A
ROUGH SKETCH
OF
MODERN PARIS.

G. Woodfall, Printer,
Paternoster row.

A
ROUGH SKETCH
OF
MODERN PARIS;

OR,
LETTERS
ON
SOCIETY, MANNERS, PUBLIC CURIOSITIES, AND AMUSEMENTS,
IN THAT CAPITAL,

WRITTEN DURING THE LAST TWO MONTHS OF 1801 AND THE FIRST
FIVE OF 1802.

BY J. G. LEMAISTRE, ESQ.

SECOND EDITION.

J’ai voulu voir Paris; les fastes de l’histoire

Célébrant ses plaisirs, et consacrent sa gloire.

Voltaire.

Nous avons vu Trajan, Titus et Marc Aurele,

Quitter le beau séjour de la gloire immortelle,

Pour venir en secret s’amuser à Paris.

Quelque bien qu’on puisse être, on veut changer de place;

C’est pourquoi les anglois sortent de leur pays.

L’esprit est inquiet, et de tout il se lasse;

Souvent un bien heureux s’ennuie en Paradis.

Idem.

LONDON.
PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, IN ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD;
1803.

PREFACE.

In june, 1801, while the war between England and France still continued, I obtained his majesty’s license to visit the latter country, in order to ascertain my claims to a legacy left me at Paris. A french passport was likewise necessary; and such were the difficulties which occurred, that, notwithstanding repeated applications to M. Otto on the subject, the instrument in question was not yet arrived, when, on the first of October, an extraordinary gazette announced the joyful intelligence of the signature of preliminary articles of peace. The jealousy of the french government ceased with the war; and, three days after its termination, I received the long expected passport.

Being one of the first englishmen who arrived in France, after a war big with such unparallelled events, I determined to keep a journal of my proceedings. The object which, at first, induced me to do so, was simply to gratify the curiosity of an intimate friend, who had charged me, on leaving England, to forward to him, by every opportunity, detailed accounts pf modern France. Of my correspondence, thus begun, I took regular copies; and, on perusing the materials which I had been able to collect, it afterwards occurred to me, that some of these letters might become not totally uninteresting to the public, if formed into a less objectionable shape, and freed from the many little occurrences, which they originally contained, and which only related personally either to my friend or myself. From this collection I have accordingly culled the following letters. I offer them to my readers, as conveying not a studied view of society and manners, but a rough landscape, drawn by the untutored hand of an inexperienced artist. If the sketch should happen to please, the merit will be less in the execution than in the subject; if it fail, the fault will be in the pencil, and not in the accuracy of the drawer.

To divest myself, as much as possible, from every prejudice, has been a duty which I have strictly endeavoured to fulfil; yet I fear, such is the effect of early habit, that many marks will still be discovered of national predilection. I beg leave, as a check against faults of this kind, which I may have involuntarily committed, to request my reader to remember, that the observations now laid before him, are those of a man accustomed to english opinions, english society, and english manners. In judging of another country, a foreigner cannot help making a comparison between what he has known at home add what he sees abroad. In doing so, the partiality, which he naturally entertains for his own customs, may lead him to condemn, as faults, what may be simply deviations from the former. That such is the general bias of the human mind, I am fully aware, and I cannot flatter myself that mine has escaped it. This consideration must plead my excuse with the french, if I should sometimes appear severe; and the same ought to prevent my countrymen from placing too implicit a confidence in my judgments, where it may be my misfortune to condemn. My hand has faithfully drawn what my eye beheld; but the sight may be jaundiced, and, in that case the picture will be incorrect.

To conclude—The intention of this work being simply to describe the internal situation of the french capital, all religious and political discussions will be avoided. The causes, events, and consequences of a revolution, which has no parallel in history, I leave to abler and more experienced writers. To point out to strangers the objects most interesting at Paris, to convey some previous information to those who intend going thither, and to lay before such as are prevented, by their other occupations, from undertaking the journey, an account of the pleasures, festivals, buildings, and mode of living in that metropolis, is the task I have undertaken, a task which, however comparatively humble, is neither useless nor unimportant. Had it fallen into other hands, the public would feel the truth of this remark. As it is, I fear they will easily discover, that the subject deserved an abler pen.

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE
TO THE SECOND EDITION.

The first edition of this work appeared anonymously. Its rapid sale and the favourable manner in which “The Rough Sketch,” has been received induce the Author, as a mark of respect and gratitude to an indulgent Public, to affix, his name to this second impression. In doing so, he begs leave to apologize for the typographical errors found in the first edition, and which he can only correct in that which is now issued, by means of an errata. These faults may, perhaps, be pardoned, when it is known that the Author was in the most distant part of Italy at the time of the first publication, and that most of the sheets which compose the present impression, were struck off previously to his return.

In reading the following pages the Public will also have the goodness to remember the period at which they were written. When the Author speaks of Bonaparte, he speaks of him in other days. In May, 1802, when these letters were concluded, the First Consul was the elected first magistrate of France, the professed friend of England, and the acknowledged pacificator of Europe. He had not at that time overturned the form of government which he had solemnly sworn to maintain, by assuming for life the reins of power. He had not then violated the laws of nations and the rights of a free, virtuous, and independent people by the subjugation of Switzerland. He had not then insulted his Majesty and the British nation in the person of our ambassador. He had not yet dared to ask for changes in the most valuable and purest parts of our excellent constitution, nor had he sunk the dignity of his character by a conversation which at once betrayed his vanity, rashness, and unbounded ambition. In one word, the laurels of Marengo were yet unfaded. He was then a great man. Without enquiring what he now is, one may be permitted to apply to him what Virgil said of the Trojan hero after his defeat:

⸺Heu quantum mutatus ab illo

Hectore, qui redit exuvias indutus Achillis!

Upper Seymour Street, Sept. 21, 1803.

CONTENTS.

A
ROUGH SKETCH
OF
MODERN PARIS.

LETTER I.

Reflections on landing at Calais.—Custom house officers, municipality, commissaires, Dessein’s, theatre.—Montreuil.—L’hôtel d’Angleterre at Amiens.—Chantilly.—State of the roads.—Difficulty of getting lodgings at Paris.—M. Peregaux.

Paris, october the 30th, 1801 (4 brumaire, an 10.)

MY DEAR SIR,

At length, arrived in this celebrated city, I execute my promise in commencing a correspondence, which, on my part, shall in future be strictly confined to the curiosities of the place. As I have been only three hours at Paris, I shall in this first letter speak of nothing but my journey. On the 26th of october, I left the York house, at Dover, (of which Payne is still the civil landlord); and embarking at one o’clock on board a neutral vessel, which I was compelled to hire, no english packet boat being yet allowed to enter the ports of France, found myself, after a safe and pleasant passage, at four, on the continent. Though I have before crossed the Channel, and in as rapid a manner, I was forcibly struck by the wonderful and almost magical change of situation which this short voyage had effected. Rising at my usual hour, I had breakfasted, and walked about the streets of Dover, surrounded by english faces and english customs. The sun had not yet set, and I was now in a foreign country, and that country so lately the enemy of mine, and the seat of such extraordinary and many coloured events. I had changed a monarchical for a republican government. I saw a different people, different dresses, and different countenances, and I was subject to different laws, and different customs.

As soon as the vessel entered the port of Calais, two custom house officers came on board, in a military uniform (for every fonctionnaire public has here a regimental dress); and, after taking the names of the passengers, one of them retired, to make his report at the municipality, while the other stayed to prevent our landing, till the return of his companion. In the mean time, the jetée, or pier, was crowded with spectators, the greater part of whom were military men, of different ranks and different descriptions. They seemed highly amused in staring at the dresses of the ladies, and in examining the body of my carriage, which was hung on the deck of the ship; while we were equally entertained with the great moustaches of the grenadiers, the wooden shoes of the peasants, and the close caps of the grisettes.

At length, monsieur de la Douaine returned. We were permitted to touch the territory of the republic; and, conducted by a guard of Bourgeois (who, in their dress, rather resembled the ragged regiment of Terence, than the renowned warriors of France), we proceeded to the custom house, from the custom house to the municipality, and from the municipality to the commissaire’s.

After undergoing examinations at each of these offices, delivering our passports, and giving up our pocket books and letters (which were returned the following day), we were at last permitted to retire to our inn, the tattered guard, which accompanied us from the ship, having been previously dismissed. At six o’clock, I sat down to an excellent dinner, at the celebrated hotel, formerly kept by Dessein, who is now succeeded by his nephew, Quillacq, a very respectable man, who met me at landing, and, with the utmost civility and attention, took charge of my carriage, baggage, &c. I wished to have set out the following morning for Paris, but I was informed that this was impossible, as, though I brought with me a passport from M. Talleyrand, it was necessary to have this exchanged for one of the mayor of Calais, which latter could not be delivered till late the following day. I accordingly passed tuesday in this town, which gave me an opportunity of visiting the theatre, which is still at Dessein’s. To the best of my recollection, there is no alteration in the building since the war; and, from the darkness of the house, I am inclined to think, that even the painting has not been changed. The actors are not very good, yet better than the generality of our country performers in England. The house was full, and the company well dressed. In short, this amusement may be considered as a very pleasant resource for travellers detained at Calais, either by contrary winds, or by delays in the delivery of passports.

On wednesday morning, Mrs. ⸺ and myself proceeded with post horses. We found the roads very bad, particularly near Boulogne; and, if our conveyance had not been particularly easy, we should have suffered very severely from the fatigues of the journey. It is necessary to add, that numerous workmen were employed in every part of the roads in repairing and amending them. Probably, therefore, before next summer, the communication between the two principal cities of Europe will be restored to its former excellence. At present, the roads have rather the appearance of leading to some deserted village, than to the capital of la grande nation. The post horses are active and well-fed, their drivers civil, and the expense moderate[1].

Though we left Calais at break of day, and did not stop either to breakfast or to dine, we did not reach Montreuil, where we proposed sleeping the first night, till sunset. Here we found excellent accommodations, at the inn celebrated by Sterne. The house has, indeed, nothing to recommend it, in point of outward show; and, in this respect, differs entirely from the generality of french hotels: but if comfortable beds, superiorly good cooking, and the smiling attention of two very pretty girls, who act as waiters, are any attractions, I can safely point out this inn, as one at which my countrymen will do right to stop.

From Montreuil we proceeded the next day, through a fine country and bad roads, to Amiens. The cultivation seemed good, and in the villages through which we passed, the peasants were well clad. In the towns, the number of beggars was as great as formerly. At every post, we were surrounded with the old, the blind, and the lame; some of whom, not satisfied with vociferating their complaints, actually climbed up the springs of the carriage, and put their faces within the windows, more effectually to draw our notice.

The waiters, post boys, and landlords, were every where remarkably civil, and all expressed their joy at seeing once again amongst them “les milords Anglais,” by which title they have not forgotten to call, and to tax accordingly, all english travellers. The people appear to me not only civil, but respectful, and infinitely more so, than before the revolution. The reason is plain, the old noblesse treated their inferiors with a degree of familiarity, which produced in the latter a mode of speaking, that, to an english ear, seemed highly offensive, but which the french permitted, because they could check it at their pleasure. The loss of their rank has now compelled the higher classes to command respect by a distance of manner, which has of course produced a similar conduct in the persons beneath them.

At Amiens, we drove to “l’hôtel d’Angleterre,” where we were magnificently and miserably lodged. Fine rooms, superbly furnished; windows and doors, which would neither keep out the rain nor wind; bad fires, and a worse supper, formed the complete picture of a french inn, and the colouring of extravagant charges was not omitted.

Starved with cold and hunger we left Amiens by break of day, on friday morning; and after travelling through a country, the beauty of which increased every step with the increasing badness of the roads, we at length reached Chantilly, not a little pleased at having escaped the dangers of a broken neck. At the post office, which is a new inn, built since the revolution, directly fronting the park of the ci-devant château, we found good beds, and a comfortable supper, prepared by the kind attention of some english friends, who had preceded us on the road.

