famous manufactory of _Sèvre_. The beautiful porcelain, which bears
the name of this town, continues to be made here, under the immediate
protection of the government. We visited the shop, or _magazin_, and
were shown the several rooms of which it consists. In all of these were
tables, covered with specimens of china made here, but I cannot say
that they answered my expectation. They were neither as various, nor as
splendid, as one should suppose they would be, at the principal dépôt
of so renowned a manufactory. Probably, the situation in which France
has been during the revolution, did not afford a sufficient number of
purchasers, to induce the managers to keep by them any considerable
quantity of expensive articles. There were several busts of Bonaparte in
different sizes, all of which were strikingly resembling. There were also
great and small busts of Voltaire, Franklin, and Rousseau.

Going thence to Versailles, we drove to Rambrand’s, which is esteemed the
principal hotel; but finding, on our arrival, that the best rooms were
engaged, we changed our plan, and proceeded to _le Petit Trianon_ in the
park, which, formerly the much loved retreat of Marie Antoinette, has,
in the strange metamorphosis things as well as men have experienced in
France, become a common inn.

Having ordered dinner to be prepared in a small room, once celebrated as
the luxurious _boudoir_ of the ill fated queen, we proceeded to view the
curiosities of Versailles. The park has lost some trees, and has been
neglected. In other respects, it is not much altered. The _orangerie_[63]
still retains, unimpaired, all its beauty. We walked through long
avenues of orange trees, all of which are in high health and rich
foliage. The gardener assured us, that some of those which were of very
large dimensions, had been planted in the reign of Francis I.

We next visited the private library of the former kings of France,
situate in a separate house in the town. There is nothing very particular
in the building; but there were, above the several doors of the library,
extremely pretty paintings of the different capitals of Europe. We
were here shown a very beautiful collection of illuminated paintings,
representing the splendid _fête_ and _tournaments_ given by the
magnificent Lewis XIV.

Thence our guide wished to take us to the national manufactory of fire
arms, which is carried on with great activity in this town; but having
seen many acknowledgedly superior works of the same kind in England, we
declined visiting it, and proceeded at once to the palace. This superb
building has not suffered at all during the revolution; though, from
being neglected and uninhabited, it has contracted a kind of gloom,
which forcibly recals the misfortunes of its last possessors, and the
uncertainty of human grandeur. The magnificent furniture, which the
apartments once contained, has been removed; but the walls are not
without ornament, for the palace having been made (probably with the view
of preserving it from popular violence) a _musée central_, or _dépôt_
of the works of art, now possesses several valuable pictures, and a
few excellent statues. Among the former, I remarked some good _Claude
Loraines_, and two beautiful portraits by _Vincent_. The subject of one
was Henry IV of France; and the other, that of the celebrated president,
Molé. The latter is painted in his parliamentary robes, heroically
exposing his breast to the violence of the mob, and doing his duty,
unmoved by the poniards raised against him. You seem to hear him exclaim,
as history records he did, “La distance est grande de la main d’un
assassin au cœur d’un honnête homme[64].”

We walked through the vast suite of rooms, which, once the seat of
gayety, splendour, luxury, and royal magnificence, are now the abode of
solitude, and the monument of fallen grandeur.

It is unnecessary to state the many reflections which this spot created.
We failed not to visit the apartment which the unfortunate Lewis
XVI occupied on the 6th of october, and in which _Marie Antoinette_
took refuge. We were also shown the balcony window (now stopped up),
where that virtuous and ill fated princess, _madame Elizabeth_, with a
magnanimity truly heroic, presented herself, when the queen was called
for, and being taken for her, voluntarily subjected herself to all the
brutal violence of an irritated mob.

We likewise saw the opera house, built for the wedding of Lewis XVI,
when dauphin, and which, during the last reign, was sometimes used as a
theatre, and sometimes as a ball room. The apartment is still perfect,
but the scenes and decorations have been removed.

On leaving the palace, we visited several _jets d’eau_; but were
prevented from viewing the garden as particularly as we could have
wished, a violent shower of rain having overtaken us.

The waterworks and pleasure grounds appear to have been much neglected.

We dined at the _Little Trianon_, and slept there. The room, which fell
to my share, was that which the unhappy Lewis formerly occupied, and
the key of the door had attached to it a label, on which could still be
discovered, though half effaced, the words, “appartement du roi[65].”

In calling for our bill this morning, we found that this little inn
(ci-devant a royal residence) had two proprietors, one of whom lets
the apartments, and the other supplies the table in the character of
“traiteur.” With the charges of the latter we had no fault to find; but
the demand of the former was so ridiculously exorbitant, that have kept
the bill as a curiosity, of which I add the copy.

    Petit Trianon logement[66].

                                Francs.
    Trois appartemens de maître   36
    Bougie                         6
    Bois                           9
    Quatre lits de domestique     12
                                  --
                            Total 63

By way of reconciling us to this extravagant charge, the mistress of
the house sent her daughter to us, a very pretty girl, with the bill.
Our gallantry, however, did not subdue our reason, and we determined to
resist the demand. Our hostess having indignantly refused the half, which
we offered as amply sufficient, Mr. ⸺ and I proceeded to Versailles, in
pursuit of a _juge de paix_. After being sent to two or three justices,
who told us, that it was not within their jurisdiction, we at last,
in a miserable lodging, and at an obscure house, found the magistrate
of the division. His dress and his appearance were not superiour to
his residence, and from these united circumstances, we were far from
expecting that justice which, in the result, we experienced.

Having heard our case, he granted a citation, requiring the attendance
of the landlord; and, of course, suspended his decision till the arrival
of the other party. While our servant, who carried the summons, went to
execute it, we were present at a curious trial, the subject of which was
a small quantity, I believe a quart, of vinegar. The defendant was a
coarse masculine woman, at least sixty years of age, who, when she had
exhausted all her fund of eloquence, burst into tears, and talked of the
weak unprotected stare of an unhappy widow. The plaintiff was a dirty
ill looking fellow, with a witness of no better appearance. They all
talked together; and the justice, instead of being able to moderate their
violence, found it difficult to gain a hearing himself. After a wrangle
of an hour, and after swearing and counterswearing to the same fact, they
went away, without the business being finally settled.

What entertained me much, was, that these disputants, in the middle of
their harangues, turned round to my friend and me, and seemed anxious,
each in his turn, to convince us, by their eloquence, of the justice
of their respective cases; though we were not only strangers to the
business, but also to the laws on which this _important_ question was to
be decided.

When our good landlady arrived, her bill was produced; and the justice
having declared how exorbitant he thought it, she justified herself on
three grounds.

1st. That we had not made a previous agreement; and _ergo_, that she had
a right to demand whatever she pleased.

2dly. That she paid a great rent “à la nation[67];” and that, therefore,
“_la nation_” ought to permit her to make her guests pay a great rent for
their lodgings.

3dly. That “_l’ambassadeur de l’empereur Russe_[68],” having lodged at
her house only a week before, and not having objected to a charge of two
louis per bed, “_les milords anglois_” ought to think her present demand
extremely reasonable.

Notwithstanding this very able defence, the justice told her, that
the law would not allow her _d’écorcher les étrangers_[69]; and very
equitably decreed, that we should pay 36 instead of 63 _francs_. _Madame_
received, very indignantly, the sum allotted her, and went away in a
rage, declaring that, in future, no person should sleep at _le petit
Trianon_, who would not bind himself before hand to pay the price
which “son excellence l’ambassadeur de toutes les Russies” thought so
reasonable.

So concluded our trial, which I have detailed as characteristic of what
is to be expected at inns in France, if prior arrangements be not made by
travellers; and likewise as an honourable proof, that justice, though not
clad in ermine, is fairly administered. In going away, I was not a little
surprised to find, that there were no costs to pay, and that even the
summons had been issued gratuitously.

In England, where we possess so admirable a system of laws, how much are
its advantages diminished, by the expenses attendant on every process!
for, as a distinguished public man once well observed, though the temple
of justice be open to all, it is like the London tavern, only the
favourites of fortune dare approach its threshold.

In returning to our inn, we passed by the royal stables, which are still
kept up, and filled with horses. These are now appropriated to the use of
the officers of the army, who come here to be instructed in the menage,
and who employ, for this purpose, the _quondam_ riding school of the
king. The horses appeared, at least to an english eye, very indifferent.
We also saw here some arabians, lately arrived from Egypt. They are
extremely plain, lanky, and awkward; but the groom assured us, on being
asked if they were swift, “Oui, monsieur, comme les oiseaux.” (“Yes, sir,
as swift as birds.”) It was in vain to object to outward form, when we
learnt that these animals had the talent of flying. If, according to the
old jockey phrase, “no good horse can have a bad colour,” certainly no
horse who flies can be ugly.

Before we left Versailles, we visited the garden of _le petit Trianon_,
which is rented by our honest landlady, and which may be seen, by paying
a small sum for a ticket at the gate. It is kept in tolerable order, and
has still strong marks of that good taste, with which it was originally
made. It is really, and not nominally, an english garden; and would, even
in our happy island, be deemed as prettily laid out, as the smallness of
its extent would permit.

The little theatre, built by the queen, situate within the precincts
of these grounds, is still in existence, and has suffered no loss,
excepting that of the beautiful glasses with which the boxes were
once splendidly illuminated. The last object, to which we were led at
Versailles, was “le grand Trianon,” that favourite spot of Lewis XVI.
This elegant building is also unhurt; and the fine marble pillars,
which form the entrance, excited all our admiration. The poverty, into
which the inhabitants of the town have fallen, in consequence of the
revolution, is strikingly apparent. In every corner, we were surrounded
by half-starved and half-naked beggars, whose importunities were not a
little troublesome.

In returning to Paris, we took the road of St. Germain. The old castle
still remains; but its outward appearance was so gloomy, that we felt no
inclination to visit the interiour. If the french monarch intended to
pay a compliment to the pretender, in giving him a palace as nearly as
possible resembling St. James’s, his choice was admirable. The view from
the terrace is pretty, but by no means either as extensive, nor as rich,
as I expected from its celebrity.

In continuing our road, we saw the celebrated waterworks of Marly, which
are preserved in all their perfection. We likewise passed by the famous
aqueduct, and by _Malmaison_, the private seat of the first consul. The
latter has nothing very particular to distinguish it. It is simply a
moderately sized house, situate near the river, but so low, that it
cannot command a very extensive prospect. I hear, the grounds are well
laid out, and that the furniture of the house unites every thing which
taste could order, or luxury afford. We reached Paris about six o’clock;
and my first employment, after dinner, has been to write you this
account, as I know that Versailles, and its neighbourhood, are among the
number of objects, about which english curiosity is excited.

                                                                 I am, &c.

LETTER XXV.

    _Long Champ_, account of that annual promenade, date of its
    origin, and of the great preparations made this year for
    attending it.—The bustle, and gayety which it produced at Paris.

                               Paris, april the 16th, 1802, (27 germinal).

MY DEAR SIR,

All Paris has been alive for the last three days. Can you guess the
reason? Perhaps you will imagine, that the inhabitants, roused from
the state of lethargy, into which they have for some time back been
plunged, are beginning to give sincere but tardy marks of joy, at the
reestablishment of internal order, and external peace. Not at all, my
good friend. A subject, much more interesting to the parisians, is the
cause of the show and gayety so generally exhibited. Know, then, that
“_Long Champ_” has begun! I must now, like other learned commentators,
explain my explanation.

