, together with different sorts of wines and liqueurs. In the opinion of some of the Parisian sybarites, however, no thé can be complete without the addition of an article, which is here conceived to be a perfect imitation of fashionable English cheer. This is hot punch.

It was impossible for me to refuse the cheerful and engaging dame du logis to taste her ponche, and, in compliment to me as an Englishman, she presented me with a glass containing at least a treble allowance. Not being overfond of punch, I would willingly have relinquished the honour of drinking her health in so large a portion, apprehending that this beverage might, in quality, resemble that of the same name which I had tasted here a few evenings ago in one of the principal coffeehouses. The latter, in fact, was a composition of new rum, which reminded me of the trash of that kind distilled in New England, acidulated with rotten lemons, sweetened with capillaire, and increased by a quantum sufficit of warm water. My hostess's punch, on the contrary, was made of the best ingredients, agreeably to the true standard; in a word, it was proper lady's punch, that is, hot, sweet, sour, and strong. It was distributed in tea-pots, of beautiful porcelaine, which, independently of keeping it longer warm, were extremely convenient for pouring it out without spilling. Thus concluded the entertainment.

About half past two o'clock the party broke up, and I returned home, sincerely regretting the change in the mode of life of the Parisians.

Before the revolution, the fashionable hour of dinner in Paris was three o'clock, or at latest four: public places then began early; the curtain at the grand French opera drew up at a quarter past five. At the present day, the workman dines at two; the tradesman, at three; the clerk in a public office, at four; the rich upstart, the money-broker, the stock-jobber, the contractor, at five; the banker, the legislator, the counsellor of state, at six; and the ministers, in general, at seven, nay not unfrequently at eight.

Formerly, when the performance at the opera, and the other principal theatres, was ended at nine o'clock, or a quarter past, people of fashion supped at ten or half after; and a man who went much into public, and kept good company, might retire peaceably to rest by midnight. In three-fourths of the houses in Paris, there is now no such meal as supper, except on the occasion of a ball, when it is generally a mere scramble. This, I presume, is one reason why substantial breakfasts are so much in fashion.

"Déjeûners froids et chauds," is an inscription which now generally figures on the exterior of a Parisian coffeehouse, beside that of "Thé à l'Anglaise, Café à la crême, Limonade, &c." Solids are here the taste of the times. Two ladies, who very gallantly invited themselves to breakfast at my apartments the other morning, were ready to turn the house out of the window, when they found that I presented to them nothing more than tea, coffee, and chocolate. I was instantly obliged to provide cold fowl, ham, oysters, white wine, &c. I marvel not at the strength and vigour of these French belles. In appetite, they would cope with an English ploughman, who had just turned up an acre of wholesome land on an empty stomach.

Now, though a thé may be considered as a substitute for a supper, it cannot, in point of agreeableness, be compared to a petit souper. If a man must sup, and I am no advocate for regular suppers, these were the suppers to my fancy. A select number of persons, well assorted, assembled at ten o'clock, after the opera was concluded, and spent a couple of hours in a rational manner. Sometimes a petit souper consisted of a simple tête-à-tête, sometimes of a partie quarrée, or the number was varied at pleasure. But still, in a petit souper, not only much gaiety commonly prevailed, but also a certain épanchement de cœur, which animated the conversation to such a degree as to render a party of this description the acme of social intercourse, "the feast of reason and the flow of soul."

Under the old régime, not a man was there in office, from the ministre d'état to the commis, who did not think of making himself amends for the fatigues of the morning by a petit souper: these petits soupers, however, were, in latter times, carried to an excessive pitch of luxurious extravagance. But for refinements attempted in luxury, though, I confess, of a somewhat dissolute nature, our countryman eclipsed all the French bons vivans in originality of conception.

Being in possession of an ample fortune, and willing to enjoy it according to his fancy, he purchased in Paris a magnificent house, but constructed on a small scale, where every thing that the most refined luxury could suggest was assembled. The following is the account given by one of his friends, who had been an eye-witness to his manner of living.

