Young Americans Abroad
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Douai was our next town. It has about eighteen thousand inhabitants, and
has a foundery for ordnance. The Theological Seminary here has been
famous, and most of the Catholic clergy of England and Ireland were
formerly educated here. Arras is a town of about twenty-five thousand
population, and is celebrated as the birthplace of Robespierre. It is
said to be a very beautiful place, but we saw little of it. The cars
next passed through Amiens, a city of about fifty thousand inhabitants.
It was at this city that a treaty of peace was made between France and
England, in 1802. Clermont is a very neat little town, of about five
thousand inhabitants. It has a fine old castle, and every thing looked
lively and prosperous. Pontoise, on the River Oise, is a small town;
and I should think that, from the upper part of the town, the prospect
is very beautiful.
We reached Paris in about eleven hours and a half from London. Really,
this seems very strange, that I should breakfast in London and dine at
Paris. After having our luggage examined at the station, by the police,
we repaired at once to the Hotel Windsor, on the Rue Rivoli. This was
the hotel where Dr. C. had his quarters, fifteen years ago; and is it
not strange that we have the same suite of rooms that he then occupied?
We have a fine drawing-room, a dining-room, and three good chambers. Our
hotel is exactly opposite the gardens of the Tuileries, and is in the
pleasantest part of the city. James, you know, was once here for three
months; and he has quite a knowledge of the city, and seems perfectly at
home. We take our breakfast in our apartments or the coffee-room, as
suits us best, at about nine o'clock; our dinners in some good _cafe_,
in various parts of the city, or at the _table d'hote_, at Meurice's
Hotel, which is just next door to us. In calling on one or two persons,
we found them in old apartments, but quite noble rooms, as high up as
four and five stories; and we hear that many families live in the same
building, and that many very respectable people live in the sixth, and
even seventh story. This I should never like. Whenever we go out, we
leave our key with the _concierge_ or his wife, who live in a snug
little apartment just inside the great gate, which opens into a
well-paved court. We have determined not to engage a guide in Paris,
because it is often annoying to have a coarse, vulgar mind disturbing
you, when all you ask is silence and your own reflections. It is quite a
mistake to suppose that you cannot get along without a _valet de
place_--for in every hotel, and almost every large establishment, there
are persons to be found who speak English. We paid our respects to our
good friend the consul, and found him very comfortably settled down in
his office, and residing in excellent style. A pleasant evening with his
family made us all think of our old times on board the Arctic. The day
after we arrived was James's birthday, and he was to give us a dinner,
and had invited the consul and his son to dine with us. Well, at five we
met at the consulate, and we boys walked ahead with Mr. G., Jr., leaving
the doctor and the consul to bring up the rear. He supposed that his
father understood where he proposed to take us, and so we went on
speedily. In the Rue Vivienne they lost sight of us; we arrived at the
Cafe Vachette, on the boulevards, and ordered dinner for the party. The
gentlemen, however, kept walking the street for two hours. At last they
gave up the matter as a bad case, and took refuge for a late dinner by
themselves in a neighboring _cafe_. At nine we all met, sadly
disappointed. The pleasant occasion had been quite disarranged, and some
hard jokes passed upon our want of tact in not sending out scouts to
search the Rue Vivienne, with the geography of which the doctor declares
he is now perfectly acquainted--having tramped it for two hours with the
consul. Of course, we all have to take their jokes upon our defrauding
them of a fine dinner. We have dined since at the _Trois Freres
Provencaux_, which has the reputation of being one of the best _cafes_
in Paris. Our room commanded a perfect view of the quadrangle of the
Palais Royal, and the spectacle was highly interesting. The
accommodations of the room we occupied were very fine; and nothing could
surpass the beauty of the table linen, plate, &c. We are about to
commence the sights of the city in earnest, and are this evening to
arrange our plans.
Yours affectionately,
GEORGE.
Letter 25.
PARIS.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
I like this city very much--every one seems so happy out of doors. Not
only the poor, but the wealthy, are fond of the open air; and a great
deal of time is spent in the gardens and on the boulevards. Every place
seems to have provision made for the enjoyment of the people. Ices and
lemonade are to be found wherever you go. The appearance of the streets
in Paris is much gayer than those of London. You see a much greater
number of women walking out, and they are generally very neatly dressed.
But the streets do not look as substantial as they do in London. If
there is more that is imposing, there is less that keeps up your wonder.