The following morning (the 30th), we visited the ruins of this once magnificent spot. If we had had often reason, during our journey, to deplore the destructive effects of that mistaken spirit, of pretended philosophy, and pretended patriotism, which had levelled with the ground the churches and country seats, the ruins of which reminded us, in every village, of the excesses committed during the revolution; we made these reflections with double force, and double regret, in viewing what was once the palace of Chantilly. The principal building is entirely pulled down; but le petit château, and the superb edifice of the stable, still remain. This latter was saved by the orders of the present government, who forbade its being sold; and the mistress of the inn, with tears in her eyes, acquainted me, that had Bonaparte been at the head of public affairs six months sooner, the palace also would have been rescued from destruction. That extraordinary man visited Chantilly after the sale, but before the demolition of the building. He heard that the purchaser had ordered it to be pulled down—he expressed his regret; but, at that time, he had no means of preventing what he sincerely deplored.

The stables, though unhurt, are neglected and dirty. They contain, at present, a regiment of cavalry. The woods have also been greatly thinned; the garden no longer exists; and, altogether, Chantilly presents rather the picture of decayed magnificence, than that of actual beauty.

On leaving this once celebrated place, we found a fine paved road all the way to Paris. The regular avenue of hills, the rich country, the vineyards, the villas, and the carriages of all descriptions which we met, announced an approach to the capital, at the gates of which we arrived at two o’clock.

Here, and at Boulogne, we were asked very civilly for our passports, which were instantly returned us. These were the only interruptions or examinations which we experienced, during the whole of our journey. Carriages are not stopped, as formerly, at every town, to be searched for contraband goods, but, en revanchè, turnpikes are numerous and expensive. The inns are nearly as dear as those of England; and it is now not less necessary, than under the ancien régime, to make a previous bargain, before the horses are taken from the carriage. If this is not done, impositions and disputes are sure to occur.

On arriving at Paris, I drove to several hotels, before I could get accommodated at all. I am now wretchedly lodged, and fear, from what I have already seen and heard, that I must waste a considerable portion of valuable time, before I shall obtain such apartments as I wish. Good rooms are very scarce, many of the hôtels garnis having been unfurnished during the revolution, and those which remain being nearly filled with foreigners, who, since the peace, have flocked hither in great numbers, from every nation of the world.

Persons, intending to visit Paris, ought to write some days before hand to their correspondents, if they desire to be comfortably lodged on their arrival.

Adieu, my friend. I have now given you a full account of my journey. I say nothing of Paris, or its inhabitants, the only person I have yet seen being M. Peregaux, my banker. His new dignity of senateur has made no alteration in his conduct. He is as civil, and as obliging as ever.

As soon as I have seen any thing worth communicating, I shall write again. In the mean time, I take my leave. And

Am, &c.

LETTER II.

The palace and gardens of the Thuilleries.—The Louvre.—The musée central des arts, or picture gallery.—Maria Cosway.—Gallery of antiquities.—Apollo Belvidere.—Laocoon.—List of pictures.

Paris, november the 6th, 1801 (15 brumaire, an 10.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my last letter given the details of my journey, I shall proceed to speak in this of what I have already seen at Paris. The first objects of curiosity to which my steps were directed, were of course the Thuilleries and the Louvre. Of the garden of the former it is difficult to say any thing at this unfavourable season of the year. It appears, however, to have undergone but little alteration, and to have received the additional ornament of several statues, which are scattered about the grounds. The château or palace of the Thuilleries is also unchanged in that part of it which faces the garden, but the appearance of the great front, (I mean that towards the Carousel,) is much improved, and has become strikingly magnificent. It promises to be still more so, when the whole of the projected amendments are completed. When I last visited Paris, a number of small houses surrounded the palace, and seemed to conceal it from the profane eye of the vulgar. The greater part of these houses are already pulled down, and the gallery of the Louvre, no longer kept from view, forms a magnificent side to the spacious court by which the palace is approached, and in which the first consul reviews his troops, on the 15th of every month. This court is separated from the street, by a beautiful iron railing, the four gates of which are ornamented with the celebrated horses taken from Venice, and with the birds (I believe cocks) which, in imitation of the roman eagles, the french republic has adopted as her distinguishing symbol. The opening is already extended as far as la rue St. Nicaise. Houses are daily pulled down, and I understand it is the intention of the present government to clear away all the remaining obstacles, which separate the palace of the Louvre from that of the Thuilleries. When this great plan is fully executed, the residence of the first consul will greatly exceed in magnificence all the palaces of Europe.

In the Louvre is situated the museum or musée central des arts. This superb collection, without exception the finest in the world, occupies a room equally unrivalled, covering a space at least equal to a quarter of an english mile. The antichamber[2] to this vast gallery is at present filled with a modern exhibition of paintings, which, indifferent in themselves, become still more contemptible by an involuntary, though perhaps unfair, comparison, which one is led to make between the artists of our times, and those of our ancestors. An excellent likeness in full length of madame Bonaparte, and a beautiful miniature of a father and a son, by Isabey, were the only objects which attracted my attention. My impatience soon carried me forward. At length I found myself in the magnificent room, which I have before mentioned, the walls of which are covered as far as the eye can reach with the sublimest efforts of human art. Where the mind has long been promised a pleasure, when fancy has dressed it in all her choicest colours, how seldom does the reality approach the phantom of heated imagination! For once I was not disappointed. I expected it is true, a high gratification. I had formed to myself an exalted idea of the objects, which I was about to visit, yet the satisfaction I felt exceeded, far exceeded, what I supposed it possible for the power of sight to afford; nor did I believe that the hand of man was capable of attaining that degree of perfection, which I now beheld. For some time I was lost in wonder, I knew not where to fix my enraptured eye. A catalogue which was offered me, by one of the attendants, and which as I afterwards found, is drawn up with great clearness and precision, roused me from this pleasing reverie, and gave some order to the train of my thoughts. The arrangement of the collection is admirable.

After viewing the masterpieces of la Sueur, le Brun, Nicolas Poussin, and the three Van Loos, I supposed I had already seen the utmost efforts of the art, and even, under this supposition, was ready to allow that my highest ideas of the power of painting fell short of what these specimens presented. Think of my surprise, when, looking on my catalogue, I found that I had not yet passed the limits of the french school. Astonished and delighted I went on. The flemish, dutch, and german masters occupy the second division. Among them I beheld the exquisite works of Van Dyck, of Hans Holbein, of Paul Potter, of Rembrandt, of Teniers, and of Rubens. Sublime as were the first, objects that had claimed my admiration, even they were exceeded by the latter. Nor had I yet seen the acme of the art. Charmed with the fancy and execution of all the flemish painters, I was particularly pleased with the beautiful pasturage, by Paul Potter, every object of which seems alive on the canvass.

A few steps would bring me in view of the wonders of Italy, to see which so many of my countrymen had crossed the Alps; yet so enraptured was I with the objects already before me, that it required all the importunity of my companions, to persuade me to proceed. I was soon rewarded for this temporary sacrifice, and in contemplating the almost supernatural works of Corregio, of Caravaggio, of the Carracci, of Dominichino, of Guido, of Leonardo da Vinci, of Paul Veronese, of Raphael and of Titian. I discovered, that what I had seen before were only so many links in the great chain of perfection, which was now complete. If among those models of the art, you wish me to name some particular picture, I should give the preference to the communion of St. Jerome, by Dominichino, which in expression, colouring, feeling, and variety, seems to me to possess every beauty united.

Before I quit a subject so interesting in every respect, I ought to mention, that this assemblage of the chefs-d’œuvres of former times, begins already to hold out the promise of improving the taste of modern painters. I saw artists of both sexes, occupied in taking copies of the most celebrated subjects; and as curiosity led me to observe some of these unfinished attempts, I discovered, with infinite pleasure, that the figures, and even the countenances of the most striking objects, were in several instances successfully imitated. It is indeed, almost impossible, that the study of such unrivalled works should be pursued, without considerable benefit to the individual, and improvement to the art. To me it appears highly probable, that, assisted by the great facilities and advantages which this gallery affords, painting will, in the course of twenty years, recover all its former splendour.

An English lady[3], who has long very deservedly enjoyed a considerable portion of public praise, is now employed in copying the principal pictures in the museum; and from her designs, prints are to be published, the proposals for which are already circulated at Paris. If she should execute her plan as well as one has reason to expect from her known talents, the collection will become highly valuable and interesting, not only to those who have seen the originals, but likewise to such as have not had that advantage.

The musée, like every other establishment of the kind in this town, is conducted on principles of liberality, truly honourable to the government and the nation. The gallery is open to foreigners and artists, every day of the year; but to the public, only once or twice in each week. No fee or recompense is either required, expected, or received by any of the attendants; and the exquisite pleasure of contemplating these sublime pictures, for which indeed it would be difficult to fix any adequate price, is enjoyed gratuitously[4].

The gallery of antiquities, containing statues, busts, and basso-relievoes, is immediately under the gallery of pictures. It is divided into la salle des saisons, la salle des hommes illustres, la salle des Romains, la salle de Laocoon, la salle de l’Apollon, et la salle des Muses.

Were I to attempt an account of all these statues, my letter would never end. I shall therefore only mention those by which the rest, however excellent, are rendered petty, and contemptible, in comparison with them. I mean the Apollo Belvidere, and the Laocoon[5]. These masterpieces of human ingenuity are also so well known, and have been so well described, that I shall confine my remarks to their present state and present situation. The Apollo seems to have received no injury from the journey, and has as just claims as ever to the preeminence which, for so many centuries, has been allowed it. Did I not fear to appear presumptuous in hinting at any defect in a statue, esteemed so perfect, I should say, that the ancles were rather too thick, in proportion to the rest of the leg, and to the general lightness of the figure. I should have concealed my criticism, if a friend, on whose judgment and knowledge I can rely, had not assured me, that the objection was not novel, and that many connoisseurs have suspected that the legs are modern.

Not having had the happiness of seeing this wonderful statue in Italy, I cannot draw a comparison between the spot where it formerly stood, and that which it at present occupies. I certainly think, that it is not now seen to the greatest advantage. The room is not either high or large enough for the purpose, and too many statues are crowded together.—The Apollo Belvidere stands between the Venus d’Arles and another female figure, within a railed space of no great dimensions. The catalogue gives the following history:

“No. 145. APOLLON PYTHIEN,
DIT APOLLON DU BELVIDERE.

(After describing the statue and the subject).

“Cette statue la plus sublime de celles que le tems nous ait conservées, a été trouvée, vers la fin du quinzième siècle, à Capo d’Anzo, à douze lieues de Rome, sur le rivage de la mer, dans les ruines de l’antique Antium, cité célébré et par son temple de la Fortune, et par les maisons de plaisance, que les empereurs y avaient élevées à l’envi, et embellies de plus rares chefs-d’œuvres de l’art. Julius II, n’étant encore que cardinal, fit l’acquisition de cette statue, et la fit placer d’abord dans le palais qu’il habitait près l’église de Santi Apostoli. Mais bientôt après étant parvenu au pontificat, il la fit transporter au Belvidere du Vatican, où depuis trois siècles elle faisait l’admiration de l’univers, lorsqu’un héros, guidé par la victoire est venu l’en tirer, pour la conduire et la fixer à jamais sur les rives de la Seine....

“On ignore entierement le nom de l’auteur de cet inimitable chef-d’œuvre. L’avant-bras droit et la main gauche qui manquaient out été restaurés par Giovanni Angelo da Montorsoli, sculpteur élève de Michael Ange.”

TRANSLATION.

“THE PYTHIAN APOLLO.

CALLED
“THE APOLLO BELVIDERE.

“This statue, the most sublime of those which time has preserved, was found, towards the conclusion of the fifteenth century, at Capo d’Anzo, twelve leagues from Rome, on the sea shore, near the ruins of the ancient Antium, a city no less celebrated for its temple of Fortune, than for the elegant seats, which the different emperors, emulous of each other, had built there, and ornamented with all the rarest works of art. Julius II, while yet but a cardinal, bought this statue, and placed it first in the palace where he resided, near the church of the Holy Apostles. When he became sovereign pontiff, he ordered it to be conveyed to the Belvidere of the Vatican, where for three centuries it excited the admiration of the universe. A hero, guided by victory, drew it from the Vatican; and, transporting it to the banks of the Seine, has fixed it there for ever....