"Mr. B---- had made it a rule to gratify his five senses to the highest degree of enjoyment of which they were susceptible. An exquisite table, perfumed apartments, the charms of music and painting; in a word, every thing most enchanting that nature, assisted by art, could produce, successively flattered his sight, his taste, his smell, his hearing, and his feeling.

"In a superb saloon, whither he conducted me," says this gentleman, "were six young beauties, dressed in an extraordinary manner, whose persons, at first sight, did not appear unknown to me: it struck me that I had seen their faces more than once, and I was accordingly going to address them, when Mr. B----, smiling at my mistake, explained to me the cause of it." "I have, in my amours," said he, "a particular fancy. The choicest beauty of Circassia would have ho merit in my eyes, did she not resemble the portrait of some woman, celebrated in past ages: and while lovers set great value on a miniature which faithfully exhibits the features of their mistress, I esteem mine only in proportion to their resemblance to ancient portraits.

"Conformably to this idea," continued Mr. B----, "I have caused the intendant of my pleasures to travel all over Europe, with select portraits, or engravings, copied from the originals. He has succeeded in his researches, as you see, since you have conceived that you recognized these ladies on whom you have never before set your eyes; but whose likenesses you may, undoubtedly, have met with. Their dress must have contributed to your mistake: they all wear the attire of the personage they represent; for I wish their whole person to be picturesque. By these means, I have travelled back several centuries, and am in possession of beauties whom time had placed at a great distance."

"Supper was served up. Mr. B---- seated himself between Mary, queen of Scots, and Anne Bullein. I placed myself opposite to him," concludes the gentleman, "having beside me Ninon de l'Enclos, and Gabrielle d'Estrées. We also had the company of the fair Rosamond and Nell Gwynn; but at the head of the table was a vacant elbow-chair, surmounted by a canopy, and destined for Cleopatra, who was coming from Egypt, and of whose arrival Mr. B---- was in hourly expectation."

[LETTER XXI.]

Paris, November 21, 1801.

Often as we have heard of the extraordinary number of places of public entertainment in Paris, few, if any, persons in England have an idea of its being so considerable as it is, even at the present moment. But, in 1799, at the very time when we were told over and over again in Parliament, that France was unable to raise the necessary supplies for carrying on the war, and would, as a matter of course, be compelled not only to relinquish her further projects of aggrandisement, but to return to her ancient territorial limits; at that critical period, there existed in Paris, and its environs, no less than seventy

PUBLIC PLACES OF VARIOUS DESCRIPTIONS.

Under the old régime, nothing like this number was ever known. Such an almost incredible variety of amusements is really a phenomenon, in the midst of a war, unexampled in its consumption of blood and treasure, It proves that, whatever may have been the public distress, there was at least a great show of private opulence. Indeed I have been informed that, at the period alluded to, a spirit of indifference, prodigality, and dissipation, seemed to pervade every class of society. Whether placed at the bottom or the top of Fortune's wheel, a thirst of gain and want of economy were alike conspicuous among all ranks of people. Those who strained every nerve to obtain riches, squandered them with equal profusion.

No human beings on earth can be more fond of diversion than the Parisians. Like the Romans of old, they are content if they have but panem et circenses, which a Frenchman would render by spectacles et de quoi manger. However divided its inhabitants may be on political subjects, on the score of amusement at least the Republic is one and indivisible. In times of the greatest scarcity, many a person went dinnerless to the theatre, eating whatever scrap he could procure, and consoling himself by the idea of being amused for the evening, and at the same time saving at home the expense of fire and candle.

