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Paris As It Was and As It Is

F >> Francis W. Blagdon >> Paris As It Was and As It Is




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



LETTER IX.

_Paris, October 31, 1801._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MONTMARTRE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



LETTER X.

_Paris, November 2, 1801._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, I was well seated for seeing the performance. It consisted
of three _petites pièces_: namely, _Une heure d'absence_, _La petite
ville_, and _Le café d'une petite ville_. The first was entertaining;
but the second much more so; and though the third cannot claim the
merit of being well put together, I shall say a few words of it, as
it is a production _in honour of peace_, and on that score alone,
would, at this juncture, deserve notice.

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

"Celui qui nous donne la paix,
Comme il fit bien la guerre!
Sur lui déjà force conplets....
Mai il en reste à faire:
Au diable nous nous donnions,
Il revient, nous respirons....
Il fait changer la danse;

Par lui chez nous plus de discord;
Il regle la cadence,
Et nous voilà d'accord."

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

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

PALAIS DU GOUVERNEMENT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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