“Long Champ” is the name of a village, situate on the other side of the
“Bois de Boulogne,” of which latter place I spoke to you in a former
letter. In this village stood an abbey, or church; and one of the holy
fathers, some hundred years ago, had a voice of such extraordinary
sweetness, that, when high mass was performed, crowds of Parisians
flocked to hear him. His popularity was not confined to the lower class,
and the _noblesse_ shared the curiosity of the public. The fashion of
going to Long Champ so rapidly increased, that, in a short time, it was
no uncommon thing to see whole strings of splendid carriages at the door
of the convent. The road to this village became the favourite ride, and
vanity soon discovered, that it afforded an excellent opportunity of
displaying all the varieties of dress, and all the pomp of equipage.
In the course of a few years, it became an established custom, at this
particular period of the year, to make, during three days, not an humble
pilgrimage, but a splendid procession, to Long Champ. The mass and the
singer were soon forgotten; but the _promenade_ continued, and increased
every year in the magnificence of parade. To appear, on this occasion,
with becoming grandeur, the haughty, but often distressed noble, would,
for months beforehand, deprive himself of his ordinary comforts. To
rival “les dames de bonne compagnie[70]” in richness of dress, in show
of equipage, and blaze of diamonds, was the grand object of the admired
_belles_ of the opera house; and the means of doing so, was the exacted
price of those smiles, which the well beneficed prelate, or the wealthy
_financier_, were sometimes permitted to enjoy. The _Bourgeois_ and their
wives appeared in their humble _cabriolets_, but the former wore their
Sunday apparel; and the latter were loaded with all the tinsel finery,
which, during the course of the year, they had been able to collect. The
common people, or _la canaille_ (as they were then indignantly called),
were equally fond of this procession; and, at the risk of being run over,
crowded and completed the show, some dressed in tattered regimentals,
some in faded silk coats, and ragged embroidered waistcoats, and others
with bag-wig’s and wooden shoes.

Such was the custom during “l’ancien régime.” The amusements of the
french vanished with their old political institutions, and “horrendum
dictu,” Long Champ was long unobserved.

Robespierre, and after him the directors, forbade every thing which bore
the least resemblance to the customs of former times; but when Bonaparte
came into power, the system was instantly changed, and the people,
left to follow their own inclinations, greedily returned to all their
former diversions. “Long Champ” was of the number; and, since the 18th
of brumaire, it has been gradually recovering its ancient magnificence.
This year, from the reestablishment of peace, and the confluence of
foreigners, it was expected to be finer than ever; and vast preparations
have, during some weeks past, been making. Milliners tortured their fancy
to invent new fashions; mantuamakers passed whole nights without sleep,
in executing the orders which they had received; coachmakers exerted
themselves with all the art of their trade, and all the vanity of their
country, in endeavouring to imitate the carriages of the english; horses
were sent for from every part of the world; regiments of tailors were
employed in making coats for the _beaux_, habits for the ladies, and
laced jackets for their grooms; strings of boots were seen dangling on
the backs of porters in every quarter of the town; saddles were as much
in requisition, as if a great military project, by the means of cavalry,
had been in agitation; and I have been confidently assured, that no less
than three thousand pair of leather breeches were ordered on the occasion.

In consequence of these active preparations, and of “Long Champ” having
been, for some weeks back, infinitely more the subject of conversation
than either the peace, or the reestablishment of religion, I expected,
at least, a very brilliant sight. I must say, I was disappointed. The
only thing which pleased me very much, was the bustle which it produced
in the town, and the gayety with which it animated the faces of the
Parisians. For three days, every vehicle in the shape of a carriage,
and every animal which claimed the name of horse, has been dragged into
use, and become part of the procession. About two o’clock, a military
guard was posted at the beginning of the Champs Elisées, to preserve
order, (for nothing here is done without soldiers); and from that hour,
till some time after sunset, the crowd gradually increased. At three, the
line of carriages reached from “la place de la Concorde” to the “Bois de
Boulogne;” and, of course, there were frequent stoppages, even at the
beginning of the _promenade_. The road not employed in this manner, was
filled with equestrians of all ranks, and the walk on both sides was
equally thronged with passengers on foot. There were some few elegant
english equipages, well appointed, and others spoiled, by the shabby
appearance of the servants, or the extreme badness of the horses. The
french coachmakers, in one or two instances, successfully imitated the
fashions of London; but, generally speaking, the attempt only served to
prove the vast distance which exists, between the two countries, in the
art of constructing carriages.

Mixed with “les voitures _à l’anglaise, ou véritablement anglaises_[71]”
were seen old fashioned _berlins_, family coaches, and superannuated
_cabriolets_ of all descriptions. Phaetons, gigs, curricles, and
whiskies, completed the procession. Among the horsemen were seen a few
returned emigrants, who had so well copied the dress of our young men of
_ton_, that they might have been mistaken for the beaux of Bond street;
but the greater number (_malgré_ their leather breeches and boots,
their blue frocks and high crowned hats) betrayed the forgery, by the
preposterous addition of ear-rings, coloured capes, or pointed toes.
The ladies appeared in every variety of clothing. Some, who ventured
to be their own charioteers, assumed the neat and appropriate dress of
an “amazone,” or habit. Others, decorating, and concealing as little
as possible, the charms of their person, shone in all the brilliance
of their evening apparel. Worked gowns, laced caps, and showy turbans,
were sometimes exhibited from the windows of hackney coaches; and a
dirty buggy had, not unfrequently, the honour of conveying three or
four damsels, whose _costume_ would not have been unsuited to the first
heroine of the stage. It is impossible to describe, or convey, the
faintest idea of the grotesque figures which appeared on this occasion;
and, notwithstanding the trouble and expense to which so many individuals
had exposed themselves, by the purchase of new carriages, new liveries,
new horses, new dresses, and last, not least, new leather breeches, the
whole appeared to me but a shabby exhibition, dull amusement.

Moving, in slow procession, to the other side of the _Bois de Boulogne_,
during five or six hours, constituted the whole pleasure of this vaunted
_fête_. There were certainly some elegant carriages, and some handsome
horses; but the number was too inconsiderable to make amends for the
crowd of those of a contrary description. Nothing could be more tiresome
than sitting in one of these vehicles, as they were compelled, every
instant, to stop, on account of the lengthened line, which increased
every moment. Persons on horseback were equally ill off, as it required
the utmost care to avoid being driven against the wheels of the
carriages; and as for the pedestrians, they were almost buried in a
volley of dust.

Such is the celebrated promenade of Long Champ, which, though an annual
festival, appears to me a wretched and pitiful imitation of Hyde park on
an ordinary sunday. Yet the french are delighted with their amusement;
and in returning this evening, I heard on every side, “Quel beau
spectacle! quelles jolies voitures! quels magnifiques chevaux! quelle
belle parure! Vraiment c’est charmant[72]!”

It is not a little flattering to the vanity of an englishman, to see
how rapidly the french are adopting our fashions; and, notwithstanding
the awkward manner in which they are sometimes copied, yet such is the
general bias, that I entertain no doubt that, in the space of ten years,
(if the peace should last so long), it will become almost impossible to
distinguish, by his dress, a native of France from one of England.

The ladies of Paris, and those of London, differ, indeed, very widely in
their toilet. Perhaps they might reciprocally improve by observing each
other; and while the former would do right to respect and imitate the
modesty, with which the latter are usually clad, our fair countrywomen
might also, without any injury to their beauty, or any violation of that
delicacy, which is their brightest ornament, adopt some of that taste,
elegance, and fancy, which are often seen in the dress of a well bred
frenchwoman.

Adieu, my dear sir. I am heartily tired of my subject, and fear you will
have been so some time. I therefore take my leave for the present.

                                                                 I am, &c.

LETTER XXVI.

    _Te Deum_ sung at _Notre Dame_, in honour of the peace and the
    reestablishment of religion.—Military insolence.—Account of the
    ceremony.—Illuminations in the evening.—Indifference of the
    people.

                 Paris, april the 18th, 1802, Easter Sunday (28 germinal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

To day will probably be long remembered in the annals of France, on
account of the promulgation of the law for (“_l’établissement des
cultes_”) the reestablishment of religion; on account of the definitive
treaty of peace with England, the ratifications of which were exchanged
this morning at the Thuilleries; and of the “Te Deum” sung at _Notre
Dame_, in honour of these united events.

I wished very much to be present at a ceremony, which was rendered
so particularly interesting by the number of curious concurring
circumstances, too obvious to be detailed. Having no ticket, I went
to the church at six o’clock in the morning, hoping to make my way,
among the crowd, into those places, which were not appropriated to the
constituted authorities. The doors were not open; and about a hundred
persons, who were already arrived, stood enclosed in a kind of barrier,
which seemed to have been put up for the purpose of preventing too great
a press at the first opening of the gates. I placed myself against this
bar, and hoped to gain admittance in the second division. I was soon
followed and surrounded by a considerable crowd; and, after we had all
remained about two hours in this uncomfortable state, a detachment of
soldiers arrived, and attempted instantly to clear a passage. We were
already so squeezed together, that it was impossible to make room for
the military, without either losing our places, or incurring the danger
of suffocation. When the soldiers perceived that, notwithstanding the
blows which they dealt around them without ceremony, the people did
not immediately make way, they lost all patience; and, not content
with fixing their bayonets, called out for a detachment of horse. The
brandishing of the one, and the fear of the other, soon dispersed the
mob; but not till some had been wounded, and several severely bruised.

I could not help reflecting, with some degree of indignation, on this
singular scene. In England, under a monarchical form of government,
the military are not allowed to interfere, but in cases of positive
danger, or actual insurrection; and even then under the orders of a
civil magistrate. In France, where the system is called “republican,”
and every man supposed to constitute a part of the sovereignty, the body
of the people, coming quietly to see the first solemn service of that
religion, which is said to be restored in compliance with their wishes,
are driven with blows and military violence from the doors of that
church, in which peace, liberty, equality, and good order, are about to
be celebrated. Perhaps, indeed, it may be urged, that this was only a
necessary precaution of the police, and that the object of the guard was
to prevent that riot and danger to which the public, not so protected,
would have been exposed. The answer is plain. If it was thought necessary
to maintain order by the assistance of the military power, the sentinels
ought to have been placed the preceding night, or at the dawn of morning.
It was adding insult to cruelty, to permit the people to assemble, and
after the loss of several hours, and the endurance of great fatigue, to
dismiss them in the manner I have described.

It is needless for me to say, that I soon relinquished all hope of
getting into the church, and thought myself happy in being able to make
my escape unhurt from the claws of these heroes.

In going away, I perceived at the window of an adjoining hospital, nearly
opposite the church, some ladies of my acquaintance, who were so obliging
as to offer me a place near them, from which I might see the procession.

I had scarcely taken this situation, when a ticket for one of the
privileged places in the church was given me by a person, who was
unwilling to risk the difficulties, with which the approach to the doors
seemed attended. After being sent about to different gates, I at last
found admittance at one. When I reached the gallery, it was so completely
full, that I found myself compelled to take refuge in the orchestra.
From this situation I was again driven by the soldiers; and in despair
I returned to the gallery, where, standing on the back of a tottering
chair, and with at least twenty rows of spectators before me, I caught,
not without some danger, a very imperfect glimpse of this splendid
ceremony.

What I did not see myself, I shall relate on the authority of persons,
who were more fortunately situate, and on whose accuracy I know I can
depend.

The procession began with a numerous escort of different regiments.
Among these were particularly remarked “les guides,” a corps of handsome
young men, clad in hussar dresses, and mounted on beautiful horses, who
excited universal admiration. Next to them came the “_gens d’armes_,” or
“_régiment d’élites_,” lately raised. They are men of a very respectable
appearance, in blue uniforms, faced with yellow, whence long epaulets are
suspended. These, as well as the buttons, are of silver, as is the lace
of their hats. Their horses are black. The consular guards, and several
regiments of the line, completed the military cavalcade. The ministers
of state, and the “corps diplomatique,” came next, and formed a long line
of carriages. Those of the latter were drawn each by four horses, and
ornamented with all the escutcheons of heraldic pomp. Those of the former
were without arms; but they had all six horses, and their servants,
dressed alike, wore splendid liveries, now put on for the first time, of
yellow, gold, and red. A small corps of _Mamalukes_ in their egyptian
_costume_, some of whom led unmounted arabians, and a few aides-de-camp,
immediately preceded the carriage, in which sat Bonaparte, accompanied
by the other two consuls. His coach, new on the occasion, was simply
elegant, and drawn by eight very fine horses richly caparisoned. His
servants appeared in green coats and red waistcoats, on all the seams of
which were rows of broad gold lace. The consuls were received at the door
of the church by the archbishop of Paris, who placed over their head a
_dais_ (or canopy).

_Bonaparte_, with _Cambacères_ on his right, and _le Brun_ on his left
hand, was conducted in this manner to a throne erected near the altar,
under which their three chairs were placed. A similar throne appeared
opposite, in which sat the cardinal legate.