The following list of public places, which I have transcribed for your satisfaction, was communicated to me by a person of veracity; and, as far as it goes, its correctness has been confirmed by my own observation. Although it falls short of the number existing here two years ago, it will enable you to judge of the ardour still prevalent among the Parisians, for "running at the ring of pleasure." Few of these places are shut up, except for the winter; and new ones succeed almost daily to those which are finally closed. However, for the sake of perspicuity, I shall annex the letter S to such as are intended chiefly for summer amusement.

1. Théâtre des Arts, Rue de la Loi.
2. ------- Français, Rue de la Loi.
3. ------- Feydeau, Rue Feydeau.
4. ------- Louvois, Rue de Louvois.
5. ------- Favart, now Opéra Buffa.
6. ------- de la Porte St. Martin.
7. ------- de la Société Olympique (late Opéra Buffa.)
8. ------- du Vaudeville, Rue de Chartres.
9. ------- Montansier, Palais du Tribunat.
10. ------- de l'Ambigu Comique, Boulevard du Temple.
11. ------- de la Gaiété, Boulevard du Temple.
12. ------- des Jeunes Artistes, Boulevard St. Martin.
13. ------- des Jeunes Elèves, Rue de Thionville.
14. ------- des Délassemens Comiques, Boulevard du Temple.
15. ------- sans Prétension, Boulevard du Temple.
16. ------- du Marais, Rue Culture Ste. Catherine.
17. ------- de la Cité, vis-à-vis le Palais de Justice.
18. ------- des Victoires, Rue du Bacq.
19. ------- de Molière, Rue St. Martin.
20. ------- de l'Estrapade.
21. ------- de Mareux, Rue St. Antoine.
22. ------- des Aveugles, Rue St. Denis.
23. ------- de la Rue St. Jean de Beauvais.
24. Bal masqué de l'Opéra, Rue de la Loi.
25. ---------- de l'Opéra Buffa, Rue de la Victoire.
26. Bal du Sallon des Étrangers, Rue Grange Batelière.
27. --- de l'Hôtel de Salm, Rue de Lille, Faubourg St. Germain.
28. --- de la Rue Michaudière.
29. Soirées amusantes de l'Hôtel Longueville, Place du Carrousel.
30. Veillées de la Cité, vis-à-vis le Palais de Justice.
31. Phantasmagorie de Robertson, Cour des Capucines.
32. Concert de Feydeau.
33. Ranelagh au bois de Boulogne.
34. Tivoli, Rue de Clichy, S.
35. Frascati, Rue de la Loi, S.
36. Idalie, S.
37. Hameau de Chantilly, aux Champs Élysées.
38. Paphos, Boulevard du Temple.
39. Vauxhall d'hiver.
40. -------- d'été, S.
41. -------- à Mousseaux, S.
42. -------- à St. Cloud, S.
43. -------- au Petit Trianon, S.
44. Jardin de l'hôtel Biron, Rue de Varenne, S.
45. ------ Thélusson, Chaussée d'Antin, S.
46. ------ Marbœuf, Grille de Chaillot, S.
47. ------ de l'hôtel d'Orsay, S.
48. Fêtes champêtres de Bagatelle, S.
49. La Muette, à l'entrée du Bois de Boulogne, S.
50. Colisée, au Parc des Sablons, S.
51. Amphithéâtre d'équitation de Franconi, aux Capucines.
52. Panorama, même lieu.
53. Exhibition de Curtius, Boulevard du Temple.
54. Expériences Physiques, au Palais du Tribunat.
55. La Chaumière, aux Nouveaux Boulevards.
56. Cabinet de démonstration de Physiologie et de Pathologie, au Palais du Tribunat, No. 38, au premier.

