Part 14

Not a question, I pray you! about the journey from Rouen hither. I can only tell you that we chose the lower route; that the prospects were lovely, and the diligence rolled rapidly along the banks of the Seine; that we stopped only to swallow our meals as quickly as possible, and had not time to examine any thing. We entered Paris by the Porte de Neuilly and Champs Elysées, at dusk, and witnessed the beautiful sight the latter presents, when illuminated by its numerous lamps, which instead of being fixed on posts, were suspended high above our heads from ropes swung across the road. The resemblance of these lamps when lighted, to a range of brilliant stars, occasions the gate by which we entered to be called the "barriére de l'étoile." We found rooms ready for us, papa having written to request Mr. Dorval to engage a suite in the pleasantest quarter of the city.

Here there are four modes of living customary among visiters. First, boarding in a hotel by the day, week, or month: second, boarding at a lodging house by the week, month or year: third, hiring furnished apartments and eating at a restaurateur's, or being supplied thence: fourth, furnishing rooms yourself, and having your own cook. The first of these plans, being the least troublesome, we have preferred. It is, however, more expensive than either of the others. Our hotel is delightfully situated, and commands a view of the Italian Boulevard and of the Rue de la Paix, at the corner of which it stands; the latter, one of the widest and handsomest streets in the metropolis. From our windows we can also see the "Place Vendome," with its superb and stately bronze column, erected by Napoleon, in imitation of that of Trajan at Rome. It is made of the cannons taken by him at the battle of Austerlitz; the principal events of that campaign are represented in a _bas-relief_, which is carried spirally around the whole shaft, the figure of the Emperor being prominent in each compartment. His statue formerly crowned the summit of the column; but since his downfall it has been removed, and the vacancy is now supplied by a simple banner.[1]

[Footnote 1: The statue of Napoleon has been replaced since the last revolution; the dress is the great coat and three cornered cocked hat in which he is so frequently represented, and he holds in his hand a short telescope, or rather opera glass.]

Beyond the Place Vendome is the Rue Castiglione, with its fine shops and arcades; and at the end of this street is the garden of the Tuileries, where we repair before breakfast every morning, to enjoy its shades, and contemplate its statues, flowers and fountains. In flowers it always abounds, for they are planted in pots concealed in the ground, and as soon as one set goes out of season, it is replaced by another in bloom.

From eleven until four o'clock we study the pictures in the magnificent gallery of the Louvre, whose halls are open for the benefit of strangers and students on every day of the week, except _Monday_. On Sunday they are open to _every body_, and consequently on Monday require the operations of the broom and brush. The halls appropriated to sculpture are on the ground floor, and the ceilings of several are superbly painted. It was from the window of one of these apartments that Charles the Ninth fired upon his persecuted subjects during the massacre of St. Bartholomews. (August 24, 1572)

Our usual evening resort is the Boulevard, where we listen to music, and observe the motley crowds around us; and when tired, refresh ourselves with ices or lemonade in a café.

Dear me! how tastefully the French ladies dress! What beautiful robes, and hats, and gloves, and shoes and boots they wear! and how well each article corresponds with another. If they have on different colors, they take care that they shall contrast agreeably, and not be an uncouth mixture, displeasing to the eye. In the morning their toilette is remarkably neat and appropriate. You'll probably find them when you call, in a simple gingham dress, with pelerine to suit, and a black silk apron; their hair arranged in puffs, and quite unadorned. Now is this not more rational than to be furbelowed, and curled, and richly clad, as if they were expecting company, instead of being usefully employed? At entertainments and in the public promenades, they display their fine clothes. We have already received and returned the visits of several of the French families to whom we brought letters; but much to our regret, the venerable Count Ségur is out of town, and Baron Hottinguer, his lady and son, are at their country seat. The Minister of the Marine (Mr. Hyde de Neuville) and Madame his spouse, are extremely pleasing and amiable. They still have their regular soirées, notwithstanding the advanced season, and we intend to avail ourselves of their polite invitation to attend them. By the by, I should tell you (what M. Dorval told _me_,) that in Paris many persons have an appointed evening for receiving their acquaintances, once a week, fortnight, or month, (as suits their convenience,) and on this evening they illuminate their rooms for the reception of their guests. The greater number of these remain only a half hour, and then repair to the opera, or to some other _soirée_, as such an assembly is termed. It is usual to go to three or four on the same night. There is seldom any refreshment offered, and the amusements are conversation and, écarte--_sometimes_ billiards; and when the soirée is social and small, they even introduce childish plays, such as "Colin, Maillard," "Le Mouchoir," "Tierce," &c. in which elderly people frequently join with all the vivacity of youth.

Monsieur and Madame de Neuville reside in a superb mansion, that was formerly the "Garde meuble," or royal wardrobe. It is now called the "Admiralty," and appropriated to the use of the Minister of the Marine and Colonies. On its roof is a telegraph, and its front is embellished with sculpture, and columns, which support a portico as long as the building itself.