The bishops bowed first to the altar, secondly to the consul, and
lastly to the cardinal. This was remarked by the public; as, under the
monarchy, the representative of the pope was permitted to receive this
homage before the sovereign of the country.

The oath settled by the _concordat_ having been taken by the clergy, high
mass was instantly said.

At the conclusion of this ceremony, M. _de Boisgelin_, formerly
archbishop of Aix, lately named archbishop of Tours, ascended the pulpit,
and delivered a discourse appropriate to the occasion. I regretted
much, that the distance at which I was placed was so great, that it was
impossible for me to hear the venerable preacher, who excited no little
curiosity, from the singularity of his situation. He is the same man,
who, at the “_sacre_” or coronation, of Lewis XVI, preached before that
unfortunate monarch. His sermon will, no doubt, be published in the
“moniteur,” where you will have an opportunity of seeing it.

It was the custom formerly on these occasions, for the bishop, in
beginning his discourse, to address himself to the king. A similar
form was observed to day, and the expression of “_sire_” was exchanged
for that of “_citoyen premier consul_.” After the sermon, “Te Deum”
was chanted. All the band of the opera house was employed, and _Lais_
and _madame Bolla_ supplied the vocal parts. The effect was fine, yet,
comparatively, very inferiour to our musical meetings in Westminster
abbey. I heard some _connoisseurs_ object to the air, as not sufficiently
grave or dignified for the subject which it was intended to celebrate. As
I am totally ignorant of music, I can form no judgment as to the justice
of the criticism.

The church was immensely full. The aisle was filled with the military,
the different uniforms of which had a splendid effect. Behind the consuls
sat the ambassadors, the ministers, and the generals. In a box above, at
the entrance of the chapel, was placed madame Bonaparte, accompanied by
her daughter and some other ladies. On the other side was a similar box,
appropriate to the use of the ladies of the “corps diplomatique.”

The two galleries or choirs, which surround the church, were divided
into an orchestra for the music, seats for the different constituted
authorities, and places for such individuals as were favoured with
tickets. In the latter were of course seen all the persons at Paris
most distinguished for situation, talent, or beauty. The _coup d’œil_
altogether was very striking. The procession returned with the same
ceremony as that in which it arrived; and all the streets of Paris were
lined with spectators.

A discharge of sixty cannon was heard at the departure of the first
consul from the Thuilleries; and his arrival at the church, and his
return to the palace, were announced in the same manner.

In the evening, the palace was splendidly illuminated. Every division of
the arches forming the front towards the garden was covered with lamps,
and a lustre of lights was suspended from each. The garden itself was
prettily, but less brilliantly, decorated, than on the _fête_ in honour
of the preliminaries.

All the public buildings and offices were also lighted; but the only
illumination at all remarkable, beside those which I have named, was
that of Mr. Jackson, his majesty’s envoy extraordinary. The gates of
“l’hôtel de Caramon,” where he lodges, were entirely covered with lamps
of different colours; the effect of which was much admired, as at Paris
that mode of decorating their rejoicings is unknown. On the right hand
were the letters R. F. (République Française); and on the left, G. R.
(Georgius Rex).

I forgot to mention that Bonaparte was much applauded by the populace, in
going to _Notre Dame_; and that _madame_ received the same compliment,
though she went there without any parade, in a plain handsome carriage,
and seemed to decline, rather than to court, the notice of the public.

During the illuminations there was no noise, and, indeed, no expression
of joy. Very few people were seen in the Thuilleries, though the weather
was fine, and the day sunday. The more I see of the french, the more
am I astonished and disgusted at the indifference which they have
contracted. Their dullness is the more disagreeable, from it’s being
unnatural; and I cannot help exclaiming, every hour, with Voltaire,

    Que je plains un françois, quand il est sans gaieté;
    Loin de son élément le pauvre homme est jetté[73].

                                                                    Adieu.

LETTER XXVII.

    _Palais de Justice._—Account of the different tribunals or
    courts of law.

                                Paris, april the 30th, 1802, (10 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I went this morning to the “_Palais de Justice_,” in order to visit the
different tribunals. The “_façade_,” or front, of this building has a
commanding appearance. A handsome iron railing, with three gates, forms
its barrier; after passing through which, you ascend a lofty flight of
stone steps. The avenues to the principal hall are filled with shops
of various descriptions, and particularly those of booksellers. The
hall, or central room, which is of considerable extent, forms a kind of
antichamber to the different courts. I went into one of the “tribunals
de premier instance,” in each of which three judges preside. They wear
long bands, and black coats, from which is suspended a cloke or gown
of black silk. The advocates plead in a sort of bar; but, excepting
being dressed in black, have no distinguishing badge, or professional
decoration. The judges had a grave appearance; and, though they did not
seem to be men of much importance, conducted themselves with decency
and propriety. I was present while some causes were argued; but they
were not of sufficient consequence to enable me to form any estimate of
the talents of the advocates, now called, in the general change of name,
“des défenseurs officiaux[74].” As to their outward garb, it was not
prepossessing; and, if it were not unjust to form any conclusion from
mere exteriors, I should say, that a french counsel and an english one
appear to be drawn from a very different class of society. I next saw a
court, which, under the title of “tribunal de la police correctionelle,”
is charged with the investigation and punishment of petty offences. I
here heard the trial of a man charged with pawning, for his own use,
some goods belonging to a shop, in which he was employed as a workman.
The witnesses were regularly examined; after which the criminal was very
patiently heard in his defence. As he had nothing to urge but his poverty
and the charges of a large family, he was found guilty by the judges,
(for I observed no jury) and was sentenced, though an old offender, to
only six months imprisonment. This trial having satisfied my curiosity
about “la police correctionelle,” I next visited the chief or supreme
court of the republic, which is called “le tribunal de cassation.” Here
every thing bore a more dignified appearance. The room was lofty, the
seats elevated, and the judges (whose number was considerable) seemed,
by their dress, their manner, and their language, to be well suited to
the important functions of their office. They wore black and red gowns,
with cocked hats, the cords of which were of gold lace. Nothing can be
more respectable than the exterior of this court; of the proceedings of
which I could form no idea, as the judges were employed in reading papers
relating to mere matters of form. I imagine, that this is the tribunal
intended, in some respects, to replace the parliament of Paris. The
magistrates, as far as I could form an opinion from this cursory visit,
seem men of education, learning, and polished manners.

Before I left the _Palais de Justice_, I looked in at the criminal court
of the “_départment de la Seine_.” A culprit was reading a long written
defence, which I had not the patience to hear concluded. The room was
handsome, and the proceedings orderly and correct. I saw here nothing
like a jury; yet I am told, that all capital offences are tried by that
mode of process. An Italian was a few days ago tried in this court, and
convicted of assassination. I regret much, that I was not present at
the trial. I did not hear of the circumstance till to day. He yesterday
underwent the punishment of the _guillotine_, being led to the scaffold
in a red shirt, this disgrace being added to the sentence in cases of
murder. I ought to mention, in honour of the present criminal laws of
France, that this is the first individual, who has been condemned to
death, during the six months which I have passed at Paris.

Underneath the “_Palais de Justice_” is situate that fatal prison, called
“_la Conciergerie_.” It was here that the sanguinary _Robespierre_
immured the daily victims of his wild and unrelenting tyranny; who
awaited, within its dismal walls, the signal of death, under the
insulting and degraded name of trial. It was here, that rank, beauty,
age, philosophy, virtue, and patriotism, took the places of vice; and,
in the caverns destined to receive the blackest perpetrators of hideous
crimes, were hurled, among multitudes of other innocent and dignified
characters, the learned _Condorcet_, the ingenious _Lavoisier_, the
respectable _Madame Roland_, the venerable _Malesherbes_, and the lovely,
courageous, and once haughty queen of France. When I have been forced to
make such painful reflections, in viewing the different objects which
present themselves at Paris, I have always found some consolation in
looking round me, and seeing how completely that system of suspicion,
bloodshed, and injustice, has passed away. Those horrors, so disgraceful
to France, took place in a moment of national delirium (if I may be
permitted the expression); and the inhabitants of Paris, who committed,
or rather suffered, the scenes of judicial murder, which every day
contaminated the streets of the capital, now, restored to their senses,
are the first to deplore and execrate them. I am persuaded, that crimes
like these can never again find their way into the polished metropolis of
this great, brave, and ingenious people.

With this hope I shall conclude my letter—a hope, in which I am certain
that you will warmly and cordially unite.

                                                                 I am, &c.

LETTER XXVIII.

    The gardens and walks of Paris.

                                     Paris, may the 2d, 1802 (12 floréal).

MY DEAR SIR,

Whenever you come to Paris, come with the smiling month of may. On my
arrival here, at the end of october, I was disgusted with the dirt of the
streets, the mire of the Thuilleries, the ruts of the Boulevards, and the
general gloom of the town. Accustomed to take a great deal of exercise, I
could not persuade myself to be shut up, the whole of every day, either
in a hot room, or a close carriage. I therefore continued to walk about:
but, while my feet were cut to pieces at every step, I was frequently
in danger of being run over by a rapid cabriolet, or squeezed to atoms
under the ponderous wheels of an overloaded cart. Nor was I consoled for
this hazardous undertaking by meeting with any conversable persons of my
acquaintance.

The parisians, who have carriages, never think of walking during the
severe days of winter; and those who do not possess that convenience,
spend the greater part of every day at home. To save the expense of a
_fiacre_[75], they will, indeed, sometimes use their feet in going to a
_restaurateur’s_, a _spectacle_, or a ball, or in paying some of those
innumerable visits, in which an inhabitant of this town passes half his
life; but, as to taking exercise for health, it never enters into the
calculations of a frenchman. Nothing, therefore, could be so dismal as
the streets in the months of november, december, and january; and a
severer punishment could not be devised for the daily murder of time
committed by our Bond street loungers, than to condemn them to a three
months pilgrimage, at that period of the year, round the streets of Paris.

The spring has, with fine weather, changed the face of every thing here;
and a person fond of exercise may now have all the advantages which he
can possibly desire.

The _Thuilleries_ and _Champs Elisées_, which in winter are almost
impassable, now offer excellent gravel walks, and delightful shade under
the long avenues of lofty trees. Here crowds are collected at almost
every hour of the day; and, besides long lines of pedestrians, rows
of chairs are filled with ladies eating ice, and politicians reading
newspapers.

The Bois de Boulogne affords an admirable ride for persons in carriages
or on horseback, and a lengthened walk for those on foot.

Besides these, there are several delightful gardens open to the public
in different parts of the town. The Boulevards, which surround Paris on
every side, are now seen to great advantage.

The walks are in high order, the trees are in rich foliage; and the
number of mountebanks, printsellers, quack doctors, and shows of all
kinds, collected here, and the crowds of persons and carriages which are
constantly passing, make them present a very curious and lively scene.

The “_Hameau de Chantilly_,” or _Elisée de Bourbon_, very near the Champs
Elisées, has a very pretty, though not an extensive garden, into which,
for a few _sols_, you gain admittance. It was hence I saw madame Garnerin
ascend, about a month ago, in a balloon, unaccompanied by any one. The
day was fine; and we were all much delighted with the courage of the fair
heroine, who was the first female that had ventured alone on such an
expedition.

She descended a few leagues from Paris, and supped, the same evening,
in public, at the _Hameau_, where she was received with universal and
merited applause.

I am particularly pleased with a garden, called “_Mousseux, ou les
délices de Chartre_,” situate in the _Fauxbourg St. Honoré_, and within
the gates of Paris. It formerly belonged to the duke of Orleans; but,
having been confiscated with the rest of his enormous fortune, is now
national property, and open every day for the use of the public. The
garden is arranged in the english taste, commands an extensive view,
and has all the advantages and appearance of grounds at a considerable
distance from a capital. Fine verdure, trees of every kind in the must
luxuriant blossom, variety of flowers, a clear sky, and birds warbling
a thousand wild notes, make you entirely forget the town; and the whole
seems a fairy scene produced by enchantment.

The only things in bad taste, I mean the modern antiques and drawbridges,
are now falling into decay; and the artificial ruins are daily becoming
real ones.

The salon or house consists of a long gallery; but it has been so much
neglected during the revolution, that it is now in a very tottering and
dangerous state. “Mousseux” is still a most delightful spot, and must
have been exquisitely so, when kept in proper order. I doubt much, if
such a garden is to be found within the walls of any other capital in
Europe.