Although, previously to the revolution, the taste for dramatic amusements had imperceptibly spread, Paris could then boast of no more than three principal theatres, exclusively of l'Opéra Buffa introduced in 1788. These were l'Opéra les Français, and les Italiens, which, with six inferior ones, called petits spectacles, brought the whole of the theatres to ten in number. The subaltern houses were incessantly checked in their career by the privileges granted to the Comédie Française, which company alone enjoyed the right to play first-rate productions: it also possessed that of censorship, and sometimes exercised it in the most despotic manner. Authors, ever in dispute with the comedians, who dictated the law to them, solicited, but in vain, the opening of a second French theatre. The revolution took place, and the unlimited number of theatres was presently decreed. A great many new ones were opened; but the attraction of novelty dispersing the amateurs, the number of spectators did not always equal the expectation of the managers; and the profits, divided among so many competitors, ceased to be sufficiently productive for the support of every establishment of this description. The consequence was, that several of them were soon reduced to a state of bankruptcy.

Three theatres of the first and second rank have been destroyed by fire within these two years, yet upwards of twenty are at present open, almost every night, exclusively of several associations of self-denominated artistes-amateurs.

Amidst this false glare of dramatic wealth, theatres of the first rank have imperceptibly declined, and at last fallen. It comes not within my province or intention to seek the causes of this in the defects of their management; but the fact is notorious. The Théâtres Favart and Feydeau, at each of which French comic operas were chiefly represented, have at length been obliged to unite the strength of their talents, and the disgrace which they have experienced, has not affected any of those inferior playhouses where subaltern performers establish their success on an assemblage of scenes more coarse, and language more unpolished.

At the present moment, the government appear to have taken this decline of the principal theatres into serious consideration. It is, I understand, alike to be apprehended, that they may concern themselves too little or too much in their welfare. Hitherto the persons charged with the difficult task of upholding the falling theatres of the first rank, have had the good sense to confine their measures to conciliation; but, of late, it has been rumoured that the stage is to be subjected to its former restrictions. The benefit resulting to the art itself and to the public, from a rivalship of theatres, is once more called in question: and some people even go so far as to assert that, with the exception of a few abuses, the direction of the Gentils-hommes de la chambre was extremely good: thence it should seem that the only difficulty is to find these lords of the bed-chamber, if there be any still in being, in order to restore to them their dramatic sceptre.[[1]]

Doubtless, the liberty introduced by the revolution has been, in many respects, abused, and in too many, perhaps, relative to places of public amusement. But must it, on that account, be entirely lost to the stage, and falling into a contrary excess, must recourse be had to arbitrary measures, which might also be abused by those to whose execution they were intrusted? The unlimited number of theatres may be a proper subject for the interference of the government: but as to the liberty of the theatres, included in the number that may be fixed on to represent pieces of every description, such only excepted as may be hurtful to morals, seems to be a salutary and incontestable principle. This it is that, by disengaging the French comic opera from the narrow sphere to which it was confined, has, in a great measure, effected a musical revolution, at which all persons of taste must rejoice, by introducing on that stage the harmonic riches of Italy. This too it is that has produced, on theatres of the second and third rank, pieces which are neither deficient in regularity, connexion, representation, nor decoration. The effect of such a principle was long wanted here before the revolution, when the independent spirit of dramatic authors was fettered by the procrastinations of a set of privileged comedians, who discouraged them by ungracious refusals, or disgusted them by unjust preferences. Hence, the old adage in France that, when an author had composed a good piece, he had performed but half his task; this was true, as the more difficult half, namely, the getting it read and represented, still remained to be accomplished.

As for the multiplicity of playhouses, it certainly belongs to the government to limit their number, not by privileges which might be granted through favour, or obtained, perhaps, for money. The taste of the public for theatrical diversions being known, the population should first be considered, as it is that which furnishes both money and spectators. It would be easy to ascertain the proportion between the population of the capital and the number of theatres which it ought to comprise. Public places should be free as to the species of amusement, but limited in their number, so as not to exceed the proportion which the population can bear. The houses would then be constantly well attended, and the proprietors, actors, authors, and all those concerned in their success, secure against the consequences of failure, and the true interest of the art be likewise promoted. In a word, neither absolute independence, nor exclusive privilege should prevail; but a middle course be adopted, in order to fix the fate of those great scenic establishments, which, by forming so essential a part of public diversion, have a proportionate influence on the morals of the nation.