A few nights since we were at the Theatre Francais, and saw Mademoiselle Mars perform the part of the Duchesse de Guise in "Henri Trois." To the astonishment of every body she excels in this character, although it is a difficult one to play, and her first attempt at tragedy. Her talents hitherto, you know, have been devoted to comedy. She is the most lovely and youthful looking woman of her age I ever beheld. What do you think of her being passed fifty, and yet not appearing as old as twenty-five? She is so graceful too! and then her voice is melody itself! But I must cease my encomiums, or I shall not have space to assure you that I am your affectionate sister,

LEONTINE.

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LETTER SIXTH.

Palais Royal--King's Library--Hotel de Ville--Mint--Palace of Justice--Holy Chapel--Flower Market.

PARIS, ----.

_Dear Jane:_--

What a variety of places we have visited since I despatched to you my last letter! _Par exemple_, the Palais Royal, with its agreeable garden and jets d'eau, surrounded by arcades, under which are splendid shops and cafés, that are dazzling when illuminated at night; the Royal Library, with its vast collection of manuscripts and engravings, and its cabinets of antiquities and medals--the latter considered to be the most complete in the world; the Hotel de Ville, on the Place de Grève, where the guillotine sometimes plies its dreadful work; the Exchange, with its sixty-four corinthian columns, fine hall, and superb imitations of bas-reliefs, so admirably executed, that you can scarcely be convinced they are the effect of the _brush_ instead of the _chisel_. Add to these several churches and fountains, the Mint, where we witnessed the curious process of coining, and the "Palais de Justice." In this vast structure of antiquity, the judicial courts of Paris hold their sittings. It was founded in the ninth century, and is termed a palace, because it was once the abode of the French monarchs. I remember having read in some history of the magnificent entertainments they gave here, in a grand hall containing statues of their race and a marble table of uncommon size, at which none but princes of the blood were allowed to feast. In 1618 nearly the whole edifice was burnt, and the wonderful table and statues destroyed; it was rebuilt by Desbrosses, the architect of the Luxembourg. Besides the court rooms and many others above them, filled with the judiciary archives of the kingdom, there are long galleries which have on each side rows of petty shops and stalls. Beneath these galleries are the gloomy prisons of the conciergerie, wherein such atrocities were committed during the revolution. Here we saw the dungeons in which Marie Antoinette and the Princess Elizabeth were immured; the cell in which Robespiérre was confined; and that of Louvel, who assassinated the Duke de Berri. We were shown the prison room of the gallant Ney. The cells that inclosed the unfortunate queen and her sister-in-law, are now converted into a small chapel, which communicates by means of an arch, with another of larger dimensions. In the latter, the captives of the conciergerie are permitted to attend mass on the Sabbath. The arch is decorated with medallions of Louis the Sixteenth and the Princess Elizabeth, and a few lines extracted from his will are inscribed on an altar in the smaller chapel. On the wall of this hang three pictures in oil colors; the first represents Marie Antoinette taking leave of her family just before she was brought to the prison; in the second, you behold her standing wrapt in meditation by her miserable cot-bed, after the door is barred upon her; in the third, you see her at confession, preparatory to ascending the scaffold. Melancholy themes, and well suited to the gloom of the place! You approach the Palace of Justice through an enormous iron gate remarkable for its workmanship and guilding. On the left of it stands an ancient building, called the "Holy Chapel," from its having been erected by Saint Louis for the reception of the sacred relics he brought with him from Palestine, whither he went on a crusade, in fulfilment of a vow he had made during a dangerous illness. His oratory is still shewn, and once served as a refuge from popular fury to the present King Charles the Tenth, in the time of the revolution. The painted windows of the chapel are beautiful,--the colors so bright and various. Around the interior, instead of altars and _confessionals_, are a range of cases, containing archives and records. By the by, among those we saw in the upper galleries of the Palace of Justice, (which communicates with the "Sainte Chapelle,") were the condemnation of Joan of Arc, and that of Jean Châtel, who attempted to stab Henry the Fourth, but failed, and having been seized was put to a dreadful death, according to the mandate which we read. He was stretched on the rack, then drawn on a sledge to the Place de Grève, his flesh torn with hot pincers, and his right hand cut off; finally, his limbs were tied to four wild horses, and thus rent asunder. When dead, his body was burnt, and his ashes scattered to the winds! The dress he wore when he attacked the King, and a rope ladder he used in endeavoring to escape while confined, are carefully preserved in a box, with a scull that was found in the possession of a famous robber, and is said to have served him as a cup, out of which he compelled has victims to drink wine, and then swear allegiance to him. The condemnation of Joan of Arc is replete with superstition and abuse of that poor warrior damsel; she is pronounced a sorceress, a blasphemer, a devil, &c. and numerous other opprobrious epithets are given to her besides. We were likewise shewn the hand writing of Francis the First, Louis the Eleventh, and that of several others of the French monarchs; and to speak the truth, I don't think their penmanship does them much credit.