“The name of the artist, who made this inimitable chef-d’œuvre, is unknown. The right arm, and the left hand, which were wanting, were restored by the sculptor, Giovanni Angelo da Montorsoli, pupil of Michael Angelo.”

I hope, my friend, you admire the modesty with which it is declared, that the Apollo is for ever fixed on the banks of the Seine!—After the singular fate which this statue has experienced, it required all that happy confidence, with which the french determine the most difficult questions in their own favour, to make so bold an assertion. The Apollo lay two thousand years under the ruins of Antium, and yet preserved its beauty. It was drawn thence, placed in the Vatican, and after receiving there, for three centuries, the applauses of mankind, is carried over the Alps, and seen at Paris in all its original symmetry. If it be the destiny of this matchless figure to follow the tide of fortune, and to change its residence with the changes of empire, and the casualties of human affairs, who shall decide where it may next be found? If Julius II, when he placed the Apollo in the Vatican, had been told, that, three hundred years afterward, a french warrior would attach it to his car of victory, in entering the city of Paris, would even the pope himself have had faith enough to believe such a prophecy? After this, no conjecture becomes improbable. Who knows, that this celebrated statue may not, some centuries hence, be discovered on the frozen plains of Siberia, or in the burning sands of Egypt?

The subject of the Laocoon is so pathetic, and the execution so admirable, that the group which it presents, is, as the catalogue well observes, a specimen, at once, of composition, art, and feeling. The following is the historical account of this statue:

“Il a été trouvé en 1506, sous le pontificat de Julius II, à Rome sur le mont Esquilin, dans les ruines du palais de Titus, contigu à ses thermes. Pline qui en a parlé avec admiration, l’avait vu dans ce même endroit. C’est à cet écrivain que nous devons la connoissance des trois habiles sculpteurs Rhodiens qui l’ont exécuté, ils s’appellaient Agésandre, Polydore, et Athenodore. Agésandre étoit probablement le père des deux autres, ils florissaient au premier siècle de l’ere vulgaire. La groupe est composé de cinq blocs si artistement réunis, que Pline l’a cru d’un seul. Le bras droit du père et deux bras des enfans manquent. Sans doute un jour on les exécutera en marbre. Mais provisionnellement on les a suppliés par des bras moulés sur la groupe en plâtre, restauré par Gerardon, qui se voit dans la salle de l’école de peinture.”

TRANSLATION.

“It was found in 1506, under the pontificate of Julius II, at Rome, on the Esquiline mount, in the ruins of the palace of Titus, near his thermæ, or hot baths. Pliny, who speaks of this statue with admiration, had seen it in the same place. It is to this writer we are indebted for the knowledge of the three able sculptors of Rhodes, who executed this masterpiece. Their names were, Agesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus. It is probable, that the first of these was the father of the other two. They flourished during the first century of the common era. The group consists of five pieces of marble, joined in so workmanlike a manner, that Pliny thought the whole was of one. The right arm of the father, and two of the arms of the children, are wanting. They will, no doubt, be executed hereafter in marble; in the mean time, the deficiency is supplied by arms moulded on the group in plaister of Paris, the work of Gerardon, which is to be seen in the hall of the school of painting.”

In taking leave of the gallery of statues, I ought, perhaps, in answer to several inquiries, which have been made me in letters from England, to mention, that the Hercules Farnese, and the Venus de Medici, are not in the collection. A british officer, lately returned from Egypt by way of Italy, tells me, that both these statues are at present in the island of Sicily. They are in the possession of the king of Naples, who keeps them locked up in cases, and refuses permission, even to his greatest favourites, to see them.

Adieu.

POSTSCRIPT.

I add, for the sake of gratifying the curiosity of such of your friends as are connoisseurs, and wish to know where their favourite pictures may be found, a list of those of the most celebrated masters, now in the Louvre.

LETTER III.

The fête of the 18th of brumaire in honour of the preliminaries, and of the anniversary of the consular government.—Apathy of the people.—Fireworks.—Accident which happened to an english gentleman.—Postscript. The death of the gentleman last named.

Paris, november the 10th, 1801 (19 brumaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my last letter attempted to describe the objects which particularly attracted my notice on my first arrival, I shall in this endeavour to satisfy the curiosity which you will naturally feel, relative to the splendid fête celebrated yesterday in honour of the peace with England, and of the anniversary of the consular government.

The rejoicings may be said to have begun on the preceding evening; as the cannon were fired, and the theatres thrown open to the public, with the single exception of the italian opera, where was also represented a musical piece, the words of which were in honour of the occasion. I wished very much to have been present at one of the performances given gratis to the people; but I was dissuaded from going there, by the advice of some french friends, who assured me, that the attempt would be attended with considerable danger. I therefore contented myself with visiting the only spectacle[6] where money was received.

The company of italian actors usually occupies the Théâtre Favart, but at present performs in a very beautiful little play-house belonging to “la Société olympique,” situate in the street which was formerly known as “la rue de Chante Reine;” but which, in honour of Bonaparte, (who resided there while a private man) is now called “la rue de la Victoire.”

The entrance to this theatre is strikingly elegant and novel, consisting of a circular piazza, in the middle of which is a grass plot. The building is well proportioned; and the chandelier, by which it is brilliantly lighted, extremely beautiful. The music seemed good; but the female performers relied entirely on the charms of their voice; for I never remember to have seen, on any other stage, such an assemblage of ugly women as this presented. The audience consisted of the best company at Paris; and I had the pleasure of seeing there madame Bonaparte, who sat in the stage box, accompanied by mademoiselle Beauharnois, her daughter, and by madame le Clerc, the consul’s sister. Bonaparte was also said to be present, but being in a loge grillé, could not be perceived.

Madame, as far as I can judge from the distance at which I saw her, has a mild, amiable countenance, which is universally allowed to be the just picture of her disposition. Her person is elegant, and her appearance altogether much like that of an english woman of fashion.

Mademoiselle Beauharnois[7] is a fair girl of sixteen or seventeen, and, without being remarkably beautiful, is extremely interesting. Her manners are modest; and her dress simple, and in good taste. Madame le Clerc[8] is a very pretty little woman, and much admired at Paris.

Excuse this digression, into which I was led by naming the preparatory rejoicings of the preceding evening. I proceed to the fête itself. The 18th of brumaire, that long expected day, began in clouds of rain. The Parisians were au désespoir. Every body predicted, that the vast preparations, which had been made for this jubilee, would be thrown away; that the illumination would fail; in short, that the whole would be an “affaire manquée[9].”

Those who ventured into the streets, notwithstanding the torrents of rain, heard, on every side, “quel mauvais temps! quel malheur! vraiment c’est terrible—c’est affreux. La fête auroit été si belle, si ce diable de pluie n’avait pas tombé[10].”

The morning passed away without the faintest hopes of better weather, and in mutual condolences on the loss of the beau spectacle, which had been promised for this day. The rejoicings were to begin at four o’clock. About three the weather suddenly changed, the clouds dispersed, the sky became serene. It happened that this took place precisely at the moment, when the first consul appeared at the window of the palace, and every body agreed, that the favourable change was solely produced par la bonne fortune de Bonaparte[11].

Indeed, it is not without some reason that this prejudice is entertained by the public, and that Bonaparte has, on more occasions than one, appealed to his good fortune. Great and transcendant as are the talents of that extraordinary man, they are not more remarkable than the singular concatenation of fortunate circumstances, which have uniformly attended his progress through life. Possessed of the former, unaccompanied by the latter, he would have probably become a distinguished character, but he never could have reached that summit of grandeur, where he is at present so securely seated.

I return to my subject. The signal for the commencement of the fête was the departure of a balloon, in which monsieur and madame Garnerin ascended, at half past four o’clock, through a clear sky, which no longer bore any marks of the tempestuous weather of the morning. After the balloon had attained a certain height, a parachute was sent down, and the live animal which it contained reached the ground in safety. I was fortunate enough to dine this day with a family[12] who reside in what was first called “la Garde-meuble,” then “la place de Louis XV,” for some time the seat of so many legal murders, under the appellation of “de la Revolution,” and now styled, in honour of the present government, “de la Concorde.” As the principal rejoicings were to take place in this spot, I could not have been better situate. We dined in a back room; and during the short time which we passed at table (for a french dinner seldom exceeds an hour), the lamps had been lighted. Never shall I forget the splendid sight, which appeared to have been almost produced by magic, and which burst on us in returning to the salon (or drawing room), the windows of which command an extensive view of the place de la Concorde, of the bridge of Louis XVI, of the palace or hospital of les Invalides, of the Thuilleries, of the palace of the Corps Législatif, formerly called “de Bourbon,” of the river, and of several buildings in the Fauxbourg St. Germain. All these striking objects were now one blaze of light. My eyes were so dazzled with the scene which presented itself, that it was some time before I could take a distinct view of each particular beauty. The public edifices I have named, all of which are of the finest architecture, covered with innumerable lamps, arranged with the greatest taste, and which being of different heights, seemed to rise the one above the other; and the majestic domes splendidly illuminated, and extending the blaze of light as far as the eye could reach, formed altogether a coup d’œil, which may be conceived, but which cannot be described. I had scarcely recovered from the surprise and admiration, which this sight produced, when the pantomime, intended to represent the horrors of war, and the happiness of peace, began under the colonnade where it was my good fortune to be seated.

I must confess, that this farce appeared to me ridiculous, and equally unworthy the great nation which gave the fête, and the important event which it was intended to celebrate. Sham combats, falling towers, wounded heroes, devils with torches, allegorical emblems of Discord, &c., followed by cornucopias, dancing peasants, cars of triumph, and lastly, by an illuminated temple of peace, which rose on the ruins of that of war, formed the principal entertainment. I think you will agree with me, that such a spectacle was better calculated for the stage of Sadler’s Wells in London, or the Ambigu-comique at Paris, than for the principal object of a great and national festival. Simple and plain as is this reflection, it did not seem to strike any of the french spectators, and the wisest of them looked on without disgust, and almost with admiration, on that which, instead of commemorating the most important event which Europe has seen for many years, appeared to the eye of reason only suited to entertain the dotage of age, or the simplicity of infancy.

If the pantomime were not very deserving of praise, it forms a single exception; and I can assure you, with great truth, that every other part of the fête was truly magnificent. As no carriage was allowed to roll that evening (a laudable precaution, taken on all such occasions at Paris), and as the fireworks were to take place on the river, at some distance from the house where I dined, it was necessary to pass on foot, through the vast crowd which filled la place de la Concorde, the walks of the Thuilleries, the bridges, the streets, &c. Yet such was the order that was preserved, and such the tranquillity of the people, that, accompanied by my wife and one gentleman, I made my way, I suppose, through nearly a million of people, without the least accident, and with certainly not more crowding than is daily experienced at a private fashionable ball in London. What astonished me most, indeed, the whole day, was the dead calm which prevailed among the spectators. They looked on, walked about, and seemed entertained with the shows which were exhibited; yet no cries of triumph, no shouts of joy, expressed the public satisfaction. The apathy which prevails in this country on all public events, and which has succeeded to the fever of popular violence, is strikingly apparent on all occasions, but on none more than this.

During my walk, I passed through the garden of the Thuilleries. The alleys were brilliantly decorated with rows of lamps, suspended on frames constructed for the purpose; and the palace was itself, if possible, still more resplendent. The whole had the appearance of an enchanted castle. From a house on the quai Voltaire, I saw the fireworks to great advantage; and they appeared to me, accustomed only to such as are exhibited in England, extremely beautiful. What pleased me most in the display, was a contrivance, by which the fire seemed to rise from the water; an ingenious and elegant idea, by which the inventor probably meant to represent allegorically, by the union of opposing elements, the reconciliation of two nations, always the rivals, and so long the enemies, of each other. There was a temple of commerce on the river, and little boats, with pendants of different nations. All this I consider as forming a second act to the pantomime exhibited on the place de la Concorde, and which I have already ventured to condemn. Both appeared, to an english eye, insignificant, if not ridiculous.