I have been led, by degrees, into these observations, not only from a review of the decline of some of the principal playhouses here, but also from a conviction that their general principle is applicable to every other capital in Europe. What, for example, can be more absurd than, in the dog-days, when room and air are particularly requisite, that the lovers of dramatic amusement in the British metropolis are to be crammed into a little theatre in the Haymarket, and stewed year after year, as in a sweating-room at a bagnio, because half a century ago an exclusive privilege was inconsiderately granted?

The playhouses here, in general, have been well attended this winter, particularly the principal ones; but, in Paris, every rank has not exactly its theatre as at a ball. From the spectacles on the Boulevards to those of the first and second rank, there is a mixture of company. Formerly, the lower classes confined themselves solely to the former; at present, they visit the latter. An increase of wages has enabled the workman to gratify his inclination for the indulgence of a species of luxury; and, by a sort of instinct, he now and then takes a peep at those scenes of which he before entertained, from hearsay, but an imperfect idea.

If you wish to see a new or favourite piece, you must not neglect to secure a seat in proper time; for, on such occasions, the house is full long before the rising of the curtain. As to taking places in the manner we do in England, there is no such arrangement to be made, except, indeed, you choose to take a whole box, which is expensive. In that case you pay for it at the time you engage it, and it is kept locked the whole evening, or till you and your party, make your appearance.[a]2]]

At all the spectacles in Paris, you are literally kept on the outside of the house till you have received a ticket, in exchange for your money, through an aperture in the exterior wall. Within a few paces of the door of the principal theatres are two receiver's offices, which are no sooner open, than candidates for admission begin to form long ranks, extending from the portico into the very street, and advance to them two abreast in regular succession. A steady sentinel, posted at the aperture, repeats your wishes to the receiver, and in a mild, conciliating manner, facilitates their accomplishment. Other sentinels are stationed for the preservation of order, under the immediate eye of the officer, who sees that every one takes his turn to obtain tickets: however, it is not uncommon, for forestallers to procure a certain number of them, especially at the representation of a new or favourite piece, and offer them privately at a usurious price which many persons are glad to pay rather than fall into the rear of the ranks.

The method I always take to avoid this unpleasant necessity, I will recommend to you as a very simple one, which may, perhaps, prevent you from many a theatrical disappointment. Having previously informed myself what spectacle is best worth seeing, while I am at dinner I send my valet de place, or if I cannot conveniently spare him, I desire him to dispatch a commissionnaire for the number of tickets wanted, so that when I arrive at the theatre, I have only to walk in, and place myself to the best advantage.

It is very wisely imagined not to establish the receiver's offices in the inside of the house, as in our theatres. By this plan, however great may be the crowd, the entrance is always unobstructed, and those violent struggles and pressures, which among us have cost the lives of many, are effectually prevented. You will observe that no half-price is taken at any theatre in Paris; but in different parts of the house, there are offices, called bureaux de supplément, where, if you want to pass from one part of it to another, you exchange your counter-mark on paying the difference.

Nothing can be better regulated than the present police, both interior and exterior, of the theatres in Paris. The eye is not shocked, as was formerly the case, by the presence of black-whiskered grenadiers, occupying different parts of the house, and, by the inflexible sternness of their countenance, awing the spectators into a suppression of their feelings. No fusileer, with a fixed bayonet and piece loaded with ball, now dictates to the auditors of the pit that such a seat must hold so many persons, though several among them might, probably, be as broad-bottomed as Dutchmen. If you find yourself incommoded by heat or pressure, you are at liberty to declare it without fear of giving offence. The criticism of a man of taste is no longer silenced by the arbitrary control of a military despot, who, for an exclamation or gesture, not exactly coinciding with his own prepossessions, pointed him out to his myrmidons, and transferred him at once to prison. You may now laugh with Molèire, or weep with Racine, without having your mirth or sensibility thus unseasonably checked in its expansion.