I do not feel able to think that the people here have much business to
do, for every one seems to be engaged in pleasure; and yet there are
great concerns going on, and the fine manufactures of this city are only
to be done by labor and attention. Nothing, at our first glances at the
city, have pleased us more than the profusion of flowers every where to
be seen. It is quite common to see men with a rose in the button hole,
or a beautiful carnation. The roses are my admiration. I never saw such
beauties before; and whether it is owing to the climate, or to
scientific cultivation, I know not, but certainly I never have beheld
such variety or perfection. In the flower shops you will find very large
bunches of rosebuds, each bunch made up exclusively of buds of one size,
from the dimensions of a pea in all gradations up to the diameter of a
half dollar--not a leaf opened, simply a bouquet of rosebuds, and the
whole embowered in a delicate sheet of white paper. I reckoned the
contents of one, and found two hundred and sixty-seven buds not larger
than a common pea, and the price was only a franc. The moss roses are
beyond all my conceptions of floral beauty; and, go where I may, I find
every niche of ground adorned with standard roses of various hues, and
the walls and windows are beautified with brilliant geraniums, which are
evidently great favorites.
We had a funny affair yesterday. We all went to make a call upon Mr.
D----, and found his residence in a splendid part of the city; but,
instead of being ushered into his drawing-room, we were brought into the
saloon of no less a personage than the Lord Bishop of Jamaica! He
politely directed us to the next apartment, where we spent an agreeable
hour with the family, and found that similar mistakes occur almost
daily.
Our first tramp for a sight was to Notre Dame; and I shall never forget,
Charley, my first view of this cathedral. The exterior is more striking
than any church edifice that I have yet seen. No engraving can afford a
fair idea of its grandeur to one who has not seen it, though it will
help my mind, to recall its beauties whenever I see the picture. You are
so well read about Paris, that I hardly need tell you that eight
centuries have rolled away since Notre Dame was built. It is regarded as
the noblest Gothic pile in France, and is the pride of Paris. The front
is one hundred and twenty feet wide, and the richness of the carvings
upon the exterior is wonderful. I am really glad to see that great pains
are taking to restore and adorn this church. The decayed stones are
taken out, and new ones replaced, and the carvings also are renewed
where necessary, so that future ages may see what so delights us. The
two towers are forty feet square and two hundred high, and you ascend by
a staircase of four hundred steps. The form of the church is that of the
Latin cross. Its dimensions inside are four hundred feet by one hundred
and forty, and the height is one hundred feet. All through the cathedral
is a line of Gothic arches supported by columns, and, as you enter the
great door, you see the entire edifice. The walls look bare to my eye,
in spite of the paintings. We were much pleased at seeing the spot where
Napoleon was crowned; and George was in ecstasies, for you know how
thoroughly he goes in for his beau ideal of the hero. Here are, the
splendid candelabra which the emperor gave on the occasion. We heard
mass, but the service was very formal, and the priest might have been a
real downeaster, for he had a horrid nasal twang, and his
"_sanctissime_" was "_shanktissime_." The history of these churches is
strange, and I think a pretty good book might be written on the romance
of church architecture. The portal of the north aisle of the choir was
erected by a vile assassin, the Duke of Burgundy, who murdered his
cousin, the Duke of Orleans, in 1407. This, of course, was his penance,
and fully expiated his crime. The great bell weighs thirty-two thousand
pounds, and was baptized in presence of Louis XIV., and is called
Emanuel Louise Therese, after his queen. I cannot attempt to describe
the beauties of this building, inside or out. The exterior is all flying
buttresses, crocketed pinnacles, and sculpture. Inside you see chapel
after chapel; and as to windows of painted glass, they are studies for
hours. The rose windows are exquisite.
We repaired to a small chapel used as a sacristy, or treasure-house of
the church. Here we saw the coronation robes of Napoleon, and splendid
capes and embroideries, in gold and silver, given by Charles X. and
Louis Philippe; and here, too, is the vertebrae of the late Archbishop of
Paris, who was killed in the revolution of 1848. The bone has a silver
arrow tracing the course of the bullet, which lies beside it. This is in
time to be a saintly relic, but it seems to me a filthy sight, and in
wretched taste. But Popery knows well what to do with dead men's bones.