Returning home, we stopped at the flower market, and were surprised at the beauty and cheapness of the flowers. You may buy them growing in pots, or arranged as boquets. The market is held on the Quay Dessaix, under two rows of trees, in the midst of which a plentiful fountain refreshes the air, and affords water for the plants. Adieu. Ever yours,

LEONTINE.

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LETTER SEVENTH.

Church of St. Roch--Pére la Chaise.

PARIS, ----.

_Dear Sister:_--

Your letter (received within a few hours) gave us all great pleasure, and we are rejoiced to learn that _folks_ and _things_ are going on so well at the Lodge. What a fine time you and Albert have for _sentimentalizing_! Make the best of it; for you know October is only a few months off, and when it comes you'll perhaps find me at your elbow oftener than you anticipate. I shall have so much to talk about; for believe me, altho' my communications are so long and frequent, a great deal will remain to be told when we reach "sweet home."

Now, let me inform you of the strange sight we have just been witnessing in the Church of St. Roch; a funeral and two weddings solemnizing in the same place and at the same moment! To us it was shocking, and _certes_ if _I_ had been one of the votaries of hymen on the occasion, I should have experienced sad forebodings of evil in the connubial state. Really, it was sometimes difficult to hear the priests who were performing the marriage rites, their voices being drowned in the loud requiem chanted over the dead. The coffin was strewed with white flowers, emblematical of the youth and maidenhood of the deceased.

We have visited Pére la Chaise, and spent nearly a whole day in reading the inscriptions on its numerous and varied monuments,--many of them so magnificent! many so neat and simple! The inscriptions are generally beautiful and touching--they speak to the hearts of all; and the lovely and odoriferous flowers that decorate the tombs, seem to rob the grave of its sadness, and shed their balmy influence o'er the mind of the beholder. Several tombs are also adorned with miniatures inserted in the stone, and portraying the once animated countenances of those who rest beneath them. This romantic burying ground spreads itself over the side of a hill, and from the upper part you have a noble prospect of the city and its environs. In the fourteenth century it was the site of a splendid mansion, built by a wealthy grocer, whose name was Regnaud. Its magnificence being incompatible with his rank, it was soon entitled "Regnaud's Folly." The Jesuits afterwards obtained possession of it, and gave it the name of "Mont Louis," because Louis the Fourteenth when a boy, witnessed from its summit the battle in the Faubourg St. Antoine, between the Frondeurs,[2] commanded by the Prince of Condé, and the Court Party, under Marshal Turenne. I recollect reading in Voltaire's history of that monarch's reign, that during this bloody skirmish, Mademoiselle d'Orleans (Louis's cousin) sided with the Prince of Condé, and had the cannons of the Bastile pointed against the royal troops. This ruined her forever in the opinion of the king; and Cardinal Mazarin remarked, knowing her desire to marry a crowned head, "_ce canon la, vient de tuer son mari_"--"that cannon has killed her husband." But I've digressed from my original theme, and hasten to resume it. Pére la Chaise, one of the Jesuits, became confessor to Louis, and had entire control of ecclesiastical affairs. The king was very fond of him, and as a mark of his esteem, presented him with the estate of "Mont Louis," having considerably enlarged and embellished it for his use. On the death of the holy father, it reverted to his brethren, and was called after him. These wily priests projected there the Revocation of the edict of Nantes, and issued thence many a lettre de cachet, decreeing imprisonment to their enemies. They retained possession of the place until the abolishment of their order in 1763, when it was sold for the benefit of their creditors, and had divers owners, until purchased by the Prefect of the Seine, and appropriated to its present purpose in 1804. There are three kinds of graves: first, those termed _public_, in which the poor are gratuitously buried; but each body can remain only five years, the time supposed to be sufficient for its decomposition. These graves resemble immense ditches, and the coffins are deposited one upon another, and side by side, as close as they can lay. They are wretchedly made, and soon drop to pieces; and therefore it is not uncommon, in burying a corpse, to see the exposed head and limbs of another! Is'nt this horrible? Second, _temporary_ graves, wherein the dead remain undisturbed during ten years, for the sum of fifty francs. At the close of that period, unless the grave be rendered of the third kind, _perpetual_, by the payment of a larger portion of money, its ghastly tenant is removed. The oldest and most interesting sepulchre is that of Abelard and Héloise; it is formed of the ruins of the paraclete, and covered with antique sculpture and ornaments. It represents a gothic chapel, in the centre of which the bodies of the lovers are represented extended on a bier; the whole is of gray stone. The monument of the Countess Demidoff, a Russian lady, we considered the richest and handsomest in the collection. It is composed of pure white marble highly polished. A part of the cemetery is appropriated to the use of strangers, and a considerable space allowed to the Jews. The gate is always thronged with carriages that have brought either visiters or mourners. On each side of the entrance are stalls, where wreaths and bunches of flowers may be purchased. I must now conclude, and am sure you will dream of church yards and hobgoblins, after reading this letter, from your attached

LEONTINE.