The fireworks appeared to me as perfect as possible; but there was some discontent expressed by the persons near me, that what is called a bouquet, with which they were to have concluded, was not displayed. This disappointment was attributed by some to a want of skill in the manager, and by others to an order of government, arising from a fear of danger to the adjoining buildings.

I cannot pretend to determine this important question; but I must be permitted to say, that if the parisians were not satisfied with this day’s amusement, they must be very unreasonable indeed in their pursuit of spectacles.

I returned home about eleven at night, much delighted with what I had seen; and though Mrs. ⸺ and myself were again obliged to pass through this mighty crowd, we neither of us experienced the slightest hurt, or the least incivility.

I was in hopes to have been able to add, that the day passed over without the most trifling accident; but I have, unfortunately, just received the melancholy news, that Mr. ⸺, an english gentleman, fell from a scaffolding, where he had placed himself to see the fireworks, and is so dreadfully wounded, as to render the hopes of his recovery highly improbable.

I understand, that the accident took place very near the Thuilleries, and that the first consul, with laudable humanity, sent every proper assistance to our unfortunate countryman, who is now attended by the physician and surgeon particularly attached to the family of Bonaparte. Most ardently do I hope, that their skill and care may be attended with success; but I am told, this is more than they expect themselves.

Adieu, my dear friend. I am sorry to send you so imperfect an account of one of the finest sights, perhaps, ever exhibited in Europe; but I do not excel in description at any time, and what I have attempted on this occasion, would baffle the ablest pen.

I am, &c.

POSTSCRIPT.

The unfortunate Mr. ⸺, mentioned in this letter, languished three weeks in agony, and at last expired, in the arms of a young and beautiful wife, who had accompanied him in this ill fated journey, (the sole object of which was the sight of a festival, which had to him so tragical a conclusion), who attended him, with exemplary patience and unceasing care, during his illness, and who, after receiving his last breath, herself conveyed his remains to his native country. To add to the calamity of this unfortunate and amiable woman, she had not a friend, or even an acquaintance, of either sex, at Paris; and in the discharge of the painful and pious offices I have mentioned, her only assistant was Mr. Peregaux, her banker, who, I am told, afforded her every consolation in his power.—Though I did not know this lady, her story made a deep impression on my mind, and for some days I could not divest myself of the melancholy it created.

LETTER IV.

State of society at Paris.—The three sets, l’ancienne noblesse, the governmental class, and les parvenus ou nouveaux riches.—Description of a house belonging to one of the latter.

Paris, november the 19th, 1801 (28th brumaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

My two last letters were filled with details of pictures, statues, pantomimes, and fêtes. In this, I shall only speak to you of men and manners.

Visiting Paris after a revolution which has produced such extraordinary alterations in the laws, customs, and opinions of the people, I expected to find an equal change in the state of society. A great change has certainly taken place, but the change is of a different nature from what I foresaw. An english lady, of much wit, said to me the other day, “When I arrived at Paris, I expected to meet with philosophers in every society, and to hear nothing discussed but subjects of the highest import. Alas! how have I been disappointed!” As to me, I entertained no such idea; but I certainly supposed that the political events in which every person had been forced, in one way or other, to act a part, would have accustomed the minds of men to such a variance of opinion, that all subjects would be canvassed with liberality, and that, whatever might be the sentiments of an individual, he would be heard with tolerance.

The lady I have mentioned was not more mistaken than I have been. There is no country under the sun, where less freedom is allowed in conversation. I do not mean to say, that the government checks or interferes with what passes in private society; on the contrary, I have more than once heard in company remarks made at the expense of persons in power, which even in England would be thought inflammatory: but what I complain of is, that in every circle there is a certain creed, or string of opinions, from which, if one of the company were to venture to dissent, he would be considered as “de mauvaise compagnie[13].” These opinions are not confined to the affairs of France, but extend themselves to those of England; and in the societies where I have been thrown, I have been more than once suspected of jacobinism, for not joining in a philippic against Mr. Fox, or in an eulogy on lord Grenville.

As to society, it appears to me, that there are three great divisions, or principal classes, at Paris. The first, in point of antiquity, and perhaps still of public opinion (for, notwithstanding all the laws to the contrary, family prejudices are as strong as ever in France), is that of l’ancienne noblesse[14], who separate themselves almost entirely from the other classes, and live together at the houses of such of their body, as are still rich enough to give assemblies. The second, which I shall call the governmental set, consists of the ministers, of the counsellors of state, of the ambassadors, of the senators, legislators, tribunes, &c. in short, of all the constituted authorities. The third class is what the pride of the first denominates “les parvenus ou nouveaux riches;” consisting of the wealthiest individuals now in France; of persons, who, taking advantage of the circumstances which have occurred, have enriched themselves during the general wreck of private fortunes and public credit. Army contracts, national estates, and speculations in the funds, have afforded the means, by which many of these individuals have accumulated overgrown fortunes; but several respectable merchants, bankers, and other commercial men, are unjustly confounded with these, and, under the general name of “fournisseurs[15],” held up to public contempt.

The first class are still affluent, when spoken of as a body, though few of them have individually large incomes. A distinguished person, connected with the government, and to whom the most important acts of state have been specially entrusted, assures me, that the old proprietors still hold two thirds of the landed estates of France; though, in consequence of the heavy taxes[16] laid on them during the Revolution, by the loss of their woods, of their feudal rights, and of public offices which had become almost hereditary in their families, (not to mention the present law of descent, by which all children inherit equally), their incomes, though in different degrees, are, in every case, greatly diminished.

Some of the old noblesse, notwithstanding their misfortunes, still live with considerable splendour, and have houses “bien montées” in which they give balls and parties. The most distinguished of these are madame la ⸺ de ⸺, and madame ⸺, who have each an assembly once in every week. A ci-devant comtesse, belonging to the society, requested the permission of introducing to these houses an english lady, of whom it will be sufficient to say, that though not of exalted rank, she was unexceptionable in every respect, in birth, in character, in fortune, in person, and in situation of life. I think you will be as much surprised, and as much irritated, as I was, when I add, that this mighty favour was, in both instances, refused. The reason assigned for this strange want of hospitality, has induced me to mention the fact. The lady in question, having been accustomed to the highest circles in her own country, and discovering, for the first time, in this land of “liberty and equality,” the humble distance at which the wife of a commoner ought to regard the chaste and learned festivals of aristocracy, could not help expressing her surprise, if not her anger, to the french friend, who had made the application. “Je suis bien fachée[17],” replied madame la comtesse! “mais pour vous dire la vérité, the emigrés were treated with so little kindness in London, I mean, by the gentlemen and ladies there (for there is no complaint against your government), that it is impossible to persuade their relations to receive the english chez eux[18]—vraiment je suis au désespoir.”

I am unwilling to think, that such is the general language of the body of emigrants. I know, that there are amongst them men of nice honour, of noble sentiments, and of dignified demeanour; and I have heard some speak, as they ought, of the hospitality they experienced in England: but if there be any who attempt to separate the british government from the inhabitants of the country, I must beg leave to remind them, that it was the english people, from whose pockets that money was drawn, by which in their misfortunes, they were supported; and that, happily for us, our government is so constructed, that unless the popular voice had sanctioned the laudable humanity of government, not even Mr. Pitt could have afforded them that assistance, which, in every instance, they received from England. As to their reception by individuals in Great Britain, I must be permitted to observe, that such of the emigrants as dignified the poverty (into which they were cruelly thrown) by the propriety of their conduct, found generally, if not universally, that respect, to which their dreadful reverse of fortune, and their honourable industry, equally entitled them. Those who sought in beggary, in gambling, or in importunate solicitation, a dishonest and precarious existence, ought not to complain of an exclusion from society, which was alone produced by the impropriety of their own conduct. I hope the complaints against english hospitality come from the latter class; if so, the sensible and liberal french will know how to appreciate their evidence. If from the former⸺but I will not put an hypothesis, which would appear to doubt the gratitude of men, whose former lives entitle them to esteem.

Begging your pardon for this digression, into which I was involuntarily led, I return to the societies of Paris.

The second class, which I call the governmental, is the most polite to strangers. The second consul has a splendid party every week; and each of the ministers has a day, to which all foreigners may be taken by their respective ministers, after they have been presented at the Thuilleries.

Le Brun, the third consul, frequently gives dinners; and english parties, who have been invited, assure me, that they are particularly pleasant. He is a man of great literary acquirements, and the conversation, at his table generally takes a superiour turn.

The ministerial assemblies are crowded; but the houses are large, the attendance good, and the uniforms of the constituted authorities, and the full dress of the ambassadors, give, altogether, a splendour to these meetings, which no others at Paris possess.

The third class—I mean, that of “the parvenus[19]”—if not the most elegant, or the most esteemed, is, at least, the most luxurious. Nothing can exceed the splendour of the persons of this description. The furniture of their houses, the dress of their wives, their table, their plate, their villas, in short, all the “agrémens” of life, are in the highest style of oriental magnificence.

To give you some idea of their manner of living, I will describe to you the house of madame ⸺, which I yesterday obtained the permission of seeing, in her absence.

The house is situate in a street leading from the Boulevard, and is approached by a fine court, of considerable length. The back of the house looks on a very pretty garden, arranged à l’angloise. It was formerly the residence of a minister of state.

The drawing room, and salle à manger[20], were not yet finished. The furniture prepared for them was rich. I did not think it particularly beautiful; but the bed room, and bathing cabinet, exceeded in luxury every thing which I ever beheld, or even ventured to imagine. The canopy of the bed was of the finest muslin, the covering of pink satin, the frame of beautiful mahogany, supported by figures in gold of antique shapes. The steps, which led to this delicious couch, were covered with red velvet, ornamented on each side with artificial flowers, highly scented. On one side stood, on a pedestal, a marble statue of Silence, with this inscription:

“TUTATUR SOMNOS ET AMORES CONSCIA LECTI[21].”

On the other, a very lofty gold stand, for a taper or lamp. A fine mirror filled up one side of the bed, and was reflected by one at the top, and another at the opposite side of the room. The walls were covered with mahogany, relieved with gold borders, and now and then with glass. The whole in excellent taste. The bathing cabinet, which adjoined, was equally luxurious. The bath, when not in use, forms a sofa, covered with kerseymere edged with gold: and the whole of this cabinet is as pretty as the bed room. Beyond this room is the bed chamber of monsieur, plain, neat, and unaffected; and on the other side a little closet, covered with green silk, and opening on the garden, in which madame sits, when she amuses herself with drawing. To conclude, I find the “loves,” which “Silence guards,” and of which this paphian seat is the witness, are those of January and May; for the wife is twenty (the greatest beauty of Paris), and the husband something less than sixty.

I have made my letter of a most unpardonable length, and yet my subject is not complete. I will, however, stop for the present, only requesting your permission, when I have the opportunity, of adding such details, as I may be able to collect, relative to the different societies I have mentioned. Before I conclude, I ought, perhaps, to mention, that the generals are seen both in the second and third classes, but rarely in the first. Subalterns do not mix in society, at least, I have not yet met one in company.

Adieu.

LETTER V.

Opening of the legislative body.—Election of the president.—Lord Cornwallis.—Reflections of the people in the gallery.

Paris, november the 23d, 1801 (2 frimaire).

MY DEAR SIR,

Yesterday being the first of “frimaire,” the day on which, by the present constitution, the legislature and tribunate begin their session, I determined to attend the opening of the former.