For a minute description of this church, I would refer you to three
volumes, called the "History of Paris," published by Galignani. On our
return we went to the Hotel de Ville, and had the company of M. O----n,
whose kindness did much for us on several occasions. The Hotel de
Ville stands in the Place de Greve, where so much blood has been shed in
other days. Here the martyrs of the Protestant faith have been put to
death. Here it was that Dubourg was strangled and burnt by order of
Francis II. Dubourg was a noble character. His last words were, "Father,
abandon me not; neither will I abandon thee."
This noble pile was begun in 1533, and only completed in 1841, and in
the modern improvements fifteen millions have been expended. The whole
now forms an immense quadrangle. The front is Corinthian, with pillars
and niches between the windows. A vast number of statues adorn the
front, and others are in preparation.
It was at the doorway in the centre that Lamartine, "the noblest Roman
of them all," so gloriously withstood the mob in February, 1848,
declaring that the red flag should not be the flag of France. I wish you
could see this palace, for such it is, though occupied by the city
authorities. London has nothing to approach it in splendor. The
staircases are gorgeous, and are so rich in sculpture that only a
sculptor could properly speak of them. We saw the room where Robespierre
held his council and attempted suicide, and also the window where our
Lafayette embraced Louis Philippe, and presented him to the mob in
1830. It is the same window where poor Louis XVI. addressed the savages,
when he wore the cap of liberty. By the way, I hate the sight of that
cap, which always reminds me of the lamp-post executions of the French
capital in 1792-3. Its prevalence in our happy country is owing to the
French mania which once possessed the people, and has very much died
out. The apartments are regal, and some of them, I think, quite superior
to those of Windsor Castle. In this building is a fine library, and here
are deposited the vast collection of American books obtained by
Vattemare, whom, you recollect, we saw at Washington.
I cannot tell you how sorely vexed we are to find the Louvre shut up for
repairs and decoration; every week they say it is to be reopened, but I
fear we shall leave Paris ere it happens.
How much we would all give to have you here; for, though we are glad to
tell you what we see, we feel there are scores of objects which interest
us that we have to pass over, but which would make your eyes glisten, if
you could gaze upon. Well, my dear fellow, stick to your business, make
your fortune, and then come and look at the beautiful and fair in the
old world; and who knows but perhaps we may yet chat cosily together in
Paris? O, I do love to wander through this city by moonlight, and gaze
upon the bright, lofty buildings as they loom up so gloriously in the
mild lustre of a silvery night. God bless you.
Yours affectionately,
JAMES.
Letter 26.
PARIS.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
We have been to dine at the Palais Royal, at the _Trois Freres
Provencaux_, of which I suppose the boys have told you; and I shall only
speak about the fine building, so renowned all over the world. The
Palais Royal is to Paris what Paris is to France. Its history is briefly
this: Cardinal Richelieu built it for himself; but the king, Louis
XIII., was jealous, and the wily old priest gave it to the monarch, and,
after Richelieu's death, he moved into it. In 1692, it fell into the
hands of Philippe, Duke of Orleans, as a gift, or marriage portion, from
Louis XIV., and here the great Orleans collection of paintings was
gathered, and which was sold in 1789, at the breaking out of the great
troubles. In 1814, Louis Philippe obtained it as his inheritance, and
lived there till 1831. The garden is very fine, and is about seven
hundred and fifty feet by three hundred, and has beautiful rows of
lime-trees, trimmed into shape, as are most of these trees in Paris. In
the centre are flower gardens and a basin of water, with a fine
fountain. In this open space are beautiful bronze and marble statues.
One I admired exceedingly; it is Eurydice, stung by a snake. In this
garden are hundreds of persons under the trees, on chairs, which are
hired, where they read and take refreshments. Under the arcades which
surround the area are the most tasty shops of Paris, and where you may
get any thing you please. A gayer sight than this same Palais Royal, or,
as they now call it, Palais National, cannot be seen in this world. I
shall not attempt to tell you about the apartments of the palace, and
which you can read of at your leisure. What a loss it was to the world
when, in February, 1848, six hundred thousand engravings, all classified
by Louis Philippe, and making one hundred and twenty-two enormous
folios, were destroyed by the mob, and the queen's own library also!
We lounged about from one shop to another, and made purchases of some
pretty things, which we hope may serve to show friends at home that we
did not quite forget them.