The existence of this despotism has been denied; but facts are stubborn things, and I will relate to you an instance in which I saw it most wantonly exercised. Some years ago I was present at the Théâtre Français, when, in one of Corneille's pieces, Mademoiselle Raucourt, the tragic actress, was particularly negligent in the delivery of a passage, which, to do justice to the author, required the nicest discrimination. An amateur in the parterre reproved her, in a very gentle manner, for a wrong emphasis. Being at this time a favourite of the queen, she was, it seems, superior to admonition, and persisted in her misplaced shrieks, till it became evident that she set the audience at defiance: other persons then joined the former in expressing their disapprobation. Instantly the major singled out the leading critic: two grenadiers forced their way to the place where he was seated, and conveyed him to prison for having had the audacity to reprove an actress in favour at court. From such improper exercise of authority, the following verse had become a proverb:

"II est bien des sifflets, mais nous avons la garde."

Many there are, I know, who approved of this manner of bridling the fickle Parisians, on the ground that they were so used to the curb that they could no longer dispense with it. A guard on the outside of a theatre is unquestionably necessary, and proper for the preservation of order; but that the public should not be at liberty to approve or condemn such a passage, or such an actor, is at once to stifle the expression of that general opinion which alone can produce good performers. The interior police of the theatre being at present almost entirely in the hands of the public themselves, it is, on that account, more justly observed and duly respected.

Considering the natural impetuosity of their character, one is surprised at the patient tranquillity with which the French range themselves in their places. Seldom do they interrupt the performance by loud conversation, but exchange their thoughts in a whisper. When one sees them applaud with rapture a tender scene, which breathes sentiments of humanity or compassion, speaks home to every feeling heart, and inspires the most agreeable sensations, one is tempted to question whether the Parisians of the present day belong to the identical race that could, at one time, display the ferocity of tigers, and, at another, the tameness of lambs, while their nearest relations and best friends were daily bleeding on the scaffold?

By the existing regulations, many of which are worthy of being adopted in London, no theatre can be opened in Paris without the permission of the police, who depute proper persons to ascertain that the house is solidly built, the passages and outlets unincumbered and commodious, and that it is provided with reservoirs of water, and an adequate number of fire-engines.

Every public place that may be open, is to be shut up immediately, if, for one single day, the proprietors neglect to keep the reservoirs full of water, the engines in proper order, and the firemen ready.

No persons can be admitted behind the scenes, except those employed in the service of the theatre. Nor is the number of tickets distributed to exceed that of the persons the house can conveniently hold.

No coachman, under any pretext whatever, can quit the reins of his horses, while the persons he has driven, are getting out of or into their carriage. Indeed, the necessity of his doing so is obviated by porters stationed at the door of the theatres, and appointed by the police. They are distinguished by a brass plate, on which their permission and the name of the theatre are engraved.

At all the theatres in Paris, there is an exterior guard, which is at the disposal of the civil officer, stationed there for the preservation of order. This guard cannot enter the inside of the theatre but in case of the safety of the public being exposed, and at the express requisition of the said officer, who can never introduce the armed force into the house, till after he has, in a loud voice, apprized the audience of his intention.

Every citizen is bound to obey, provisionally, the officer of police. In consequence, every person invited by the officer of police, or summoned by him, to quit the house, is immediately to repair to the police-office of the theatre, in order to give such explanations as may be required of him. The said officer may either transfer him to the competent tribunal, or set him at liberty, according to circumstances.

Proper places are appointed for carriages to wait at. When the play is ended, no carriage in waiting can move till the first crowd coming out of the house has disappeared. The commanding officer of the guard on duty decides the moment when carriages may be called.