As I was not acquainted with any of the members, I was obliged, by means of a silver ticket, to seek admittance in one of the galleries devoted to the public. The legislative body holds its sittings in the beautiful palace, now called by its name, but better known by its former one, of Palais Bourbon. It is situate in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, immediately fronting le pont Louis XVI, and opposite the Champs Elisées. The hall, in which the members assemble, is a very fine room, in which the council of five hundred sat during the directorial government. It is large, of an octagon shape, and would be admirably suited to the purpose, for which it is used, did not its extreme height and arched roof prevent even the strongest voice from being distinctly heard. To remedy this defect, green baize is suspended on several parts of the wall; but the evil is but little removed by this precaution. The first thing which attracted my attention, was the military parade, in which the members entered the room, and the regimental costume, in which they were dressed. Drums and fifes announced their approach; and a guard of honour (for both the corps législatif and the tribunate have each a regiment) preceded them. The members wear a uniform of blue cloth, embroidered with gold, a tricoloured sash, hussar boots, and a cocked hat, both laced with gold. To an english eye, they had more the appearance of naval officers than of legislators. The meeting was opened by the minister of the interieur, who ascending the tribune (or rostrum,) congratulated in a short speech, the corps législatif on commencing its session, at a moment when the restoration of peace with all the world confirmed the victories, and completed the happiness of the republic. The eldest member then took the chair, and declared the meeting legally constituted. They next proceeded to choose a president. Scrutineers were appointed to examine the votes, which were given in the following manner: The names of the members were alphabetically called over, and each in his turn placed a written paper, containing the name of the person whom he chose into one of four vases, which were placed on the table for that purpose. When all the members had voted, the four vases were placed on as many different tables, and each examined by an equal number of scrutineers. These counted the votes, and conveyed the result to the temporary president, who, after comparing them together, declared that Dupuis, having an absolute majority of 133 voices, was duly elected. The former then left the fauteuil[22], to which the latter was instantly conducted. On taking the chair, Dupuis ordered messages to be sent to the consuls and tribunate, acquainting them, that the corps législatif was definitively constituted, and was ready to receive the messengers of the government. He then drew from his pocket a written paper, and read a speech, in which he congratulated the meeting on the happy auspices under which it began its session. He had scarcely finished, when the sound of drum and fife announced the arrival of three counsellors of state, with a message from the government. They were preceded by huissiers, or ushers, in Spanish hats, with three plumes of different colours, and were dressed themselves in their grand costume of scarlet cloth, embroidered with silk of the same colour. One of them then ascended the rostrum, and read a short speech, declaring what the consuls had done, and what still further they proposed. He congratulated the legislature on the peace, and reminded the members, that the war being now over, they could devote their whole time to the happiness and tranquillity of the people. He concluded with complimenting the assembly on the conduct which they had pursued in their last session, and which, he said, they would doubtless continue in that which was now begun. The president assured him, in reply, that the legislative body would, on all occasions, be ready to assist the views of government in promoting the glory, the peace, and the happiness of the nation.

The counsellors of state then retired, and the president read the procès-verbal of the proceedings and appointments of the sénat conservateur, as likewise several letters; some from members, with excuses for nonattendance; others with resignations; and some from authors, presenting books, almanacks, &c. to the legislature. The title of one dedication entertained me not a little. It was addressed, “Au Corps Législatif, au premier Consul, et à madame Bonaparte[23].” We may conclude, that the writer was at once a republican and a courtier. Inconsistencies are often reconciled in France.

After these letters had been read, the meeting was closed. The austrian, english, swedish, and other ambassadors, were present, in a box appropriated to their use. The venerable appearance and military dress of my lord Cornwallis delighted the parisians; and my national vanity was not a little gratified, by the favourable comparison which the people around me drew between his lordship and the other foreign ministers. “Oui, oui, ce grand est milord Cornvalis. Il a bonne mine. Il a l’air militaire. Il a servi, n’est il pas vrai, monsieur? C’est un galant homme, regardez ce petit à côtè, quelle différence! quelle mauvaise tournure, &c[24].”

I believe, indeed, that, on every account, we have reason to be satisfied with the choice which our government has made of the noble marquis. While in exteriors he satisfies the curiosity of the french, and the pride of the english, he gives, by the respectability of his character, the dignity of his deportment, and the known moderation of his principles, the surest pledge of the pacific intentions of the sovereign, whom he so worthily represents.

Before I conclude this long account, I must mention, with regret, that the persons in the gallery where I sat, spoke with the most sovereign contempt of the legislative body. “Ils font bien[25],” said one man, alluding to the boots, which constitute part of their dress; “de porter des bottes. C’est un habit de voyage—ils ne resteront pas ici long temps.”—“Nous les payons 10,000 francs[26],” said another, “pour ne faire rien, je suis étonné que Bonaparte ne se débarasse pas de ces gens là.”—“Je crois bien,” cried a third, addressing himself to me, “que monsieur votre ambassadeur a un revenu à lui plus grand, que celui de tous ces gaillards ensemble. Sans leur traitement de législateur ils mouraient de faim[27].”

It is contrary to my plan to enter on any political subjects, or the strange levity of these remarks would lead to some very serious reflections. I only give you this chit chat of the peuple souverain[28], as characteristic of the french, and of the present order of public affairs.

I am, &c.

LETTER VI.

The abbé Sicard, and the institution in behalf of the deaf and dumb.—His favourite pupil, Massieu.—Examination of a young woman, who had become deaf at six years old.—Reflections on the establishment.

Paris, december the 1st, 1801 (10 frimaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I had this morning so high a mental treat, that I cannot help communicating to you the particulars without delay, in the hope of being able, while my mind is strongly impressed with the subject, to convey to you some faint idea of the pleasure which I received.

I shall not now speak to you of splendid buildings, of glorious monuments of human ingenuity, of renowned heroes, or of brilliant festivals. What I saw to day interested me, and I am sure would have interested you, much more than all such objects united; I mean, the institution des sourd-muets (that humane establishment for the instruction of the deaf and dumb), first founded under the care of the abbé l’Epée, and now conducted by his worthy successor, the abbé Sicard.

Having tickets offered me for an extraordinary meeting, which took place this morning, I willingly availed myself of the opportunity, and at ten o’clock repaired to la rue St. Jacques, where, in a former convent, this beneficent establishment is carried on. Here I found a large assemblage of respectable persons, who all listened, with pleasure and attention, to the simple, plain, and unaffected manner, in which the abbé Sicard explained his method of giving to the deaf and dumb the means of expressing their thoughts. “As foreigners,” said he, “unacquainted with the language of the country which they visit, are supposed stupid and ignorant by the uninformed, so the deaf and dumb are often considered as idiots, because they are deprived of one sense. No,” continued he, “they are not idiots; they have ideas as well as you, and only want an organ to express them.” He then went on to state, that in most educations children are taught first to speak, and then, sometimes, to think; whereas, in his plan, he began first by teaching his pupils to think, and then proceeded to instruct them how to express what they had so thought[29].

To exemplify both his plan and his success, he examined Massieu, his favourite and ablest pupil, a young man, about twenty or twenty five years old. As soon as the abbé expressed, by his gestures, any particular passion, Massieu instantly wrote the word appropriate to the peculiar feeling, and then explained the meaning of the word he had written, with a vivacity of action, and a variety of countenance, which I never before witnessed in any human being. He next wrote on the wall, with great rapidity, the chain of ideas, by which the abbé Sicard regularly advances his scholars, from the expression of a simple thought, to one of greater import. Thus, beginning with the word “voir,” to see, he ended, going on by regular steps, with the word “examiner,” to examine; beginning with “idéer,” (a word created by Massieu, but answering to “avoir idée,” or to have an idea), he ended with “approfondir,” to search into; and beginning with “vouloir,” to will, he ended with “brûler,” to burn with passion. Massieu expressed, with wonderful fire, the meaning of each progressive passion, in the changes of his countenance, which, when animated, is uncommonly fine.

In the course of this meeting, the abbé Sicard likewise examined, for the first time, a young woman, now eighteen, who, at six years old, had become entirely deaf, and who could now only speak such words as she had learnt at that tender age, many of which she still pronounced imperfectly, and as children are apt to do. He began with showing us a memorandum, or washing bill, in which this girl had drawn her gowns, petticoats, &c. according to the different forms of these articles. Massieu then, by direction of the abbé, drew on the wall different things of common use; to some of these she applied their proper names, some she did not know, and others she mispronounced. The latter defect M. Sicard immediately removed, by pronouncing the word himself, teaching her by signs to move her lips, as he did, by blowing on the hand, and by touching some particular fibres of the arm. I cannot satisfactorily explain this operation; but it will, perhaps, be sufficient to observe, that the abbé, more than once, said, “by such and such motions, I will produce such and such sounds;” and that, as soon as the girl had imitated the motions he made, she articulated the words, as he had previously promised.

The more I saw of this institution, the more was I delighted. There were forty or fifty children present, who, born deaf and dumb, were, by the wonderful skill and unceasing care of the respectable abbé, restored to society, to happiness, and themselves. They were seated in different parts of the room, and conversed with each other, though at the greatest distance, by the means of their fingers, which were in constant motion. They had every appearance of enjoying good health, spirits, and vivacity.

There are all kinds of workshops, manufactures, and schools, in the house of the sourd-muets, and the establishment is entirely maintained at the expense of the government. Massieu, I hear, has displayed strong symptoms of genius, and has even written some very beautiful verses.

How admirable is this institution! How honourable to the ingenuity and the heart of man! to restore to all the enjoyments of life, and to the dignity of rational beings, hapless creatures, doomed by the caprice of Nature to inexpressible feeling and irremediable ignorance, is perhaps the highest and proudest effort of human contrivance.

Of all which I have yet beheld at Paris, this is to me the most interesting sight. Other objects strike the imagination, but this moves the heart. Farewell, my dear sir, the night is far advanced; but I could not place my head on the pillow, till I had attempted to communicate to you, how much I had been pleased with this admirable and philanthropic institution.

I am, &c.

LETTER VII.

A thé or evening party.—French remarks on Shakspeare, and Mr. Fox.—Dullness and pedantry of parisian society.

Paris, december 3d, 1801 (3 frimaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I have just received your last letter, and as you complain, that I am not sufficiently minute in my descriptions of private society, I will endeavour to satisfy your curiosity, by giving a faithful account of an assembly, or thé, as it is called here, to which I was invited a few evenings since.

The lady, at whose house this entertainment was given, belonged to the old court; but having remained in France during the whole of the revolution, has preserved her property. I drove to her hotel, about eight in the evening, and after passing through a dark and dirty antichamber, in which her servants and those of her guests sat very quietly, while I passed, without moving from their seats, I found my way, not without difficulty, into the “salon,” or drawing room: In this apartment, the walls of which bore the faint semblance of having been painted white, some thirty years before, and on which shattered remnants of tarnished gold might still be discovered, I perceived near the fire, the lady of the mansion. She half rose from her seat, as I approached, and after a short “bon jour monsieur,” continued in a whisper, an earnest conversation, in which she was engaged with an old gentleman, who, as I have since learnt, was a ci-devant duke, lately returned from emigration. As I was left entirely to myself, (for I was introduced to no one) I had ample time to examine every thing around me. The room, sombre in itself, was rendered still more so, by a patent lamp suspended in the middle, which was the only light I perceived, and which simply answered the purpose of making “darkness visible.”

There were about twenty or thirty persons assembled, of different ages, and of different sexes. Having heard so much of french gayety, I was astonished at the melancholy countenances I saw around me, and at the general stupidity of this party. In one corner was placed a whist table, at which, two ci-devant countesses, a member of l’ancienne académie française, and a former financier were disputing for sous. There were round the fire, two rows of fauteuils, or arm chairs, in which the ladies not occupied with cards, were seated in awful state. Two or three young men dressed à l’anglaise, with the preposterous addition of immense neckcloths, ear rings, and half a dozen under waistcoats, lounged about the middle of the room, and now and then caught a glimpse at their favourite persons, in an adjoining glass. The fire was monopolized by a party of zealous disputants, who, turning their backs to the company, and talking all together, formed a separate group, or rather a debating society, round the chimney. From the loudness of their voices, and the violence of their gestures, I supposed they were discussing some great national question, and expecting to gain much useful intelligence, listened with all the painful attention of extreme curiosity. I soon discovered, to my no small astonishment, that it was not the fate of the nation, but the accuracy of an expression, which excited their zeal. The abbé Delille had, it seems, in a poem lately published, used this phrase,

“Je n’entends que silence, je ne vois que la nuit[30].”

Whether it was possible “to hear silence,” and “see night,” was the great subject of dispute: and the metaphysical distinctions, nice definitions, and pedantic remarks, which this question excited, formed a curious specimen of the french character. Some of the ladies joined in the debate; and I know not to what height it might have been carried, had not the arrival of the thé interrupted the orators, and stopped the conversation, with a subject more agreeable to the general taste.