I ought to mention, that, though the town is completely hidden in the
shady walks of this charming retreat, one of the best views of Paris is
enjoyed from a hillock of easy ascent, situate in the centre of these
grounds. There is a _traiteur_ at the door of the garden, where dinners
may be ordered; but his accommodations (as far as can be judged from
the outward appearance of his habitation) I should suppose not very
superiour. I have heard, however, of large and fashionable parties, who
have dined here. Nothing is paid for walking in the garden.

At the further end of the _Bois de Boulogne_, about two miles from Paris,
there is another place of this kind, which, whenever you come to Paris,
I recommend your visiting. It is called “_Bagatelle_,” and formerly
belonged to the _Comte D’Artois_, who is said to have built the house and
arranged the grounds in the space of six weeks. The building, which is
now an inn or tavern, is light and elegant; and the garden (allowing for
some few exceptions) is laid out with considerable taste. Near the house
there is a very pretty and very striking view of the bridge of _Neuilly_.
The accommodations here are good, and a person fond of the country cannot
pass a fine evening more agreeably, than by dining at _Bagatelle_, and
strolling afterwards about the grounds.

Before I conclude my account of the gardens of Paris, I ought to mention
two, which, are opened at this season of the year, at a late hour,
and usually frequented after the opera, or other _spectacles_; I mean
_Frescati_ and _Tivoli_.

_Frescati_ consists of a large house and small garden, situate on the
Boulevard. The gate stands in the corner of “la rue de la Loi.” The
apartments, elegantly painted with italian landscapes, are large
and numerous, and splendidly lighted every evening. The garden was
illuminated last night, for the first time this season, and is as pretty
as its limited extent can permit. It is the fashion to come here about
ten o’clock; and the amusement consists in walking about, chatting with
your friends, eating ices and cakes, or drinking tea, punch, or lemonade,
the sale of which articles constitute the whole profits of the landlord,
to whom nothing is paid for admittance. Frescati is, in short, a kind
of coffee house; and, notwithstanding the smell of brandy, gin, and
rum, generally prevalent, is frequented by ladies as well as gentlemen.
When I first came here, I supposed that these ladies were of a _certain
description_: but I was soon undeceived; and, besides seeing at this
place the most respectable families of Paris, was assured by a _ci-devant
comtesse_ excessively rigid on matters of etiquette, “que toute la bonne
compagnie y alloit[76].” After this authoritative decision, it would be
presumptuous to doubt the propriety of going to _Frescati_; and our most
scrupulous countrywomen may, without apprehension of being taken either
for “filles” or “parvenues,” enjoy this strange and singular amusement.

_Tivoli_ is but just opened for the season. I have been there once. It
is a large and beautiful garden, situate in “la rue St. Lazare,” in the
“Chaussée d’Antin.” It was illuminated with much taste; the trees are
lofty; and the whole seemed to resemble what I imagine our Vauxhall was,
before it was covered in.

There was a band of music, and dancing, on a platform erected for the
purpose. There was also a party of tumblers. The company was not either
very numerous or very genteel; but the night was not hot, and fine
weather is necessary to render this place agreeable; as there is no house
or shelter of any kind. In the months of July or august _Tivoli_ must be
delightful.

I forgot to mention, that there were roundabouts, (as they are vulgarly
called in England) on which full grown people were very gravely amusing
themselves. I heard, the other day, of a duel, which took place in
consequence of a dispute for one of these places. You will scarcely
believe the report; yet I am every day convinced, that there is nothing
so ridiculous, that fancy can suppose, which does not actually and
frequently take place in this most extraordinary town.

Having given you this short sketch of the amusements “al fresco,” I shall
conclude with repeating my recommendations to you, whenever you come to
Paris, to come in the spring. Winter is, indeed, the time for private
society; but I have found from experience, that a foreigner has so little
to expect on this head, that it is much wiser to choose a season, when an
infinite variety of amusements, and all the charms of Nature, in their
richest and happiest colours, offer a sure and constant fund of pleasure.

                                                                 I am, &c.

LETTER XXIX.

    The manufactory of “_Gobelins_,” the observatory, “_les Enfans
    trouvés_,” “_Champ de Mars_,” les _Invalides_, and the temple
    of Mars, containing the colours taken from different nations,
    and the tomb of _Turenne_.—_Le Musée des Monumens françois_,
    or collection of monuments.—List of the most esteemed of
    these.—Note to this letter contains the account of a dinner at
    the first consul’s.

                                    Paris, may the 5th, 1802 (15 floréal).

MY DEAR SIR,

As my stay at Paris draws towards a conclusion, I have occupied the three
or four last days in visiting those objects of curiosity, which as yet I
had neglected to see.

The manufactory of _Gobelins_ deserves all its celebrity. The colours,
the design, and the execution of the tapestry made here, are equal to
the productions of the finest painting. I was shown some specimens,
which were uncommonly beautiful, particularly two pieces, one of which
represented the assassination of the admiral _Coligni_, and the other
the heroic conduct of the _président Molé_, copied from the picture at
Versailles, an account of which I have already given.

There are ninety persons now employed, of whom I saw several at work. It
is astonishing with what facility they seem to perform the most difficult
tasks, but I am told that the art is not learnt without much time and
considerable attention. The apprenticeship requires six years, and at
least eighteen are necessary to make a proficient. The workmen are not
locked up within the walls of the manufactory, as was the case during the
monarchy, but they are kept under the constant “surveillance[77] of the
police.” Most of the pieces now in hand have been ordered by the first
consul, and are destined to form the ornament of St. Cloud, and other
public buildings.

From the _Gobelins_, situate in the most distant part of the Fauxbourg
St. Germain, I drove along the new Boulevard to the observatory. I found
here only some common sized telescopes, on which I observed with pride
the respectable name of “Dollond,” of London. I was informed that a
magnificent instrument of this kind is preparing on the plan of Herschel,
which is to be twenty-two feet long, with a speculum of platina. It is
to be moved on a platform, for the purpose of making observations, by
means of a machine invented for the purpose. I ascended the top of the
building, and the view thence, which commands all Paris, is grand and
striking.

Near the observatory is the nursery of that humane establishment called
“les Enfans trouvés,” which is still kept up on the old philanthropic
plan. Orphan children, deprived by death of their parents, or abandoned
by them, are received here without question, recommendation, or inquiry,
and are nursed with tenderness, well fed, properly educated, and lastly,
qualified for some trade or profession, in which they are afterwards
placed at the expense of the public. Their infancy is passed in the
building shown to me; they are, at a certain age, sent into the country,
for the benefit of the air, and then return to the principal hospital
of the institution at Paris, where their education is completed. Their
number is seldom less than a thousand.

I shall continue to speak of the different objects I have lately seen, in
the same order in which I visited them.

The _Champ de Mars_, where, on the 14th of july, 1790, I was present,
when the unfortunate Lewis XVI received and repeated the oath of fidelity
to that constitution which was so soon violated, has still the remains of
that vast amphitheatre, made by the activity and zeal of the parisians in
the course of fourteen days, and on which were seated nearly a million
of people. I recollected all the spots, where the principal authorities
were placed on that memorable day; and it will be needless for me to
repeat the innumerable reflections which were created by a remembrance
of the extraordinary and many-coloured events which have since occurred.
The _École Militaire_, which is now a barrack for the _consular horse
guards_, forms the front and principal ornament of the _Champ de Mars_,
which is terminated on the other side by the river _Seine_. _L’École
Militaire_ was built, in 1751, from a plan of Gabriel. It has a handsome
_façade_, and a lofty dome, with a dial, and the figures of Time and
Astronomy.

The building of “les Invalides” presents one of the most striking
objects of Paris. Besides the beauty of its construction, its handsome
entrance, its four courts, its celebrated clock, its lofty dome, and
elegant pillars, it contains, in the principal hall, or chapel, now
called “le Temple de Mars,” the colours, or ensigns, taken during the
war, by the republican armies, from the different powers opposed to
France. This beautiful room at least a hundred feet long, is lined on
all sides with the badges of triumph, many of which bear, from their
tattered appearance, the most convincing proofs of not having been
obtained without considerable difficulty. Among the innumerable colours
of all nations, I perceived, with pride, that there were only two or
three english; and these, from their size, had belonged to some ship,
perhaps to a merchantman, or to that man of war, which, after sharing the
glories of Aboukir, was taken by five french vessels of the line, after a
resistance no less honourable than her former success. In the centre of
this spacious apartment, to the right, surrounded by the trophies of his
successors and countrymen, is placed the tomb of _Turenne_. This monument
was removed to the Temple of Mars by the present government, and placed
here, with considerable pomp, after having been saved from the fury of
jacobinical rage, and preserved, by the care of _le Noir_, in the “_Musée
des Monuments françois_.”

The circumstance which I have just mentioned, naturally leads me to
speak of the last named institution, which I visited yesterday for
the second time. On my arrival at Paris, I went to see _le Musée des
Monuments françois_; and not being as much struck with the exhibition
as I expected, from its great renown, I purposely postponed speaking
of it, till I had had an opportunity of examining it again with all
the attention it deserved. After several hours employed in this second
view, I continue of my former opinion, that the spot[78], in which these
monuments are collected, is infinitely too small; that the garden, meant
to be the tranquil site of sepulchral honours, and the calm retreat
of departed grandeur, is on so limited a scale, is so surrounded with
adjoining houses, and altogether so ill arranged, that, instead of
presenting the model of

    “Those deep solitudes ...
    Where heav’nly pensive Contemplation dwells,
    And ever musing Melancholy reigns,”

it might easily be mistaken for the working yard of a statuary, or
the pleasure ground of a tasteless citizen, decked out with Cupids,
Mercuries, and Fauns.

It must, however, be acknowledged, that “_le Noir_,” by whose care
this establishment was formed, deserves great credit for the courage
with which he rescued the many precious monuments here deposited, from
the barbarous and undiscriminating fury of revolutionary vandalism,
for the perseverance and attention which has marked his conduct in the
arrangement, and for the plan (whether successful or not, I shall not
pretend to examine) of presenting complete and exact representations of
the art of building in the different ages. Among the innumerable tombs,
crowded together in this collection, of which a catalogue, in large
octavo, is sold at the door, I observed many of great beauty, taste, and
symmetry. Kings, poets, _belles_, philosophers, and painters, torn from
the graves, in which, for centuries past, their remains had tranquilly
reposed, would have had no stone to record their past celebrity, if this
institution had not existed. The arts, too, are highly indebted to the
founder, for the specimens of sculpture, many of them _chefs d’œuvre_,
which are here seen in all their original perfection. Models, too, of
ancient and celtic buildings are added to those of french architecture.

_Le Noir’s_ favourite plan of having a chapel for each century,
ornamented with all the appropriate decorations, and containing the tombs
of contemporary persons, is in part executed, and three or four ages
have already their respective temples, completed in the taste of the
times which belonged to them. These chapels have been much admired by
persons, whose knowledge on such subjects entitle them to respect; and
it would, therefore, be presumptuous in me to give a dissenting voice. I
shall be pardoned, however, for remarking, that there appeared, in the
whole arrangement, a kind of quackery, which prevented my feeling that
unalloyed satisfaction which I had been led to expect; and that, in spite
of my better judgment, I felt an inclination to laugh, when perhaps my
tears ought to have flowed.

As every body must rejoice at the preservation of these monuments,
whatever opinions he may entertain about the arrangement, I cannot
help regretting, that they are not deposited in a place more worthy of
containing them. Since the restoration of religion has removed every
obstacle which could be started to such a project, would it not be
worthy of the present government, decidedly the friend and protector of
the arts, to order that all these precious specimens of sculpture should
become the ornament of one or more of the principal churches of Paris,
the present naked state of which is an additional argument in favour of
the measure? What splendour would they not both receive and confer, in
being removed either to _Notre Dame_, _St. Sulpice_, or _St. Généviève_?

To satisfy the curiosity which I know you entertain on such subjects,
I examined, with attention, the principal objects, and marked in my
catalogue those which seemed most deserving of notice. The following is
the list:

    No.   5. The tomb of Dagobert, with the figures of Nautilda his wife,
               and Clovis his son.