No carriage can move quicker than a foot-pace, and but on a single rank, till it has got clear of the streets in the vicinity of the theatre. Nor can it arrive thither but by the streets appointed for that purpose.

Two hours before the rising of the curtain, sentinels are placed in sufficient number to facilitate the execution of these orders, and to prevent any obstruction in the different avenues of the theatre.

Indeed, obstruction is now seldom seen; I have more than once had the curiosity to count, and cause to be counted, all the private carriages in waiting at the grand French opera, on a night when the boxes were filled with the most fashionable company. Neither I nor my valet de place could ever reckon more than from forty to fifty; whereas, formerly, it was not uncommon to see here between two and three hundred; and the noise of so many equipages rattling through the streets, from each of the principal theatres, sufficiently indicated that the performance was ended.

By the number of advertisements in the petites affiches or daily advertiser of Paris, offering a reward for articles lost, no doubt can exist of there being a vast number of pickpockets in this gay capital; and a stranger must naturally draw such an inference from observing where the pockets are placed in men's clothes: in the coat, it is in the inside of the facing, parallel to the breast: in the waistcoat, it is also in the inside, but lower down, so that when a Frenchman wants to take out his money, he must go through the ceremony of unbuttoning first his surtout, if he wears one in winter, then his coat, and lastly his waistcoat. In this respect, the ladies have the advantage; for, as I have already mentioned, they wear no pockets.

[Footnote 1]: During the old régime, the theatres were under the control of the Gentils-hommes de la chambre, but at the establishment of the directorial government, they were placed in the power of the Minister of the Interior, in whose department they have since continued. Of late, however, it is asserted, that they are each to be under the direction of a Prefect of the Palace. [Return to text]

[Footnote 2]: Independently of the boxes reserved for the officers of the staff of the city of Paris, and those at the head of the police, who have individually free admission to all the spectacles on producing their ivory ticket, there is also a box at each theatre appropriated to the Minister of Public Instruction. [a]Return to text]

[LETTER XXII.]

Paris, November 23, 1801.

Yesterday being the day appointed for the opening of the session of the Legislative Body, I was invited by a member to accompany him thither, in order to witness their proceedings. No one can be admitted without a ticket; and by the last constitution it is decreed, that not more than two hundred strangers are to be present at the sittings. The gallery allotted for the accommodation of the public, is small, even in proportion to that number, and, in general, extremely crowded. My friend, aware of this circumstance, did me the favour to introduce me into the body of the hall, where I was seated very conveniently, both for seeing and hearing, near the tribune, to the left of the President.

This hall was built for the Council of Five Hundred, on the site of the grand apartments of the Palais Bourbon. Since the accession of the consular government, it has been appropriated to the sittings of the Legislative Body, on which account the palace has taken their name, and over the principal entrance is inscribed, in embossed characters of gilt bronze:

PALAIS DU CORPS LÉGISLATIF.

The palace stands on the south bank of the Seine, facing the Pont de la Concorde. It was begun, in 1722, for Louise-Françoise de Bourbon, a legitimated daughter of Lewis XIV. GIRARDINI, an Italian architect, planned the original building, the construction of which was afterwards superintended by LASSURANCE and GABRIEL. The Prince de Condé having acquired it by purchase, he caused it to be considerably augmented and embellished, at different times, under the direction of BARRAU, CARPENTIER and BÉLISARD.

Had the Pont de la Concorde subsisted previously to the erection of the Palais Bourbon, the principal entrance would, probably, have been placed towards the river; but it faces the north, and is preceded by a paltry square, now called Place du Corps Législatif.

In the centre of a peristyle, of the Corinthian order, is the grand gateway, crowned by a sort of triumphal arch, which is connected, by a double colonnade, to two handsome pavilions. The lateral buildings of the outer court, which is two hundred and eighty feet in length, are decorated with the same order, and a second court of two hundred and forty feet, includes part of the original palace, which is constructed in the Italian style.