[Footnote 2: This party were termed _frondeurs_ or slingers by their opponents, in allusion to the boys who were then in the habit of throwing stones with slings In the street, and who ran away when any one appeared. The _Soubriquet_, as has frequently happened, was adopted by them as their distinctive appellation.]

ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.

_For the Southern Literary Messenger_.

AN ORATION on the Life and Character of Gilbert Motier de Lafayette, delivered at the request of both Houses of the Congress of the United States, before them, in the House of Representatives at Washington, on the 31st of December, 1834, by John Quincy Adams, a Member of the House. Washington: Gales and Seaton. 1835. pp. 94.

EULOGY on La Fayette, delivered in Fanueil Hall, at the request of the Young Men of Boston, September 6, 1834; by Edward Everett. Boston: Nathan Hall & Allen & Tichnor. 1834. pp. 96.

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"An Oration in praise of Hercules!!! And who ever thought of blaming Hercules!"

The limits of the old world bounded the labors of Hercules. There nature had planted imperishable landmarks; and on these the gratitude of nations had inscribed, in imperishable characters, the name of their benefactor. What could the breath of man add to his glory?

But the pillars of Hercules have been passed. Beyond this _ne plus ultra_ of the ancient world, the genius of Columbus opened a way to new regions, and extended the sway of his imperial master around the circuit of the earth. A new hero was wanting, whose labors, commensurate with this enlarged theatre, might compass the globe, and convey to the new world the benefits which his illustrious prototype had conferred on the old. Such a hero the bounty of Providence vouchsafed to man. But the spirit has returned to him who gave it; and it is in praise of his memory, that two distinguished orators have been required to task their acknowledged powers.

But "who ever thought of blaming La Fayette?" Who feels it necessary to utter his praise, even in this simple question? Who feels it necessary to answer it? Is not such silence the most expressive praise; the silence imposed by a common sentiment, which all are conscious is felt by all?

What can be expected from eulogy in such a case? What is there in the breath of praise; what is there in the pomp and circumstance of funeral pageantry, but a solemn mockery of the feelings that "bleed deep in the silent breast?" We find a natural though sad pleasure in telling the world of the unobtrusive merit of some good man, who in voluntary privacy had passed and closed a virtuous and useful life. We may have a purpose in erecting monuments to the _common great_, which, perishable as they are, may somewhat prolong the memory of those to whom they are dedicated. The undying strains of bards may rescue from oblivion names which might have perished. There were heroes before Agamemnon; but they had no Homer to record their deeds, and died without their fame. But what need had Hercules of Homer? What need has La Fayette that one should tell his fellow of him? Why proclaim to the world what all the world already knows? Why tell posterity what posterity can never forget, until man has lost the records of the history of man?

We talk of monuments to Washington. Why is none erected? Is it for want of reverence for his memory? For want of love? For want of gratitude? These questions are reproachfully asked, from time to time, by novices in politics, who, in striving to signalize their patriotism, their enthusiasm, or their _eloquence_, do but signalize their ignorance of the human heart. Such appeals are always answered by silence. It is the answer dictated by the unsophisticated feelings of our countrymen. Where would you place the monument? _In_ the capitol? Is not the _capitol itself_ too small? But the capitol may be considered symbolically as imbodying the free institutions of the country which he made free. What then? Is not the _thing itself_ worthier than the symbol? Is any monument to Washington so appropriate as that reared by his genius, his toils and his virtues,--HIS COUNTRY? And what matters it under what part of that vast tablet, every where emblazoned with his glory, his bones repose? The silence of the people is the appropriate, the only _natural_ expression of those sentiments which all can feel, though all know not how to speak them. The unsuccessful orator who, having uttered his premeditated declamation, goes his way, reproaching their apathy, does but expose himself to scorn, as one who would substitute _lip service_ for the homage of the heart. But even that scorn, (such is the influence of the all-pervading reverence for the mighty dead,) even that is repressed, and finds no voice.

These remarks are made because they illustrate the difficulty of the task imposed on Messrs. Adams and Everett. It is a difficulty which grows out of the nature of the subject. We are not sure that any man, endued with all those qualities which enter into the composition of the perfect orator, would not instinctively shrink from such a task. Mr. Webster declined it; and it does not appear that it was sought by Mr. Clay, Mr. Leigh, or Mr. Preston.