         94. The tomb of Lewis XII.

         99. The Monument, or sepulchral Chapel, of Francis the First,
               with Claude his wife.—(Destroyed in the revolution, and
               restored by le Noir.)

        105. Monument erected in honour of Ann of Montmorency.

        111. A group of Graces.

        113. Statue of Henry the Fourth of France, assassinated in 1610,
               clad in a military dress. The artist was _Francavilla_,
               or _Francevelle_, as he was otherwise called. The
               catalogue mentions, that judging from the body, found
               at St. Denys in 1793, and which was yet perfect, one
               should suppose that this was a striking likeness.

        115. Statue of _Claude Catherine de Clermont Tonnere_.

        121. Statue in black marble, representing David after the death
               of Goliath, by _Peter Francavilla_, in 1580.

        146. Monument erected in honour of _Charles the Fifth_, taken
               from _St. Germain-des-Prés_. His medallion, in bronze, is
               by John Cousin.

        174. The Mausoleum of the _Cardinal de Richelieu_, taken from the
               _Sorbonne_.—This celebrated group of figures, after a
               design by _le Brun_, was executed by _Girardon_, and
               considered as his _chef-d’œuvre_.

        187. The Mausoleum of _Cardinal Mazarin_, taken from the college
               of that name. This monument, of white marble, is the work
               of _Coyzevox_.

        189. Statue of Ann of Austria, taken from the _Pont au Change_.
               Executed by _Guillain_.

        200. Monument, erected to _John Baptiste Colbert_, the celebrated
               minister.

        263. Monument, in marble, erected to the memory of _Charles le
               Brun_, one of the most celebrated painters of the french
               school. Taken from _St. Nicholas de Chardonnet_.

        205. A group of Figures in black marble, representing _Francis
               Michael Letellier Marquis de Louvois_, minister of state,
               who died in 1691.—This was the work of _Girardon_.

        207. This Monument, called _la Pyramide_, or the pillar of
               _Longueville_, was erected by _Anne Généviève de
               Bourbon_, duchess of _Longueville_, and was meant
               in honour both of the first and second duke of that
               name.

        208. This is a Monument formed by _le Noir_, from the ruins of
               that which formerly stood in _la place des Victoires_.
               He has placed on the pedestal a figure of Abundance and
               Equality.

        210. A colossal Statue, taken from _les Invalides_, representing
               _Charlemagne_. Executed by _Coyzevox_.

        211. A colossal Statue of _Lewis the Eleventh_, in black marble,
               executed by _Couston_. Taken from _les Invalides_.

        214. A Statue of _Lewis the Fourteenth_, in black marble, by
               _Michel Anguier_. The king is in a Roman dress.

        218. A much admired Statue, by _Sarrasin_, of _St. Denys_ praying.
               Taken from the abbey of _Montmartre_.

        220 or 449. This fine Monument, executed under the immediate
               orders and design of the celebrated architect _Bullant_,
               was taken from _St. Martin_, at _Montmorency_, and was
               erected in honour of _Ann de Montmorency_.

        286. The marble Bust of _Lewis de Bourbon Condé_, called the
               great _Condé_, from the chisel of _Coyzevox_.

        384. This is a modern Monument, in honour of modern events, and
               of living characters. It is the work of _Foucon_, and it
               is meant to represent, allegorically, the peace of
               Luneville, and to record the glory of _Bonaparte_.

        448. This is a beautiful Statue, in black marble, of _Francis
               the First_ on his death bed. Two thousand modern goths,
               not content with mutilating this _chef-d’œuvre_, have
               ventured to record their barbarity in writing on the
               monument itself, or rather on what remains, their
               dishonoured names, several of which are still apparent.
               The convention, afterwards found it necessary to pass a
               law, condemning to ten years imprisonment, in chains, the
               mutilators or destroyers of the works of art.

    The following are in the garden:

    No. 467. From the _Chateau d’Anet_, a beautiful group, representing
               Diana with a stag, accompanied by her dogs, _Procyon_ and
               _Sirius_—supposed to be the work of _John Gougeon_, made
               for the fountain in the park of _Diana_ of _Poitiers_, at
               _Anet_.

        471. Statue, in black marble, and on his knees, of Lewis II. Taken
               from the church of _Notre Dame de Cléry_, where it was
               dreadfully mutilated by the fury of the inhabitants. It
               was the work of _Michael Bourdin_, of _Orleans_, who, not
               satisfied with the price which he received for it, stole
               a silver lamp from the church, for which crime he was
               afterwards executed at _Orleans_.

        507. A sepulchral Urn, containing the ashes of the celebrated
               _René Descartes_, who died in Sweden, in the year 1650.

        508. The Tomb of _Molière_, containing the body of that celebrated
               dramatic writer. The following inscription appears:

                 “Molière & Thalie reposent dans ce tombeau[79].”

             The whole is surrounded with myrtles, roses, and cypress
               trees.

        509. The tomb of J. de la Fontaine, containing his body.

        510. This is a Monument with four fronts. It contains the busts
               of _Molière_, _John la Fontaine_, _Boileau_, and _Racine_,
               who were intimate friends, and sometimes lived together at
               _Auteuil_.

        511. The Tomb which, for some time, contained the mummy of
               _Turenne_, first preserved in the _Musée de l’Histoire
               Naturelle_, then removed to this spot, and lastly placed,
               as I have before observed, in the Temple of Mars.

        555. Sepulchral Urn, containing the ashes of the celebrated
               _Boileau_, with this inscription:

                 “_Nicholas Boileau_ est dans ce tombeau[80].”

               And above:

                 “Ainsi que mes chagrins, mes beaux jours sont passés,
                 Je ne sens plus l’aigreur de ma bile première,
                 Et laisse aux froids rimeurs, une libre carrière[81].”

                             _Boileau_, Epist. 5. à M. _Guilléraques_.

There are, doubtless, besides those which I have enumerated, many
tombs deserving of notice; but I have specified these, on account of
the celebrity of the artists, or that of the persons whose memory the
monuments were intended to record. I send you a very imperfect account,
yet it is the result of a six hours’ visit, made with no little care and
attention.

_Le Noir’s_ catalogue, which, I understand, is now translating into
english, concludes with a curious account of the state in which the
bodies of the former kings of France were found at _St. Denys_, when,
in the year 1793, the national convention, with a savage disregard of
decency, and with a contempt for departed grandeur scarcely credible,
ordered that the kings, princes, and other great men, who had for fifteen
hundred years lain in peace at _St. Denys_, should be dragged from their
tombs, in order that the lead, of which their coffins were made, should
be converted into ball.

You will be surprised to hear, that the celebrated _Turenne_, preserved
like a mummy, was instantly recognized by the resemblance which he still
bore to his busts and pictures; and Henry the fourth was yet so perfect,
(though he died in 1610), that not a feature was altered.

This account is already of such a length, that I shall make no apology
for abruptly concluding it.

                                                                 I am, &c.

_POSTSCRIPT._

Returning home to day, at half past four o’clock, from viewing some of
the sights, (which I have mentioned in my letter), we found a messenger
waiting with a note from the _Thuilleries_. It proved to be an invitation
to Mrs. ⸺, from the first consul, asking her to dinner the same day at
five. She dressed as quickly as possible, and drove to the palace. She
is just returned; and from her statement, I send you the following short
account.

The entertainment was extremely elegant, and the sight very striking.
More than two hundred persons sat down to table in a splendid apartment.
The company consisted, besides the family of Bonaparte, of the ministers,
the ambassadors, several generals, senators, counsellors of state, and
other constituted authorities. The number of women present was by no
means in proportion to that of the men, and did not exceed fifteen.
All the english ladies, who had been presented to madame Bonaparte,
were invited (though not their husbands) to this entertainment; but it
happened, that only two remained at Paris.

The dinner was served entirely on plate and _Sèvre china_, the latter
bearing the letter B on every dish, and every plate; and the _plateau_
was covered with moss, out of which arose innumerable natural flowers,
the odour of which perfumed the whole room.

The first consul and madame Bonaparte conducted themselves with much
ease, and spoke very affably to those around them.

The servants were numerous, splendidly dressed, and highly attentive. The
dinner lasted more than two hours.

LETTER XXX.

    General account of literary establishments at Paris.—National
    library.—Manuscripts.—Memoirs of his own times, by Lewis
    XIV.—_Fac simile_ of a love letter of Henry IV.—Cabinet
    of medals.—Cabinet of engravings, &c.—Library of the
    Pantheon.—Mazarine library.—Library of the Institute.—Libraries
    of the senate, the legislative body, and tribunate.—The
    _Lycées_, now called _les Athénées_.—Admirable lectures
    given at one of them.—Professors _Fourcroy_, _Cuvier_, and
    _la Harpe_.—“L’Institute national.”—“_Jardin national des
    Plantes_”—Collection of birds, plants, fossils, and insects,
    in the house attached to the “_Jardin des Plantes_.”—“Cabinet
    de l’École des Mines, _à l’Hôtel des Monnoies_.”—Great
    opportunities afforded at Paris of cultivating science and
    literature in all their various branches.

                                   Paris, may the 10th, 1802 (20 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I have postponed speaking to you of the literary establishments of Paris,
till my residence here had been sufficiently long to enable me to give my
opinion with some degree of certainty.

Perhaps there is no town in the known world, which affords such
favourable opportunities of acquiring and cultivating knowledge, as
that from which I am now writing. On this subject, equality in the best
sense exists; and while the poor man has the finest libraries, and most
extensive collections opened to his use, without any expense whatever,
he, whose circumstances are moderately easy, obtains, for a trifling
consideration, every possible means of additional improvement.

The national library, which existed during the monarchy, and was founded
by Charles the fifth, occupies a large building in the _rue de la Loi_
(_ci-devant de Richelieu_). An elegant staircase, painted by Pelegrini,
leads to the spacious apartments on the first floor, which take up three
sides of the large court by which you enter, and which contain no less
than three hundred thousand printed volumes. Five or six rooms, well
lighted and well aired, offer on each side the best books, in every
science and in every language. Tables are placed for the convenience of
students, and attentive librarians civilly deliver the works which are
asked for.

In the second room is a curious piece of workmanship, called “le Parnasse
françois[82]” by _Titon Dutillet_, in which the different poets and
writers of France are represented as climbing up the steep ascent of that
difficult but inspired mountain. In my opinion, it deserves attention
more as a specimen of national taste, and private industry, than as a
production either of genius or of beauty.

In the third “_salon_” are the celebrated globes, the one celestial,
the other terrestrial, made in 1683, by the jesuit _Coronelli_, for
the _cardinal d’Estrées_. They are of immense dimensions, but require
new painting; as, in the first place, they were made before the last
discoveries, and secondly, the colours are almost entirely effaced by
the lapse of time.

This admirable library, which also contains collections of medals,
and other curiosities, is open to all persons who choose to attend as
students, without any expense, recommendation, or favour, every day in
the week; but, to prevent the labours of these being interrupted, the
visits of such as only come from motives of curiosity are limited to two
days in seven. I saw, with pleasure, that the object of this splendid
institution is fully answered. Forty or fifty young men, deeply intent
on the subject of their inquiries, were seated in different parts of the
room, and seemed to pursue, with enthusiasm, those studies, which the
liberality of their country thus afforded them the means of cultivating.

The gallery of manuscripts (called the gallery of Mazarine) contains
thirty thousand volumes, generally on the history of France, and more
particularly relating to facts which have taken place since the reign
of Lewis XI, twenty-five thousand of which are in learned or foreign
languages. The librarian, to whose care these precious papers are
entrusted, was known to a gentleman who accompanied me, and through his
goodness we saw several, which are not commonly exhibited.

I was much surprised at finding, in the hand writing of _Lewis XIV._
memoirs of his own times, so accurately taken, that, with very little
difficulty, they might be prepared for the press. I understand that a
gentleman, belonging to the library, began this useful task, and had made
considerable progress, when a sudden illness deprived his country and the
literary world of his services.

I was not a little entertained with the love letters of Henry IV., which
are in perfect preservation, and some of which have, I believe, been
published. The following is a _fac simile_ of one, which particularly
attracted my notice:

        “Mon cher cœur, nous venons de dyner
    ceans, et sommes fort sous. Je
    vous veyrré devant que partyre de Parys
    vous cherryre non comme yl
    faut, mes comme je pourre
    Ce porteur me haste sy fort que
    je ne vous puys fayre que ce
    mot bonsoyr le cœur a moy je
    te bese un mylyon de foys

                          8
    ce XIIIIIme octobre 8 H 8
                          8
                        HENRY[83].”