The Passage d'Orleans will never die out from my memory, nor shall I
ever forget the Cafe d'Orleans, with its mirrors, walls, and ceilings,
all radiant with a thousand lights. We find at every few steps the
magazine for the Indian weed, and all varieties of pipe, from the
commonest _en bois_ to the elegantly carved _ecume de mer_, which would
cost two or three hundred francs. Here, too, are the Theatres Francais
and Palais Royal, and other places of amusement.
In our walks about the city we are sure to have all the notable places
pointed out; and one morning, just after I had obtained a Henry IV.
silver coin, in fine preservation, we were taken home by a long walk
through the Rue St. Honore. The house No. 3, in this street, is the one
in front of which Henry IV. was assassinated by Ravaillac. A bust of the
king stands against the second story, with an inscription. In the Rue
Vivienne, No. 34, we saw the house where Moliere died, on which is a
marble tablet, with this inscription: "_Moliere est mort dans cette
maison, le _17_ Fevrier_, 1673, _a l'age de_ 51 _ans._" At the corner of
the same street, where a small passage way branches off, is a fine
monument to the memory of the great poet and the noblest comic writer of
France. The statue is of bronze, in a sitting posture; on each side are
figures,--one humorous, the other serious,--both looking at the statue.
At the foot of the monument is a basin to receive water, which flows
from three lions' heads. This work was put up in 1844, with public
services, on which occasion the first men of France took a part. Another
morning's walk led us to the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, and in this
street Marat lived, at No. 20, and here it was, in a small room, that he
was stabbed, while bathing, by Charlotte Corday, in 1793. And in this
same street was held the old club of the Cordeliers.
When I see the places of which I have heard so often it seems very
interesting, and will forever identify the scenes with my future
reading.
We all enjoyed a visit to the palace of the Luxembourg. This edifice was
begun in the sixteenth century, and the present palace was chiefly built
early in the next one, by Marie de Medicis, in imitation of one at
Florence. Bonaparte used it when chief consul. The old senate held its
sessions there till its dissolution, in 1814. I never saw a building
whose proportions appeared to me so elegant. The court is a
parallelogram of three hundred and sixty by three hundred feet. The
front consists of two pavilions, joined by terraces, and in the centre
rises a cupola, around which are statues. In such a palace fine rooms
are to be expected, and here they are in great number. The Senate
Chamber or Chamber of Peers, is very suitable for its purpose. The
library is good, and contains about fifteen thousand volumes. The
picture gallery is large, and at present principally filled with
pictures of living artists, and at his death the picture of each one is
removed to the Louvre. All the great paintings of Napoleon's battles are
gone to Versailles; so we shall see them in the series. The chapel is an
exquisite gem: it has, beyond all comparison, the most devotional air
of any thing I have seen _of the sort_.
The gardens are fine, and have some noble terraces, adorned with plenty
of statues, some of which are quite old; but a great many new ones, by
living artists, are rapidly taking their places. The balustrades of the
terraces are beautified with groups of children, athletae, &c. Here are
some fine old orange-trees, which were throwing out their blossoms most
fragrantly; and I must not forget the noble clusters of chestnut-trees
which are on the sides of the walks. The garden is a lovely spot, and I
saw hundreds of old and young, who seemed to enjoy themselves highly. I
am half surprised to find myself more delighted in Europe with the
completeness and splendor of the gardens and public grounds than with
the palaces and their internal gorgeousness. If I could carry back to my
own beloved country any thing from England or France, it should be their
gardens, their walks, their libraries and museums. As to the comforts
and elegances of life, we have enough of them for our good. The Musee
d'Artillerie is quite a place of interest, and here are seen some fine
suits of ancient armor. The arrangement is good, and an hour's attention
is well repaid.
Yours affectionately,
WELD.
Letter 27.
PARIS.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
This has been a great day for enjoyment, and has made us all in love
with Paris. We have seen, this morning, that which has pleased me more
than all else I have looked at in Europe. We spent several hours at the
Hotel de Cluny, in the Rue des Mathurins. I am surprised that so many
Americans come to Paris and never see this castle of curiosities. To
understand our gratification, I must bore you a little with its history,
and then you will see what a treat we enjoyed. This venerable pile was
erected on the site of the Palais des Thermes, formerly the
dwelling-place of the Roman governors of Gaul. Here Julian lived when he
was made emperor of Rome, in 360. Of the extraordinary remains of this
palace I shall tell you by and by. On this spot, then, in 1480, an abbot
of Cluny commenced this building, and it was completed in 1505. This
magnificent monastery--the city residence of the monks of Cluny--was
often made the residence of royal and distinguished visitors. Here for
two years lived Mary, the daughter of Henry VII. of England, and widow
of Louis XII. of France, who, while here, married the Duke of Suffolk.