At twelve o’clock, the beverage I have mentioned, which the french think unwholesome at all times, and which even the english fear to take at so late an hour, was placed near the fire, on a large table, surrounded with cakes, creams, custards, a large tureen of soup, and a bowl of punch, the party crowded round the table, and helped themselves to the refreshments it contained. When the ceremony was over, those who did not return to the card tables, entered into conversation; and as literary subjects were still the favourite theme, a young man, with a pompous manner, and a solemn tone of voice, said, addressing himself to me, “Is it true, sir, that there are englishmen, so blinded by national prejudice, as to prefer votre bizarre Shakspeare[31], to our divine Racine?” Endeavouring to avoid a discussion, which I knew the answer I was inclined to give would create, I contented myself with observing, that Shakspeare and Racine were such different authors, that it was absurd to compare them. “As well,” said I, “might you draw a resemblance between the beauties of Switzerland, and those of Versailles.” “The proper simile,” retorted the first speaker, “would be between Versailles and a barren heath, on which some few beautiful plants may have been accidentally scattered, by the capricious hand of nature.” The whole circle joined in the triumph, which my antagonist supposed he had gained, and I in vain attempted to recapitulate, and to translate some of the striking passages of Shakespear. Though all condemned our “heaven-inspired poet,” I soon perceived, that few had ever read, and none understood the sublime work which they presumed to criticise.

“Speaking of english authors,” cried the member of the ci-devant académie française, “makes one think of english orators. I see, by Chateau-Brian’s account of England, that the cause of Mr. Fox’s retirement from parliament, has been at last discovered; and that it arose from his mental powers having been weakened by the effect of excessive drinking. To this I suppose one must attribute his late unwarrantable attack on the house of Bourbon.”

Astonished at this extraordinary assertion, I took the liberty of assuring the gentleman, that Mr. Fox’s talents were as perfect as ever, and that his last speech was one of the finest efforts of human reasoning. “Pardonnez,” cried the academician. “Mr. Fox could never reason. He was indeed once a fine declaimer, but as to the powers of argument, he never possessed them.” I was ridiculous enough to combat this absurd opinion, and to assure him, that there was not an englishman, (whatever his political sentiments might be) who would not willingly bear testimony to the wonderful argumentative talents of the extraordinary man in question.

I talked in vain, the whole company joined with the academician, who pour toute réponse[32], said, “C’est Mr. Pitt, qui sait raisonner, mais pour Mr. Fox il déclame joliment, voilà tout son talent. Vous me permetterez de savoir!” assuming a look of great dignity, “parceque c’est moi qui ai traduit ses discours.” So saying, he turned away, and soon after the company dispersed.

Can I give you a stronger instance of the taste and justice, with which the french pronounce on the merits of our authors, and public characters?

If Shakspeare is not a poet, nor Mr. Fox an orator, where are we to look for examples of perfection?

Thus it is on every subject in this country. The french suppose, that they understand english books, and english politics, much better than we do; and this is not the first lesson which I have received. I have often been contradicted on constitutional, as well as literary questions; and I have always found, that the company supported not the opinion of the native, whose local knowledge deserved some little credit, but the bold assertion of their countryman, who was generally believed and applauded, in proportion to the extravagance and singularity of the doctrine which he laid down.

I forgot to mention, that great offence being taken at Mr. Fox’s remarks on the old government, a gentleman took great pains to persuade me, that l’ancien régime was the freest constitution under the sun. You will not be surprised to hear, that he did not make me a convert to his opinion, and that I assured him, if such was a free government, I hoped it would be long, very long, before England should possess it.

This evening’s entertainment gave me altogether but a very unfavourable opinion, both of french society, french taste, and french gallantry. There was no mirth, no general conversation, and scarcely any intercourse between the men and women. As to Mrs. ⸺, she was left to the uninterrupted enjoyment of her own thoughts, for no person took the trouble of addressing her. Her english dress, however, did not escape the criticism of the ladies; and my pronunciation was equally a source of amusement to the gentlemen. I shall only add, that if this be a specimen of french society, I may obtain much information at Paris; yet I shall certainly receive but little pleasure from my journey.

I am, &c.

LETTER VIII.

Bonaparte.—The monthly review or parade in the court of the Thuilleries.

Paris, december the 6th, 1801, (15 frimaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

My curiosity is at last gratified. I have seen Bonaparte. You will readily conceive how much pleasure I felt to day, in beholding, for the first time, this extraordinary man, on whose single exertions the fate of France, and in many respects that of Europe, has for some time depended.

I was fortunate enough to obtain places in one of the apartments of Duroc, the governor of the palace, from the windows of which I saw the review to the greatest advantage. It is impossible to describe the impatience with which we awaited the appearance of Bonaparte. Mrs. ⸺ well observed, that her eyes ached with looking.

As soon as the court of the Thuilleries, (that is to say the ground, which is enclosed with iron railings, near the Carousel,) was filled with the different regiments, who arranged themselves with wonderful skill, and without the least confusion, notwithstanding the limited space allotted them, the generals descended from their horses, went up stairs into the palace, and, after some little delay, conducted Bonaparte to the door. He instantly sprang on his white charger, (which waited for him at the gate) and commenced the review. As he passed several times before the window where I sat, I had ample time to examine his countenance, his figure, his dress, and his manner. His complexion is uncommonly sallow, his countenance expressive but stern, his figure little but well made, and his whole person, like the mind which it contains, singular and remarkable. If I were compelled to compare him to any one, I should name Kemble, the actor. Though Bonaparte is much less in size, and less handsome than that respectable performer, yet in the construction of the features, and in the general expression, there is a strong resemblance. There is, however, such originality about the appearance of the first consul, that, without having seen him, it is difficult to form an idea of his person. The picture of Bonaparte at the review, exhibited some time back in Piccadilly, and the bust in Sèvre china, which is very common at Paris, and which has probably become equally so in London, are the best likenesses I have seen. As to his dress, he wore the grand costume of his office, that is to say a scarlet velvet coat, richly embroidered with gold, to this he had added leather breeches, jockey boots, and a little plain cocked hat, the only ornament of which was a national cockade. His hair unpowdered was cut close in his neck.

After riding through the ranks, and receiving the salutes of the officers, he passed by every regiment, the colours of which were lowered as he went on. He then placed himself in the middle of the parade, and his generals and aides-de-camp having formed a group around him, he distributed swords and firelocks of honour to such officers and soldiers, as in different campaigns had deserved them. Berthier, the companion of his victories, and now minister of war, presented one by one these articles to Bonaparte, who having read the inscription which was engraved on each, recording the action by which it was deserved, delivered with his own hands the respective badges of honour. After this ceremony was over, the different regiments passed by the first consul, and the captain of each company or troop saluted him in passing. The cavalry went in full gallop, and as they approached him stopped with wonderful neatness. Thus concluded the review. He then rode with his officers to the palace gate, dismounted, and retired to his apartments, followed by the generals and a strong detachment of men.

The spectacle was altogether extremely brilliant. The windows of the palace, of the gallery of the Louvre, and of all the adjoining houses were filled with ladies elegantly dressed, and the iron gates which separate the court from the palace, were surrounded by the people. I shall say nothing of the discipline of the troops, not being a military man, and consequently little conversant with such matters. I shall only speak of what struck the eye. The consular guards are the handsomest men I ever saw, scarcely any are less than six feet high, and if we may believe the report of persons connected with the government, every individual in the corps owes his situation to long service, or some distinguished act of valour. Their uniform is a long coat of fine blue cloth, faced with white, and edged with red, with a yellow button, on which is written “garde des consuls.” They wear white waistcoats and breeches, and a fur cap, with a gilt plate, on which appears the same inscription as that on the buttons. “La garde consulaire à cheval,” or consular horse guard, wears the same uniform as the foot of that service. The dragoons are dressed in green, with a casque, from which is suspended a large braid of hair.

Several regiments of the line, which formed part of the review, have been highly distinguished during the war, particularly the celebrated demi-brigade, which at Marengo is said to have saved the life of Bonaparte, when in the ardour of battle he had exposed himself to almost certain destruction. These regiments were ill dressed, the men were little, and their whole appearance was, when compared with the consular guard, far from favourable. The guides commanded by the young Beauharnois, (madame Bonaparte’s son) were very elegantly dressed in scarlet hussar uniforms, and mounted on light bay horses, splendidly caparisoned. Generally speaking, the horses of the cavalry were very indifferent, excepting one fine regiment of blacks, which was commanded by Louis Bonaparte, the third brother of the consul.

As soon as Bonaparte left the ground the regiments began to file off by different gates, in the same good order in which they had arrived, and though nearly ten thousand men had been on the parade, in less than a quarter of an hour not an individual remained.

The generals wear blue uniforms, richly embroidered, with tricoloured sashes. The aides-de-camp are very handsome young men, dressed in blue jackets, long pantaloons, and hussar cloaks, the whole almost covered with gold. I remarked amongst them Lauriston, who took the preliminary ratification to London, and young le Brun, son of the third consul, who at the battle of Marengo, behaved with uncommon valour, and received in his arms the unfortunate and gallant Dessaix[33]. I make no apology for the length of this letter, for knowing that you wished to have a particular account of the consular reviews, I have been purposely as minute as possible. These reviews regularly take place on the 15th of every month, according to the republican calendar.

Adieu!

LETTER IX.

The tribunate.—Speech of Portalis on presenting the code civil in the corps législatif.—Debate in the tribunate on the same subject.

Paris, december the 20th, 1801, (29th frimaire).

MY DEAR SIR,

I went this morning to the tribunate, which holds its sitting in the ci-devant Palais royal, in order to hear discussed the proposed project of civil laws. This reminds me, that by a strange and unaccountable omission, I have not in any of my letters mentioned the speech, which the celebrated Portalis delivered on the 24th of last month, in presenting the measure to the corps législatif, and which speech I was so fortunate as to hear. To remedy my neglect, I shall begin my letter with mentioning what passed on that occasion; and shall conclude it with the debate, which took place to day, on the same subject, in the tribunate.

Portalis is a man of grave, respectable appearance, about fifty years old, and so shortsighted, as to be nearly blind. As soon as he ascended the rostrum, the utmost silence prevailed, and the legislators seemed to listen with that profound attention, which is only given to those from whom we expect either amusement or instruction. As for me, I received both from his discourse; and I do not remember to have been yet so well contented with a public speaker in France. He spoke for rather more than an hour and a half, without notes and without hesitation. He explained with precision, the principles and the heads of the code, which he was ordered to lay before the legislature; and while he was clear and intelligible in every part of his speech, he was frequently extremely eloquent. His principal aim seemed to be, as he expressed it, “de profiter des lumières de notre temps, mais pas de les avancer[34].” He particularly recommended a system of laws, corresponding with those of other nations, and which should strengthen the ties of matrimony, and the security of domestic happiness. Among the many strong expressions, with which his speech abounded, I remarked the following. “Pour aimer le monde entier, on peut dire, il faut aimer premièrement sa patrie, mais celui qui commencerait à aimer le monde entier, finira à n’aimer aucun pays[35]. La philosophie a fait son devoir, c’est à vous, citoyens législateurs, d’achever le votre. La philosophie commence à faire le bonheur des hommes, mais c’est la législation qui l’acheve, &c.” The legislature ordered his speech to be printed, and adjourned.

To day this important question was debated in the tribunate; and I must confess, that the expectations, which I had formed, were not a little disappointed. I did not, it is true, flatter myself with the idea of hearing either a Fox, a Pitt, a Sheridan, or a Mirabeau; but I imagined, that among the members of the only deliberative assembly, now in France, some few men would be found capable of discussing with sense, argument, and extended views, a measure so important, not only to the present happiness of the country, but to that also of the latest posterity. It would be too presumptuous to say, that there are no such men in the tribunate. On the contrary, I know, that there are some members of very superiour knowledge, great genius, and liberal principles. I shall be forgiven, however, for remarking, that the talent displayed on this occasion was by no means equal to the dignity of the subject in question, or worthy the assembly in which it was discussed. Five or six members had put their names down, as intending to speak, and each was heard in his turn. Nothing could be duller than these speeches; every one of which was read from a written paper. A very ridiculous circumstance arose from this manner of speaking. As each of the discourses had been previously prepared, there was no reference to the arguments used in the debate; and the advocates and opposers of the measure, equally disregarded, and left unanswered, the remarks of those who happened to precede them in the debate. I was not a little entertained with the conceit of one of these lamp-oil orators, who discovered, that unless they restored la loi d’aubaine[36], englishmen might buy up all the woods of France, and thus, at one blow, deprive the government of its ships, and the people of their fuel.