As the tokens of regard, which the gallant Henry thought his mistress
deserved, were only limited in number to a million, we cannot too much
admire the prudence with which he, who was never known to break his word,
promised to testify his affection, not according to the merit of the
lady, but to the powers of her lover.

The five large rooms on the second floor contain the titles and
genealogies of private families, which, though forbidden, since the
revolution, to be kept by individuals, are here preserved, in order
to ascertain the claims of property, and to assist the researches
of historians. They are contained in five thousand boxes, or
_porte-feuilles_, and are arranged and labelled with the greatest
precision.

The cabinet of medals is ornamented by drawings over the doors by
_Boucher_; by three large pictures, by Natoire, representing Thalia,
Calliope, and Terpsichore; by three of Carlo Vanloo, representing
_Psyche_ led by Hymen, the inventress of the flute, and the three
protectors of the Muses. The cabinet of antiques, above stairs, contains
the busts, vases, inscriptions, instruments of sacrifice, &c. collected
by the celebrated _Caylus_.

The cabinet of engravings, which occupies what is called, in France,
the “entresol,” or the floor between the first and second, consists of
five thousand volumes, divided into twelve classes. The first contains
sculptors, architects, engineers, and engravers, arranged in schools.
The second, prints, emblems, and devices of piety. The third, greek
and roman fables and antiquities. The fourth, medals, coins, and arms.
The fifth, public festivals, cavalcades, and tournaments. The sixth,
arts and mathematics. The seventh, prints relating to romances and
works of pleasantry. The eighth, natural history in all its branches.
The ninth, geography. The tenth, plans and views of ancient and modern
edifices. The eleventh, portraits of persons, of all conditions, to the
number of fifty thousand; and the twelfth, a collection of fashions and
_costumes_ of almost every country in the world, from the _porte-feuille_
of _Gaigniéres_. This last class is said to contain the most extensive
collection yet known of french fashions, from the time of Clovis to the
present age. The greater part of the sheets are coloured, some are on
vellum, copied from glass windows, from pieces of tapestry, and from
figures on tombs. The picture of king John, being the first specimen of
french painting, is found in this collection. It is well preserved.

I ought not to conclude my account of the national library without
mentioning, that among the manuscripts there are several in the persian,
arabic, and Chinese languages.

Besides the “national library,” there is the library of the Pantheon (or
St. Généviève), consisting of eighty thousand volumes, and two thousand
manuscripts, open every day from ten till two o’clock.

The Mazarine library, or (“des quatre nations,”) is open every day, from
ten till two o’clock (excepting on the 5th and 10th of each month), and
contains sixty thousand volumes.

The library of the “Institute” is open every day to members, and every
15th of the month to the public.

The legislature, the tribunate, the senate, and the other constituted
authorities, have also their libraries.

In addition to these sources of knowledge, there are several literary
institutions, called, when I first came here, “_des Lycées_, or
_Lyceums_,” but which, in consequence of the national colleges lately
established having taken that name, have changed theirs, and assumed the
appellation of “_des Athénées_.” The most distinguished of these, “le
Lycée,” (or, according to its new title, “l’Athénée,”), “republicain,”
has been the principal source of my amusement at Paris. It consists of
annual subscribers, who, for the moderate sum of four _louis_, enjoy
all its benefits. The society has a large floor, or apartment, situate
near the “Palais Royal,” (in a street called by its name); and it is
open the whole of every day for the use of the subscribers. There is a
small library, where all the periodical publications and newspapers are
taken in; and while three or four rooms are appropriated to conversation,
one is devoted to reading, and profound silence is there ordered and
maintained. In addition to these, there is an excellent lecture room,
with all the necessary apparatus for experiments, in which the ablest
men in France appear as professors. The subject of the lectures, which
are regularly given, always twice, and frequently three times, in the
course of the day, are literature, the sciences, and modern languages.
When I add, that _Fourcroy_ takes the chymical department, that _Cuvier_
reads on natural history, and that _la Harpe_, till banished by the
government, was the professor of literature, you will readily allow, that
no establishment can be better organized. Besides these, “_Hassenfratz_”
gives very good lectures on agriculture, and the studies connected
with that science. “_Sué_,” as an anatomist, is justly celebrated; and
the other professors, in their different lines, prove themselves well
qualified for the tasks assigned them. With “_Fourcroy_,” and “_Cuvier_,”
I was particularly delighted; and it is impossible, without having heard
them, to form an idea of the clearness and eloquence with which they
explain the subjects of their respective departments. As to “_la Harpe_”
I must confess, I was not a little disappointed. From his great renown,
and from the encomiums past on him, in early life, by _Voltaire_,
I expected to have been at once pleased, instructed, and surprised.
In these hopes I was strongly encouraged by the manner in which his
lectures were spoken, of at Paris, and by the crowds which flocked to
the “_Lycée_,” whenever it was his turn to fill the chair. Dreadful was
my disappointment, when, at last, I heard him. _Pompignan_, _la Motte_,
_Fontenelle_, and some other authors of that stamp, were the subjects
of his discourses; and, beginning with telling us that these writers
were either entirely forgotten, or deserved to be so, he continued, for
whole days together, to drag their ghosts before his audience, whom he
seemed to convert into a “_tribunal révolutionaire_” of criticism, and to
attack their memory with all the warmth and violence of an “_accusateur
public_.” These philippics against dead and neglected authors, filled
up with long quotations from the works which he ridiculed, interlarded
with attacks on those philosophical and political principles of which
he was originally the ardent advocate, and enlivened now and then with
a joke, and sometimes with an anecdote, constituted the whole merit of
his lectures. Yet the members of the “_Lycée_” heard him with wonder and
admiration; and whenever he threw down his book, turned round with a
look of self-complacence, or filled his tumbler with lemonade from the
decanter always placed by his side, the signal was instantly taken, and
loud and repeated applauses thundered from every corner of the room. To
account for this partiality, I must repeat, that every thing at Paris is
ruled by fashion; and _la Harpe_ being generally considered as the most
distinguished literary man now alive, every thing which fell from his
tongue was necessarily excellent; and I have no doubt, that if he had
contented himself with reading an article from one of the newspapers of
the morning, he would have been equally admired and as warmly applauded.

The “_Lycée_” is altogether a most excellent establishment; and,
considering, that two lectures, and frequently three, are given six days
in every week, and that these lectures are included in the subscription,
the price of four louis is very moderate.

I cannot speak properly of this institution as a place of society, as I
seldom staid there after the conclusion of the lectures; but I am told,
that the members are, generally speaking, respectable men. The rooms
are constantly full, and some persons may be said nearly to pass their
lives there, since they are scarcely ever absent, except at the hour of
dinner. I think it not improbable, that much amusement may be found in
the conversation of the members; but I confine my recommendation to the
advantages which the “_Lycée_” affords, as an easy source of profitable
knowledge.

“_L’Institut national_,” that celebrated society, which has succeeded
“_l’académie française_,” which is held up as the great republican
repository of genius and learning, and into which admittance is solicited
with so much eagerness, both at home and abroad, consists of one hundred
and forty-four members resident at Paris, and of twenty-four foreign
associates. It is divided into three classes; the sciences, physical and
mathematical; the sciences, moral and political; literature and the fine
arts. Each of these classes is again subdivided.

The “_Institut_” has a public séance, or meeting, on the 15th of every
month. I was present at one of these assemblies; and I am ashamed to
confess, that I had difficulty in refraining from laughter. The society
holds its sittings in a spacious room in the palace of the _Louvre_.
The members were seated in such silent, solemn state, each with his
reading desk, books, ink, and wax lights before him, while a dull and
uninteresting paper was reading, that their gravity produced the opposite
effect on me, and “_malgré_” my respect for the establishment, and for
those who belong to it, it was not without a struggle that I composed my
features, and checked the impulse of nature. At last, fortunately for
me, “_Colin d’Harleville_,” a dramatic writer of merit, ascended the
rostrum, and read a kind of funeral oration, or eulogy, on the memory of
an author of reputation, lately dead. The simplicity of the speaker’s
manner, the harmony of his voice, and the feeling which he displayed,
in deploring the loss and proving the worth of his friend, charmed
every ear; and, notwithstanding the pompous faces which surrounded me,
I became as melancholy as they wished to appear serious. The members of
“l’institut national” wear a blue cloth uniform, richly embroidered with
silk of the same colour.

The “_Jardin national des Plantes_[84],” founded originally by Buffon, is
one of the most interesting objects at Paris. Naturalists, and persons
fond of botany, have here every opportunity of cultivating those useful
studies, and of gratifying, in the amplest manner, their favourite taste.
The garden itself, which is extensive, and reaches to the river, contains
every kind of curious and exotic plant. There is a greenhouse likewise,
filled with such trees, the tender nature of which cannot bear the
coldness of a northern atmosphere.

There is also a _ménagerie_, or collection of animals, among which every
kind of fierce, rare, and foreign quadrupeds may be found. On my first
arrival at Paris, there were two elephants, of different sizes, who
had lived several years together in the same stable. They were of very
considerable dimensions, equal to those, the effigy of which is sometimes
seen on a London stage. The male has lately died, and “_Cuvier_” is to
anatomise the body, and give a lecture on the subject. The female, for
some time after the death of her companion, showed evident symptoms of
grief, and even refused, at first, every kind of nourishment. The house
attached to “le Jardin des Plantes” is filled with a precious collection
of curiosities in natural history, properly arranged, and correctly
named. Several rooms are filled with these valuable objects; and I am
told, by persons acquainted with such subjects, that very little is
wanting to make this _dépôt_ complete. Stuffed quadrupeds[85], birds,
plants, fossils, fish, and shells, offer every kind of variety; and even
the ignorant man finds here a source of never-failing amusement. The
collection of insects is particularly curious and extensive. I believe it
is considered as the finest in the world.

The “_Jardin des Plantes_,” like every other national establishment at
Paris, is seen gratuitously, and is open to foreigners every day, while
frenchmen are only admitted three or four times in each week. It is
impossible to mention too often, or to admire too highly, a _trait_ of
hospitality so truly magnificent.

The “cabinet _de l’École des Mines_” is a superb establishment. It is
situate in the principal building towards the key of the “_hôtel des
Monnaies_.” It was formed in 1778, of the collection which the famous
mineralogist, le Sage, was eighteen years in putting together. The middle
of the cabinet forms an amphitheatre, capable of containing two hundred
persons. Glass cases enclose, in the finest order, minerals of every
kind, and from every part of the world. Four other separate cases offer
models of machinery. On the stairs, leading to the gallery, is the bust
of monsieur le Sage, which was placed there by the gratitude of his
pupils. The gallery itself is surrounded with cases, containing specimens
of the productions of mines, too numerous to be placed with those which
are in the first cabinet of mines. The interior of the cabinet is 45
feet long, by 38 wide, and 40 feet high. All the english, who have seen
“_l’École des Mines_,” agree, in speaking of it as one of the most
interesting sights of this interesting capital[86].

Beside the great establishments which I have mentioned, there are several
others, which it would be an endless task to attempt to specify.

There are also many “lycées” or “athénées,” beside that of which I have
spoken. There are likewise private subscription lectures on all subjects,
many of which are of high repute, such as those of Mr. Charles on natural
philosophy, of the excellence of whose experiments, and the clearness of
whose discourses, I hear a very favourable account.

The english, german, and italian languages, are taught by professors at
the different “lycées,” by particular subscription, and for moderate sums
in other places. In short, there is no literary pursuit, of any kind,
which any man, in any circumstances, may not cultivate with success at
Paris.

Fortitude is necessary to resist the opportunities of committing
crimes, if the individual be poor, and of falling into the temptations
of pleasure, if he happen to be rich. Guarded against these respective
evils, the industrious scholar, whether covered with rags, or “clad every
day in purple,” may move on in the career of letters with every possible
advantage, and with the certitude of, at last, obtaining the utmost
object of his wishes. If any equality exist in France, it is found in the
fount of knowledge, which literally

    “⸺In patriam populumque fluxit.”