Her chamber still exists, and we saw it in high preservation. This
marriage, you will remember, laid the foundation for the claim of Lady
Jane Grey to the crown. Here, too, for a season, the excellent abbess
and the nuns of Port Royal found a refuge. Some forty years ago, it came
into the hands of M. Sommerard, a man devoted to antiquarian pursuits,
and here he expended a large property in forming a vast collection of
all sorts of relics he could gather belonging to the medieval ages. A
few years ago, he died, and then the government wisely purchased the
hotel and its unrivalled museum for half a million of francs; and
additions are constantly made to it of every curiosity that can
illustrate the habits and manners of the early history of France and
Europe. The building is very striking in its first aspect. It has
several Gothic turrets, and very rich windows, and the court yards and
garden are all in keeping. What good times those old abbots, and monks
must have had in their visits to Paris, in such a palace as this was!
You pass from room, to room, all filled with the antique, till you get
leg-weary. The floors are exquisitely beautiful--some in fine old black
oak, let in, in patterns; others are bricks and tiles, in mosaic. Then
the old mantel-pieces are wonderfully fine. We saw plenty of tapestry,
old as the hills; and one set of hangings was the history of David and
Bathsheba. Some of the bedsteads are very curious. One belonged to
Francis I. Perhaps the largest and most valuable collection of carved
Wood furniture in the world is here to be seen. Such cabinets, chairs,
tables, chests, I never imagined. The work is of the most delicate and
complicated character. Then you find a wonderful collection of glass and
earthen ware--cups and goblets belonging to men of note of every age in
French history. One room is full of ancient armor, another of gems,
enamels, &c, another of pictures of the most curious kind; and as to
mirrors and looking-glasses, they are in great plenty; and china enough
to make some ladies in America whom I know break the commandment.
You can fancy, Charley, what sort of a place this must be, when I tell
you that the catalogue of this collection is a volume of two hundred and
forty octavo pages, and embraces eighteen hundred and ninety-five
particulars. I have the catalogue, and can assure you that it includes
some queer antiquities, of which we cannot speak particularly at
present.
A word or two about the ruins of Julian's Palace of the Baths. Here is
still a vast hall, which was doubtless the place for cold baths. The
dimensions are sixty feet by thirty-five. In the cellars are the evident
remains of the warm baths. The walls are of immense thickness, and will
probably last as long as the earth on which they rest. This hall is the
place of deposit for any Roman sculpture that may be found in the
excavations of the city.
I am sure that, next to the Crystal Palace, this has been our greatest
treat. We enjoyed this morning the more, because we had the company of
Mr. George Sumner, who has lived in Paris so long that he is perfectly
familiar with every object of interest. I never met with any one who
appeared to have so much local knowledge as he possesses. He knows the
history of every thing, and he seems at home on all names, dates, and
facts of other ages. Whenever we read up, after a walk with him, we find
that he knows all that is known; and in truth he talks like a book, but
better than most books. The attention of this gentleman has been very
great to us boys, and he seems never tired when doing us kindness. But
if Mr. S. knows places well, he is no less intimate with men; and
probably no American has ever enjoyed his opportunities to cultivate the
acquaintance of the best and greatest men in Paris.
We have visited the Church of St. Sulpice, which was begun in 1655, and
only completed late in the last century. The portico is very grand, and
is a double row of Doric pillars, forty feet high. It has two towers,
which are over two hundred feet high, and on which are telegraphs. The
church forms a cross, and is four hundred and thirty-two feet in
length, one hundred and seventy-four in width, and ninety-nine in
height. The organ is finely carved, and is more elaborate in its work
than any I have seen yet. The statuary, both in bronze and marble, here,
is beautiful, and the candelabra are greatly admired. As to pictures, I
can only say they are many and fine. The marble monument and statue to
Languet de Gergy, the former _cure_ of this parish, and who mainly
contributed to its erection or completion, is much admired, and on this
tomb is the most elegant inscription of modern times. But I cannot
insert it here. Directly in front of the church, in an open square, is a
very fine fountain, which partakes of the ecclesiastical in its
style--having in four niches the statues of Bossuet, Massillon,
Flechier, and Fenelon.
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