The only decent speech delivered on the occasion was by the celebrated Boissy d’Anglass[37], who adduced some very strong reasons against the proposed project. Speaking of England, he called the climate, “ce climat ténébreux et humide[38].”

The expression may apply; but from the damp and foggy weather, which, during some time has prevailed at Paris, I am apt to think, that it is not exclusively descriptive of Great Britain.

After this tame and languid debate, more resembling the dull repetition of school boy’s exercises, than the speeches of a great popular assembly, the measure was rejected by a large majority.

I shall make no remarks on this decision, as doing so would necessarily lead into a political discussion, which it is my great object to avoid.

The tribunes, being but one hundred in number, sit in a small hall appropriate to their use. There is a gallery, which from the specimen of eloquence displayed this day, I was not surprised to find nearly empty. The tribunes wear a uniform of blue cloth, embroidered with silver, hussar boots also edged with silver, white waistcoats, blue pantaloons, and a tricoloured sash. They also begin and end their meetings with military honours.

I am, &c.

LETTER X.

Bal des étrangers, (a public subscription ball).—Thinness of the ladies’ dresses.

Paris, december 27th, 1801 (6th nivôse).

MY DEAR SIR,

I was last night at a public ball, given by a club or society, called, “le salon des étrangers.” This is an establishment, formed on the plan of our subscription houses in England, and lately opened in a handsome hotel in la rue Grange Batelière, the windows of which look on the Boulevard. It consists of frenchmen, who are admitted by ballot, and of foreigners of all nations. The latter are received, (being introduced by a member) on paying the annual subscription of five louis. The house is handsomely furnished, and consists of several large rooms, which are open every morning and evening, for the use of the subscribers. Besides the ordinary games played in such sort of houses, there is a very excellent billiard table, and a room fitted up for reading, in which are found periodical publications, and all the newspapers, french, german, and english. It was this latter circumstance which induced me to subscribe; and it is here where I usually end my walk, and amuse myself for half an hour, in running over the publications of the day.

The club or society, by way I suppose of gaining to its aid the protection and interest of the fair, without which nothing is to be done in France, or, to speak the truth, any where else, gives a ball, about once in ten days, and it was at one of these assemblies, that I was present last night.

At twelve o clock, Mrs. ⸺ and I drove to “le salon des étrangers,” (for no ball begins at an earlier hour) and the string of carriages was so very long, that we were nearly an hour in getting up to the door. I cannot help taking this opportunity, of commending the admirable order preserved by the police, on all such occasions at Paris. Though, from several streets meeting on the Boulevard, the crowd was great, yet there was not the least accident, nor even the smallest confusion. The staircase, by which we ascended, was elegantly ornamented with orange, and other artificial flower trees. When we entered the outward room, there were already so many persons assembled, that it was not without considerable difficulty, that we made our way into the salon, or drawing room. Never shall I forget my surprise, when, looking round me, I perceived the dress, or rather the nakedness of the ladies. I had heard much of the indecency, of which some females were guilty, in respect to costume at Paris, and I had already seen specimens of the thinness of their apparel; but till this evening, I thought it only the failing of a few. I now saw at least two hundred women, of different ages, and different situations in life, all displaying, without reserve or disguise, the beauties, which they had either received from nature, imitated by art, or believed themselves by the aid of flattering fancy to possess. The young and the old, the handsome and the ugly, the fair and the brown, all prodigally dragged into common view, those charms, which a virtuous woman conceals from motives of modesty, and a sensualist from those of discretion. The buxom girl of sixteen, the newly married woman, and the superannuated mother of a numerous family, were all equally exposed. Naked necks, naked backs, and their form, scarcely concealed by a transparent petticoat, left nothing to the powers of fancy.

You will think, perhaps, that I am drawing an exaggerated picture; but I can assure you, on the honour of a man of truth, that such was the costume of at least two thirds of the ladies present at this ball. The head-dresses, classically imitated from the ancient statues, were elegant; and the number of diamonds, pearls, and other precious stones, strikingly brilliant. There were many handsome women; but their beauty was uniformly of one kind. The embonpoint, and the nez retroussé, characterised them all. I looked in vain for those graceful figures, and those grecian countenances, which form so often the ornament of an english assembly. Among the most celebrated belles, madame R⸺, the young wife of an affluent banker, was pointed out to me; madame V⸺, an Italian lady, much the fashion at Paris, and the renowned madame Tallien. I think the first rather remarkable, for the singularity of her dress, (her head being ornamented “à la cochoise,” that is to say, as the peasants of a particular province dress their hair) her extreme fairness, and downcast look, than for any real extraordinary beauty. Madame V⸺ is a fine dark woman, “d’une certaine age,” with beautiful eyes, and a commanding person. Madame Tallien, notwithstanding her great fame, has, according to me, rather an agreeable countenance, and an enchanting smile, than features excessively striking. She is fair, as the fairest of our countrywomen; her neck is beautiful; and her countenance, mild and good humoured, is said to be a true picture of her mind. Yet, in spite of these advantages, I never should have discovered in her, the reigning belle of Paris. She, too, is not in the first bloom of youth. The dances were, the cotillon, (which they call la contredanse) and the walse. In the former, the ladies displayed that decided superiority, which the french possess in the art of dancing. As to the walse, I was astonished at the decency, with which that very indecent dance was danced, by the young parisians; who, placing their arms round the uncovered persons of the handsomest women in the room, yet had sufficient command of themselves, not to shock either their partners, or the company, by being guilty of the slightest impropriety. I expressed my surprise to an elderly lady, at this extraordinary forbearance. “Croyez moi, monsieur[39],” she replied, “que nos jeunes gens voient tout cela avec l’indifférence la plus parfaite.”

What a lesson does this remark hold out to the fair sex, of every description! That female is not less deficient in coquetry, and in the art of commanding the affections of men, than in every principle of decency, who wantonly exposes to the common gaze of passing curiosity those attractions, which are only valuable, as long as the sight of them is the exclusive privilege of a favoured lover.

The libertine, if he at first looks on with admiration, soon ceases to care for that which every eye may behold; and apathy, united to contempt, is the sentiment which succeeds to passion.

I return to the ball. The crowd became greater and greater, and the heat was excessive; but the scene altogether was lively and amusing.

A frenchman de l’ancien régime, hearing me express my surprise at the costume of the ladies, assured me, that excepting the foreigners, there was not one woman de bonne compagnie in the room. This term of “bonne compagnie,” is so often used, and so seldom explained, that I really do not know, whether he meant that there was not a woman of the old court, or that there was not a virtuous female present. If he intended the former, it only proved, that these balls were not frequented by the noblesse; if the latter, he was much severer in his remark than I had been. I only complained of the ladies being indecent; he asserted that they were profligate. At any rate, the one fault leads so rapidly to the other, that it was difficult to make a mistake.

The room was well lighted; the music excellent, and the ball, being formed of all the different classes of society, highly entertaining to a foreigner. There were a great many english present; most of the ambassadors, and many other distinguished characters.

I returned home about three in the morning.

Adieu.

LETTER XI.

New year’s day.—The Palais royal.

Paris, January the 1st, 1802 (11 nivôse.)

MY DEAR SIR,

The people of all nations cling, with such fond partiality, to their old customs, that it is next to impossible to eradicate even the most trifling of these by the power of law. I remarked a strong proof of this to day. It was an immemorial custom in France to celebrate new years day, by making presents of confectionary, trinkets, and such other articles, to near relations and particular friends.

Notwithstanding the republican almanack, and the use of it in all public acts, newspapers, &c. which makes the year begin with vendémiaire, answering to our 23d of september, the first of January is still considered as solely entitled to these honours. The Palais royal, as it is universally called (notwithstanding its first revolutionary and already superannuated name of “Jardin d’Egalité,” and its present constitutional one of “Palais du Tribunat,”) was thronged this morning with persons of all classes, who soon dispersed themselves among the various shops, in order to purchase these little annual presents, or “étrennes,” as they are called in the language of the country. The jewellers vied with each other in displaying, in their windows, all the taste, fashion, and magnificence, of their choicest merchandise; and diamond rings, pearl lockets, and amber necklaces, offered to gallantry elegant but expensive means of testifying its ardour. The milliners brought forth their finest lace, their most tawdry colours, and their most extravagant patterns; and the confectioners, with streamers at their door, ornamented cakes within, perfumed bonbons, and amorous mottoes, soon found the means of filling their respective shops.

What an extraordinary place is the Palais royal! There is nothing like it in any town in Europe. I remember hearing an english epicure once observe, “that as soon as the peace took place, he would give himself the happiness of passing six weeks in the Palais royal, without once going out of its gates.” Certainly, if a man be contented with sensual pleasures, there is not one which he may not gratify within the walls of this building. Restaurateurs, or taverns, where dinners are served from ten sols to two louis a head. Coffee houses, where, for three-pence, the lounger may pass the whole of his day in playing chess, talking politics, or reading the papers. Gambling houses, where the man of pleasure, at the risk of all that is dearest to him in life, purchases the anxious feelings which fear and hope excite, and where the chevalier d’industrie finds the disgraceful means of a dishonourable existence. Tailors, haberdashers, silversmiths, and watchmakers, offer every variety of clothing, of ornament, and of machinery. Booksellers’ shops are seen in every corner, where the homme de lettres finds his favourite authors, the romantic young lady her novels, and the politician his pamphlets. Opticians, where the frequenter of spectacles purchases his opera glass, and the philosopher his telescope. Crowds of unfortunate, and sometimes lovely females, challenge, with every variety of dress, the attention of passengers, and, while they offer a too easy banquet to libertines and dotards, fill every reflecting mind with pity and with sorrow. Such are the objects which the Palais royal presents. I ought to add, that while the cellars are filled with inferiour restaurateurs, or eating houses, where bands of music are constantly playing, frequently dressed in theatrical costumes; the upper rooms are occupied with gambling parties, cabinets of intrigue, and coffeehouses[40]. The latter have every variety of decoration; some are painted to represent the Alps, and others are covered with glass, reflecting in every direction a different room. The gambling tables are numerous; and I am assured, that on the stairs, descending from one of these, there is a pawnbroker’s shop, where it sometimes happens, that a ruined gamester, after losing the contents of his purse, deposits, for the sake of making a last and desperate effort, his watch, his buckles, and sometimes his coat. With the trifle advanced him he returns, and, if successful, redeems, on going away, the objects he has pledged. If he fail, a pistol, or the river, ends his miserable days. Such is the consequence of play, and such are the scenes which this profligate place presents.

The buildings, which formerly filled the centre, are now pulled down, and that part is really a garden, which many persons frequent for exercise. There are ice houses at each end, and chairs scattered about, on which the parisians sit in rows, and take lemonade and other refreshments. The space under the arcades, not occupied by the shops, is, as formerly, filled every hour of the day, and the greatest part of the night, with figures of all descriptions, with persons of every class, and, I might add, of every nation in the world.

“Le théâtre de Montansier” is still in the Palais royal, besides many smaller play houses. Puppet shows, dwarfs, giants, quack doctors, vociferating newsmen, and quiet venders of libels, who in a whisper offer you indecent and forbidden publications, complete the catalogue of many-coloured curiosities which this place presents.

Adieu. I dare not add the reflections which so singular a spot would naturally create. Were I to do so, scarcely a volume would contain them.

Adieu.

LETTER XII.

L’institution des travaux des aveugles, or establishment for the support and employment of the blind.—Their different occupations.—The plate glass manufactory.—Description of another meeting at the hospital of the deaf and dumb.—Massieu taught galvanism and stenography.