In addition to the opportunities afforded for literary improvement
already mentioned, the price of books is moderate; and “_cabinets
litéraires_” offer in every quarter of the town, and almost in every
street, newspapers, pamphlets, and periodical works.

Paris, however, does not possess many circulating libraries, and of the
few which exist, I can give no favourable account. Perhaps the facility
with which works of value are consulted, and the trifle for which those
of the day are bought, are the reasons of this deficiency. It is,
however, a considerable convenience wanting in so great a city; and I
think that such an establishment, on a liberal and extended scale, would
be a profitable and useful subject of speculation.

I have said nothing of “la Société des belles Lettres” of “_la Société
de Médecine_” of “_la Société d’Institution_,” &c. Were I to enumerate
all the useful establishments, both public and private, connected with
literature, my letter would soon be swelled into a volume, and that even
of no small dimensions. I shall, therefore, now conclude my account by
observing, that whatever are the particular objects, to which a studious
man wishes to direct his attention, “quod petit hic est,” he will find
here all the facilities which he can possibly desire for pursuing his
favourite science, with little or no expense and great advantage.

                                                                 I am, &c.

LETTER XXXI.

    Calculation and estimate of expenses at Paris.—List of hotels,
    traiteurs, &c.

                                  Paris, may the 12th, 1802, (22 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

You know how much I dislike the petty detail of economical arrangements,
and will therefore pardon me for having so long delayed to speak to you
of the expenses and mode of living at Paris. I have not forgotten your
queries, and will, in this letter, endeavour to answer them as fully
as possible. You will, at least, derive one advantage from my apparent
neglect; that the information which I shall now send you, is not hastily
given, but the result of experience, gained during a residence of nearly
seven months.

Persons who have represented Paris (to use a vulgar phrase) as a cheap
place, have either been greatly deceived themselves, or have intended
purposely to deceive. The difference between the expense of living in
London and in Paris, appears to me infinitely less than it is generally
supposed. It is true, indeed, that a french family will apparently
support a much more elegant establishment on a given income, than an
english one can in London; but I believe the cause arises almost
entirely from the superiour economy and arrangement of the former, from
the sparing system observed in the interiour of private houses, and
from the constant and unvarying attention to the _minutiæ_ of every
disbursement. Though the table of a Parisian boasts, when company are
invited, every kind of luxury, yet I have reason to suspect, that, on
ordinary occasions, “le bouilli[87],” and “le vin ordinaire,” form its
principal support. A carriage, which has been in a family twenty or
thirty years, is treated with all the respect due to its antiquity, and
is seldom or ever discarded on account of its oldfashioned shape or faded
colour; and horses, used only now and then, may be fed on hay and straw.
Liveries are forbidden by the law; and servants are therefore permitted
to wait in the tattered garments which their present master has left off,
or in those which they have collected in a former service.

The drawing-rooms, and “_salles à manger_,” are lighted, even at the
largest assemblies, with oil, instead of wax; and antichambers and
staircases are so dark, that to find one’s way into the principal
apartment is generally a service of difficulty, if not of danger. As
to fire, on common occasions, one in the bed room either of “madame,”
or “monsieur,” is thought sufficient, with the addition of a “poële,”
or stove, which is so contrived, as to heat both the eating room, and
the antichamber, in which latter the servants always sit. In respect to
dress, an old great coat (or “riding coat,” as they call it) is often
worn in the house, by gentlemen, and the _belles_ who appear with the
greatest splendour in the evening, sometimes pass their morning in a
powdering gown, or “_robe de chambre_.”

The same kind of rigid economy is observed in their amusements. A family
of distinction will occupy a box “_au second_, or _au bagnoir_[88],” to
save a few _livres_; and I knew a young lady of considerable fortune,
who expressed an anxious wish to see the first appearance of _Vestris_,
and who, when a place was offered her, refused it, _malgré_ the general
passion for _spectacles_, and the celebrity of this, when she found that
the price of the ticket was nine francs (or seven and sixpence english).
I have entered into this explanation, to account for the apparently
splendid establishments of persons of moderate fortunes, which might
otherwise seem to contradict the opinion which I am about to give, and
which I have already hinted.

I repeat, then, that an english family settling here[89], with english
ideas and english habits, would spend very little less than they would do
in London, with a similar establishment.

To enable you to judge for yourself on this subject, I shall mention
the prices of the most essential articles of expense; some of which are
lower, while others are infinitely higher.

Meat is much cheaper, being only eleven or twelve sols per pound (or five
or six pence english).

Bread bears, at present, nearly the same price in the two countries.

The keep of horses costs infinitely less at Paris, than in London.

Poultry is cheaper; and wine of the best kind may be bought for something
more than we pay for good port.

On the other hand, house rent is equally dear, if not dearer. Furniture
is exorbitant; and dress of all kinds, both for men and women (only
excepting shoes and gloves) is, beyond comparison, dearer in price, and
more expensive in its kind.

The price of amusements, in the first places, is nearly the same at the
large theatres of Paris, as at those of London; and _spectacles_, being
infinitely more frequented at the former than in the latter city, much
more is spent, in this article, in the one than in the other capital.

Groceries are dearer, and fuel at least double. Putting these articles,
the one against the other, perhaps with economy eleven hundred pounds
in Paris might purchase as many conveniences as twelve in London. But I
think even this difference is liberally allowed.

Having given this rough calculation of family expenses, I shall proceed
to speak more particularly of those of a foreigner, or temporary
resident. On this point I can be more positive, having experience for my
guide.

A job carriage and pair of horses cost from twenty to twenty two louis
per month, according to the manner in which you are served. A pair of
horses, without the hire of a carriage, may be had for fifteen or sixteen
louis per month. In both cases the coachman is paid by the jobman; but
the former expects a trifle, as a mark of your approbation.

A “_laquais de place_” asks four, but will take three, livres (or half a
crown English) per day.

Apartments vary so infinitely in price, according to the part of the
town where they are situate, according to the number of rooms wanted,
according to the height of the floor, and, above all, according to the
bargain made by the individual wanting them, that it is very difficult
to fix any thing like an average. I shall only say, generally, that I
think a single man may be well lodged (at a price proportioned to the
accommodation which he requires) from five to twelve louis per month; and
a family of two or three persons, with as many servants, from twelve to
thirty louis.

A “_traiteur_” will supply a dinner at six livres (or five shillings) per
head; but the fare will neither be very good, nor very abundant.

Wine, of the best quality, if taken from the “_traiteur_,” or the master
of the hotel, will cost from five to six _livres_ the bottle. The same
may be had from a wine merchant at about half the price. I ought to
add, that it is not expected here, as in England, that the wine should
necessarily be ordered from the person who supplies your table.

The price of washing is greater than in London; and the english ladies
complain much of the manner in which it is executed.

Fuel is immensely dear. A “voie de bois,” or load of wood, the contents
of which one fire will consume in ten days, costs about thirty two or
thirty three livres (making about twenty six or twenty seven shillings
english.)

About nine livres (or seven shillings and sixpence) are paid for
admittance in the first places for each person at the “opera,” at “le
théâtre de la Feydeau,” and at “le théâtre de la rue Favart;” at the
“théâtre françois” six livres, twelve sols, (or five shillings and
sixpence english) and in the little theatres, half a crown, or three
shillings. I cannot give the prices exactly, as they vary according to
the manner in which you go to the play-house. In taking a box, more
is paid for each ticket, than what is otherwise paid simply for the
admittance of each individual at the door.

Clothing is very expensive. A plain frock of superfine cloth costs from
four louis to five and a half, according to the fashion of the tailor:
and I am told, that ladies’ muslins are at least four times dearer than
in London.

About lodgings, it is very necessary that those who intend visiting Paris
should make previous arrangements. The hotels are not so numerous as
before the revolution; and the difficulty of getting well accommodated is
much greater than any one, who has not been here, can possibly conceive.
Great advantage is also taken of the situation of strangers, who arrive
(unprepared) at one of these houses with post horses, the drivers of
which are always impatient, and very often impertinent, if you detain
them long in seeing rooms, or go to several hotels, before you are
settled.

To enable you and your friends to form some idea of the merits of
the different hotels, and accordingly to give directions to your
correspondents, I will add a list and short account of the most
celebrated.

“L’Hôtel de Grange Batelière, rue de Grange Batelière,” in the Chaussée
Dantin, (where Lord Cornwallis lodged) is a large and spacious house, in
which there are many handsome apartments. It has also the advantage of a
fine and extensive garden. I think I have heard, that the charges here
are rather high. The situation of the house is excellent; adjoining the
Boulevard, nearly opposite “_la rue de la Loi_ (or _de Richelieu_),” and
in that part of the town, which is now esteemed the most fashionable.

“L’Hôtel de l’Empire,” rue Cerruti, (formerly the private house of M. _la
Borde_, the king’s Banker) is much frequented by the english. It is of
course expensive. The high reputation which this hotel enjoys, induced me
to go there on my first arrival. I was much disappointed. I did not find
either the lodgings good, or the cooking very superiour. The principal
apartment is certainly very splendid, the price of which is ninety louis
per month; but the other rooms have nothing very particular to recommend
them. Every kind of refreshment is found in the house, and charged by the
article, as at the hotels in London, and at about the same prices.

This house is also in the “Chaussée Dantin,” and not far distant from
“l’Hôtel de Grange Batelière.”

In the “rue de la Loi,” (or “de Richelieu”) there are several hotels;
but the situation, though extremely central and convenient, has the
disadvantage of being very noisy. The upper part of the street, near the
Boulevard, is the most agreeable; and in that position are “l’Hôtel de
l’Europe,” and “l’Hôtel des Étrangers.” They appear good houses. I know
nothing of their character.

“L’Hôtel d’Angleterre, rue des Filles de St. Thomas,” very near the
“rue de la Loi,” has been inhabited by several English this winter. The
charges are said to be expensive. The situation is convenient; but it is
noisy, and surrounded by houses.

“L’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Vivienne,” very near the “rue de la Loi,”
and the “Palais Royal,” is also in the centre of the town. This house I
have heard more generally commended by those who have lodged there, as
to its prices, accommodations, and kitchen, than any other at Paris; but
I cannot say I like the street where it stands, which is both close and
dirty.

“_L’Hôtel de Mirabeau, rue de Helder_,” is in a new street, near the
Boulevard. It seems a good house. I do not know its character.

The two hotels, the situation of which is the most agreeable, being
both near the Boulevard, the Thuilleries, and the Champs Elisées, are
“_l’Hôtel de Courlande_, _place Louis XV_, (or _de la Concorde_”),
and “_l’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Royale_ (or _de la Concorde_).” The
former is part of that fine building, the “Garde Meuble,” and stands
in the most beautiful “_place_,” or square, of Paris. The windows
command a delightful view of the “_place_,” the bridge, the river, the
_Thuilleries_, and _Champs Elisées_. The house is newly furnished, and
only lately opened. I am sorry to add, that it consists but of few
apartments; but those which there are, are elegant and spacious. The
prices are extremely high. I was asked forty _louis_ a month for a second
floor.

The other house, I mean “_l’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Royale_ (or _de la
Concorde_)” standing in a very wide street, which runs from the Boulevard
to “la place Louis XV,” has equal advantages as to the neighbourhood of
all the public walks, with the hotel of which I spoke last; but it does
not command the same view. I am forced also to mention, having lived two
months in the house, that the landlord is a very insolent fellow, and
his wife, if possible, more impertinent than himself.

There are three small hotels, called, “_l’Hôtel de Galle_,” “_l’Hôtel
des Quinz Vingts_,” and “_l’Hôtel de Carousel_,” all in the immediate
neighbourhood of the palace of the Thuilleries, of which each commands
a view. A single man would be agreeably lodged at one of these; but I
should not suppose, that there was sufficient accommodation at either for
a family consisting of several persons.

In the “_Fauxbourg St. Germain_,” the hotels formerly frequented by the
english either exist no more, or have lost their reputation. Those only
which are of any repute in this part of the town, seem to be “_l’Hôtel de
Rome, rue St. Dominique_,” where there are several handsome apartments,
more remarkable for their size than their cleanliness; and “_l’Hôtel de
Marengo_,” in the same street, and next door to the former. The lodgings
of the latter are good; but some friends of mine, who lived there,
complained much of the disagreeable state, in which they found the beds.
Both these hotels have good gardens.