Paris, January the 16th, 1802 (26 nivôse.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went to day to see the establishment formed for the protection and instruction of the blind. It is called “l’institution des travaux des aveugles[41],” and is situate in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, not far from the ci-devant Bastille. It is here, where persons afflicted with that greatest of all human calamities, the loss of sight, are taught the means of gaining a comfortable existence, of occupying hours which would otherwise be painfully tiresome, and of rendering themselves useful to the community.

At the “séance,” or public meeting, which I attended this morning, I saw several persons, men, women, and children, either born blind, or rendered so by illness, now able to read, to write, to count, to print, and to perform on different pieces of instrumental music. The mode by which they read is by feeling the letters, which are purposely raised on card; and they did so with such rapidity, that it was difficult in hearing them to discover their misfortune. What particularly struck me, was the ingenuity of a blind woman, who had taught her child to read, an infant about five years old, not afflicted with this calamity.

There is a manufactory of steel carried on in the building, in which the blind turn the wheel; and they also make whips, writing cases, purses and paper toys of all sorts, which are sold for their private emolument. There is likewise a press, or printing machine, in which the whole process is performed by the blind; and I am told, books published by them are more than commonly correct. The women knit, sew, and perform other kinds of needlework; and all of them either sing, or perform on some instrument. They gave us a kind of concert, which, if not very good, proved at least that they understood the principles or music. I am almost ashamed to mention, that my pleasure in witnessing this truly philanthropic establishment, was not a little diminished by the dreadful countenances of the blind, as the eyes of many, not being closed, exhibited a very disgusting appearance. I knew, indeed, that they were not sensible of this defect, and that I ought to be satisfied with an institution, which, in rendering them both happy and useful, had fully discharged its object. To the truth of this reflection my reason fully assented; yet, malgré moi[42], my senses revolted at the sight of human beings, left so imperfect by the hand of Nature, or so deformed by illness.

In leaving “les aveugles,” we drove to the great plate glass manufactory, which is carried on in the neighbourhood. This celebrated establishment suffered severely during the revolution, but is now daily recovering its former prosperity. Six hundred persons are at present employed, and I saw mirrors preparing of various and extensive dimensions. The operation of pouring quicksilver on glass, by which it obtains its reflecting qualities, was performed before us; and we were much delighted with the rapidity and neatness shown in the process.

As I began this letter with the institution in favour of the blind, I think I cannot do better than to conclude it, by speaking to you again of that of the deaf and dumb. I have, since my first letter on that subject, attended two extraordinary meetings of the “sourd muets,” the result of which I will now give you.

Massieu, the deaf and dumb young man, of whose superiour talents and acquirements I gave you so favourable an account, appeared to great advantage at one of these, in which he received, for the first time, a lesson on “galvanism.” As soon as the abbé Sicard wrote on a slate, “galvanism is a name given to a mode of electricity, in consequence of its having been discovered by Galvani, an Italian physician.” Massieu eagerly snatched the pencil, and wrote, in reply, “I saw the word galvanism in one of the newspapers, and not knowing what it meant, looked for an explanation in the dictionary of the academy. Not finding it there, I concluded that it was taken from a proper name. It then occurred to me, that it was a new medicine, discovered by the individual, whose name it bore; and that, perhaps, by means of this specific, the inventor might cure the deaf and dumb, comme notre seigneur Jesus Christ[43].”

Never shall I forget the animation which brightened the countenance of Massieu, while he rapidly wrote these words, or the curious and anxious attention with which he followed the explanation afterwards given him of galvanism. In the course of the lecture, he showed, by his questions and answers, that he was perfectly conversant with the general principles of electricity; and the ease with which he caught the doctrine of galvanism was truly astonishing. I am sure you will be struck, as I was, at the singularity of his conceiving, that galvanism might lead to the cure of the deaf and dumb. How kindly has Nature implanted in our minds a disposition to cherish hope, even on the slightest foundation! It is this which gives a zest to all our pursuits, which supports us in illness, in affliction, and in sorrow; and no man really ceases to be happy, till he ceases to hope.

I did not know, at the time, what I have since learnt, and which, if true, renders the circumstance still more singular—I mean, that some deaf and dumb persons have been actually restored to the senses of hearing and speaking, by the power of galvanism. This is said to have taken place in some part of Germany, I believe at Vienna; but I only give it as a report.

At the second meeting, I saw Massieu taught, also for the first time, stenography, or the art of short-hand writing. After the common principles had been laid down by the written instructions of the master appointed to give him this lesson, the abbé Sicard desired Massieu to define the art which had just been explained to him. He immediately wrote for answer, expressing the greatest joy in his countenance, “C’est l’art d’écrire aussi vite que la parole. La sténographie va comme le cerf ou le cheval, mais l’écriture ordinaire comme le bœuf[44].” Through the whole of the lesson, he displayed the utmost clearness of idea, and the greatest facility of receiving instruction.

Before I left the house of the sourd muets, I visited the boy called the savage of Aveyron. But the subject is sufficiently interesting to deserve a separate letter; I shall, therefore, for the present, take my leave, and will devote my next to the description of this child.

I am, &c.

LETTER XIII.

The young savage, or wild boy of Aveyron.—His history.—The state in which he was found, and the means used to restore him to the use of his senses.—The success with which these efforts have been attended.

Paris, January the 17th, 1801 (27 nivôse.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I resume in this letter the subject promised in my last.

The child, so well known in Europe by the name of “le jeune sauvage d’Aveyron,” or “the young savage of Aveyron,” was found in the wood of that name, at the age of eleven or twelve years, by three huntsmen, who some time before had seen the same boy at a distance. He was looking for acorns and roots, which constituted his principal food, when they perceived him: and, at the moment of being seized, he attempted to get away, by climbing up an adjoining tree. He was taken into a cottage; but, at the end of a week, he made his escape from the woman, to whose care he was intrusted, and fled to the mountains. Here he wandered about, exposed to the severest cold of winter, with no covering but a ragged shirt, hiding himself at night in the most solitary places, and in the day approaching the neighbouring villages. After leading, for some time, this vagabond life, he came of his own accord, into an inhabited house, situate in the canton of St. Sernain. Here he was seized, watched and taken care of for three days, and was then removed, first to the hospital of St. Afrique, and afterwards to that of Rhodes, where he was kept several months. At each of these places, where, of course, he was the subject of much interesting observation, he was found wild and impatient of control. He was in constant motion, and at every instant seemed to seek an opportunity of escaping. By order of the minister of the interiour, he was brought to Paris, at the end of the 8th year of the republic (about two years ago), under the care of a poor, but respectable, old man, who became so attached to him on the journey, that he shed tears at parting with him, and in going away declared, that if he ever should be deserted, he would adopt him as his child.

The physician Pinel, to whose inspection the boy was first submitted, reported, that the organs of sense in this unfortunate child were reduced, from the want of use, to such a state of debility, that, in this respect, he was inferiour to several domestic animals. His eyes, without fixing themselves, and without expression, wandered wildly from one object to another, incapable of distinguishing the nearest from the most distant objects. His organ of hearing was alike insensible of the loudest noise, or the softest harmony. The power of the voice was lowered to such a degree, that he could not make an uniform and guttural sound. The sense of smelling was so little exercised, that he received, with the same indifference, the odour of the choicest perfumes, or the nauseous stench of the filthy couch on which he lay. To conclude, the sense of touching was confined to the mere mechanical functions of taking hold of bodies.

In respect to his intellectual powers, the same physician stated him to be incapable of attention (excepting as to the objects of his immediate wants), and consequently incapable also of all those operations which are created by attention. Destitute of memory, of judgment, and of the power of imagination, and so limited, even in the ideas relative to his wants, that he had not yet learnt to open a door, or to get upon a chair, in order to reach those objects of food which were held above his grasp. In fact, destitute of every means of communication, having neither expression nor intention in the motions of his body, passing suddenly, and without any presumable cause, from the gloom of apathy, to the most immoderate fits of laughter. Insensible of every kind of moral affection, his discernment was but a calculation of gluttony; his pleasure an agreeable sensation of the organs of taste; his sense, an aptitude to produce some incoherent ideas relative to his wants—in one word, all his existence seemed purely animal.

M. Pinel afterwards compared “le sauvage d’Aveyron” with children born, or become, irrevocably idiots; and he was inclined to conclude, that this unhappy child, doomed to an incurable evil, was not susceptible either of sociality or instruction; but he expressed this opinion with considerable doubt.

Dr. Itard, physician to the national institution des sourd muets, from whose interesting little pamphlet I have taken this account, though struck with the fidelity of the picture drawn by Dr. Pinel, and the justice of his remarks, was unwilling to accede to the unfavourable conclusion with which he had closed his report. Founding his hopes first on the doubtful cause of his supposed idiotism, and next on the possibility of the cure, he humanely determined to make the education of this deserted child his particular study. This education, or moral treatment, he began, on the general principles laid down by doctors Willis and Crichton, and by professor Pinel himself, though he could not appeal to any particular precepts, as no such case had been foreseen in their works. He conceived, that he had five principal objects to effect.

1st. To attach him to social life, in rendering that life more agreeable than the one which he now led, and particularly by making it more analogous to the life which he had lately quitted.

2dly. To revive the sensibility of his nerves by the most poignant stimulants, and sometimes by exciting the liveliest affections of the mind.

3dly. To extend the sphere of his ideas, by giving him new wants, and by increasing his connection with surrounding objects.

4thly. To lead him to the use of speech, by dragging into use the power of imitation by the imperious law of necessity.

5thly. To exercise, during some time, on the objects of his physical wants, the most simple operations of his mind, and thence to lead it to objects of instruction.

Dr. Itard then fully explains the methods which he took towards these important objects, in which, by incessant care, humane treatment, and the assistance of madame Guerin (the female to whose protection, as a nurse, the child was intrusted), he has so far succeeded, that he no longer entertains any doubt of his ultimate success. It is impossible for me, within the compass of a letter, to enter into the details given on this subject. I shall therefore content myself with translating the observations, with which Dr. Itard concludes the account.

“It may be safely concluded,” says he, “from my observations, that the child, known by the name of the savage of Aveyron, is gifted with the free exercise of all his senses; that he gives continual proofs of attention, recollection, and memory; that he can compare, discern, and judge—in one word, that he can apply all the faculties of his understanding to objects relative to his instruction. It is necessary to remark, as an essential point, that these happy changes have taken place in the short space of nine months, and those too in a subject, who was thought incapable of attention. Hence we may fairly conclude, that his education is possible, if it be not already certain, from the success already obtained, independently of that which may naturally be expected from the assistance of time, which, in its constant unvarying course, seems to give to infancy all that strength and power of unfolding itself, which it takes from man in the decline of life.”

I ought, perhaps, to mention, that this unfortunate child, to whom the name of “Victor” has been given, because he listened easily to the sounds which formed that name, has already pronounced the word “lait,” milk; that he has learnt to put the letters together which compose that word; and that he regularly does so, when he wishes to drink, taking also in his hand a little cup to receive his favourite beverage. Dr. Itard assured me, that he entertained no doubt of his ultimately speaking.

He is warm, passionate, grateful, and he has already given strong proofs of his attachment to his nurse, madame Guerin. His person is not very remarkable, but his countenance is mild. His face has been cut in several places. He cannot yet use any two senses at the same time; and, to enable him to hear, it is necessary to bind his eyes. When he is angry, he makes a noise like the growling of a dog. He is now dressed like another boy; but I am told, it was long before they could persuade him to bear the restraint of clothing. I remarked, that while we were in the room, he kept his eye constantly on the door, and that the desire of escaping has not yet abandoned him.

To conclude, it seems that he has a mark in his neck, which proves, almost to a certainty, that his life was attempted in his infancy. The hapless offspring of illicit love, he was probably first wounded by the trembling hand of an unnatural mother; and then, under the supposition of being dead, thrown into the wood, where he so long wandered, and was at last discovered.

If you feel as much interested as I do on this subject, you will easily pardon the prolixity of my letter. I only regret, that I cannot send you a more perfect account.

I am, &c.

LETTER XIV.

Detailed account of all the theatres or spectacles.

Paris, january 21st, 1802 (1 Pluviôse).