“_L’Hôtel de Caramont_,” in the same street, belonging to the _ci-devant
comte_ of that name, though not an “_hôtel garni_,” is let in apartments,
the greater part of which were occupied first by Mr. Jackson, and
afterwards by Mr. Merry. The rooms are delightful; but it rarely
happens, that any are vacant. I forgot to mention, that there is also in
this street a small hotel, called, “_l’Hôtel de Jura_,” which is well
furnished, and has a pretty garden.

The houses, which I have enumerated, are those which are the most
known, the best situate, and the most esteemed. Beside these, there
are “_l’Hôtel de Vauban_,” “_l’Hôtel de Congrès_,” and “_l’Hôtel de la
Grand Bretagne_,” all situate in “_la rue St. Honoré_,” and said to be
respectable houses. For those also who do not object to be surrounded
with bustle and noise, “_l’Hôtel de la Chancellerie_,” near the “Palais
Royal,” will offer good accommodations. I am told, the apartments there
are uncommonly elegant, and extremely spacious[90].

To this account I must add a _negative_ recommendation of _la rue
Traversière_, in which there are several hotels, and into which the
windows of some in _la rue de la Loi_ also look. A perpetual market,
with all the attendant smells, renders the houses in “la rue Traversière”
extremely unpleasant; and the same reason obstructs the passage, so
that it is difficult, in a carriage, to find one’s way to any door in
this street. The caution is the more necessary, as postboys frequently
recommend the situation.

There is some objection to almost every hotel; I cannot, therefore,
recommend any one; but, were I to visit Paris again, I think I should
either try “_l’Hôtel de Courlande, place Louis XV_,” the situation
of which is incomparable; “_l’Hôtel de Grange Batelière_,” which, in
accommodations and size, is superior to any house of the same kind; or
“_l’Hôtel des Étrangers, rue Vivienne_,” which is universally well spoken
of by those who have inhabited it.

As to the “traiteurs,” or persons who supply you with dinners, they
sometimes belong to the house where you lodge, and sometimes not.

I tried several during my stay at Paris, and I found them all so bad, and
so uncertain, that, were I to return, I would either hire a cook, or dine
constantly at the house of a “restaurateur[91].” The most celebrated are,
_Naudit_, and _Robert_, in the Palais Royal, _Beauvillier_ in the _rue
de la Loi_, and _Verry_ in the garden of the _Thuilleries_. Besides the
public room, which is always elegantly ornamented, there is, at each of
these places, several _small rooms_, or _cabinets_, for private parties.
A long bill of fare, called “la carte,” consisting of all the delicacies
of the season, and every variety of wine, with the prices affixed to each
article, is handed to you, and the dishes are no sooner named, than they
are instantly served. The apartments are tastefully decorated, the linen
and plate are particularly clean, and the waiters civil, attentive, and
well dressed. The cooking is incomparable. Ladies, as well as gentlemen,
dine at these houses, and even in the public room several of the former
are always present. On a rough calculation, the expense of dining at one
of the first _restaurateurs_, including a fair quantity of the best wine,
varies from twelve livres (ten shillings) to a louis each person.

There are, however, inferiour houses of this kind, where, even for
_trent-six sols_ (or eighteen pence english) a dinner of several dishes,
and a bottle of wine, are allowed. As I never tried one of these
economical _repas_, I cannot speak of the fare they afford. A returned
“_abbé_” assured me, that he dined in this manner “_à merveille_;” but,
notwithstanding his authority, I should scarcely recommend a hungry
englishman to make the experiment.

In concluding my account of hotels and _traiteurs_, I must repeat my
advice to you, to make a previous bargain for whatever you may want. In
Paris, no tradesman has a settled price; and the shopkeeper or landlord,
who has the most respectable appearance, is not to be trusted.

An englishman, who, from delicacy, omits to offer a smaller sum than that
which is asked, may be certain, that he makes a present of at least fifty
per cent to the person of whom he purchases. In every line of trade the
same system is pursued; and even in buying books and plate, I have known
one fourth of the original demand taken.

Strangers ought to be particularly careful, how they deal with the
“marchands” of the “hôtel garni” where they lodge. They are a tribe of
people, who, under the recommendation of the landlord or porter, to whom
they pay a regular commission at the expense of the traveller, knock
perpetually at his door, and, with the utmost importunity, insist on
showing the different articles of their trade. What they sell is always
dear, generally out of fashion, and frequently damaged.

In calculating the expenses of Paris, much will depend on the manner
in which an individual lays out his money; and I am certain, that if a
good manager and a thoughtless young man were, during a winter passed in
Paris, to order exactly the same articles, and were afterwards to compare
their disbursements, a difference would appear in the result, of nearly
one half. It must be remembered also, that “_milord anglais_” (as they
call every englishman) is supposed to be so very rich, and so lavish of
his treasures, that he is rather flattered than offended by the largeness
of the sums which he is called upon to pay; and, while a conscientious
tradesman is satisfied with asking of another foreigner about forty or
fifty per cent beyond the value of his goods, he fails not to demand
double of him, whom, by his accent, he discovers to be a native of that
happy island, in which frenchmen believe, that gold is as common as the
air we breathe.

With these remarks, thrown out as a necessary caution, I shall conclude
my subject; and, meaning to write to you once again, before I leave
Paris, I shall, for the present, bid you adieu.

                                                                 I am, &c.

LETTER XXXII.

    General view of Paris, principally taken as compared with
    London.

                                   Paris, may the 14th, 1802 (24 floréal.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my former letters endeavoured to give you some idea of the
particular objects of greatest curiosity, I shall, in this last, take a
general view of Paris, principally as compared with London.

I shall begin with remarking, that of all the foreigners of different
nations, who frequent this city, the english are those who are least
satisfied with its pleasures, its occupations, and its manners. For this
many reasons may be assigned. The nations of the continent have, in the
first place, in their mode of living, a kind of general resemblance,
which qualifies them more for domesticating (if I may be permitted
the expression) in a country not their own than we have. A german, an
italian, a russian, or a swede has been accustomed at home to the french
kitchen, or at least to a bad imitation of its dishes: his habits, his
fashions, and even his literary pursuits have been formed on the model of
the french: and if he has lived in a court, the french language has also
been, from infancy, as familiar to him as his own. Very different is the
situation of an englishman. He finds himself, on landing at Calais, in a
new world, and in all the ordinary occurrences of life, his habits are to
be fresh modelled.

The cleanliness, so generally prevalent in England, not only in private
houses but likewise in inns, taverns, and hotels, is seldom met with
on the continent, and it is necessary for the traveller to lay aside
his best customs, and most excusable prejudices, before he can become
tolerably easy.

To breakfast and dine in a bed-room, to eat with the same knife of every
article, to have the bed made by a man, and other indelicacies too
gross to mention, are little misfortunes to which an english gentleman
submits with regret, and a lady with real pain. The numerous but scanty
dishes which crowd a french table, among which a joint of plain roasted
meat seldom appears, cloy without satisfying the appetite of those
who have been used to simpler but more substantial food. The wine,
also, notwithstanding its high repute, seldom seems strong enough or
of sufficient body for such as are habitual drinkers of port, though,
when the latter has been for some time discontinued, the taste becomes
disagreeable. The familiarity of servants and waiters (though less than
before the revolution), is still disgusting and offensive. The necessity
of bargaining, even at the most respectable shops, for the commonest
articles of merchandize, renders the purchase of them very unpleasant.
These circumstances, however trifling, occur too frequently in the course
of every day, not to have a considerable effect on the _serenity of John
Bull_. Accustomed only to his own language, he is either totally ignorant
of the french, or speaks it with difficulty, hesitation, and fear. He is
tormented with the frequent visits[92], which he is expected to pay; and
the custom of leaving the table immediately after dinner, seldom allowing
time for more than one or two glasses of good wine, completely destroys
the original good nature of his character.

I have recapitulated these little distresses, as I am convinced they
sour the temper, and have a, considerable influence on the unfavourable
judgment often pronounced by my countrymen. I do not pretend myself to
be superiour to such weaknesses, and mention the circumstance, that
too implicit credit may not be given to the opinions of one capable of
being biassed by “trifles light as air.” I must be permitted, however,
to observe, that there are reasons of a much more serious nature, which
make the english less easy to please than other foreigners. We come from
a country, where all the arts are carried to a degree of perfection, at
least equal to what is attained on the same objects in France, and where,
in many things, the ingenuity of our manufacturers is unrivalled. In
science and literature we have not been compelled to look from home;
and while we now admire the many distinguished writers which France has
produced, they are not our only models, and with Locke and Newton, Milton
and Shakspeare, we cannot pay that unbounded homage to the genius and
learning of our neighbours, which they are apt to demand. The freedom and
excellence of our constitution accustoms us to a degree of unrestrained
conversation, seldom met with at Paris; and the general diffusion of
wealth in London, has introduced, among all orders, a degree of comfort
which is seldom found even in the proudest houses of the french capital.

The beauty of our women, and the delicacy of their behaviour, render us
less enthusiastic admirers of parisian belles, and parisian fashions,
than the strangers of other countries.

The perfection to which the stage has advanced in London, and the
splendid manner in which our theatres are lighted, prevent our being
greatly struck with the renowned _spectacles_ of this place; and
the taste, profusion, and magnificence, displayed in our private
entertainments, oppose too powerful a contrast to the gayeties of Paris,
to allow us to be much delighted with the latter. Our race of horses, and
our manufacture of carriages, are both too perfect to render it possible
for us to admire the wretched equipages, which are here considered
as the _acme_ of elegance. It is equally impossible for us to praise
the gardens of the _Thuilleries_, the Champs Elisées, or the _Bois de
Boulogne_, as long as we remember Hyde park or Kensington gardens. Nor
can the lighting and paving of Paris excite the admiration of those who
have been used to the comfortable _trottoir_ and brilliant lamps of the
streets of London.

Having thus stated the reasons, good and bad, for the tameness with which
englishmen often speak of Paris, I shall endeavour to divest myself,
as much as possible, of national prejudice, and to lay before you the
advantages and disadvantages attendant on a residence in this city.

In respect to literature, the arts and sciences, certainly every
opportunity is offered which knowledge can afford, or which a zeal for
letters can desire. In this respect, I think, Paris is superiour to
London. Besides the immense acquisitions which it has lately made, and
the great and wonderful collections that are constantly open to the
public, there are so many private institutions within the reach of men of
moderate fortune, that this city would soon rival all the universities of
Europe, did not the pleasures of the place hold out temptations dangerous
to the morals of youth.

Literary men also are more respected than in England; and, instead of
abandoning society (which is too much the case with men of learning in
our country), the industrious, but unprotected frenchman, who engages in
the career of letters, finds his way into the most brilliant circles of
the capital. Even the haughtiest of the old nobility admit into their
most intimate _coteries_, those who have attained any literary fame,
however low their origin, or however mean their appearance. On this head,
I give unqualified and unrivalled praise to Paris.

Whether a foreigner could profitably pursue any commercial speculation
here, it is not for me to inquire. I shall only observe, that,
notwithstanding the laws of equality, prejudices exist as strongly as
ever at Paris; and could a fortune be accumulated here as rapidly as in
London, that fortune would never purchase the respect and consequence
with which a similar acquisition is attended in England. A merchant (or
“négociant,” to use the french expression) is still an insignificant
character in this town, and all the wealth of India would not place him
on a level with a general, a minister, or a _ci-devant_ noble.

A man of pleasure, or rather of dissipation, may, in all the joys of
unbounded variety, destroy his health, vitiate his principles, enervate
his mind, and ruin his fortune. To the rich, however old, ugly, or
deformed, beauty will not refuse her smiles; and every assembly is
open to him who, in the morning, will convey “madame” to milliners,
jewellers, and lace merchants, and will devote his evenings to the
_boulotte_[93] of “monsieur.”

The politician, or in other words, he who is anxious to become acquainted
with the real causes of the present order of things, and to examine to
their source the many-coloured events which have preceded it, will be
much disappointed. The greater number of those who took an active part in
the revolution, have been swept away in the general torrent; the few that
remain, are either living in obscurity, and cautious of expressing their
opinions, or become, like other apostates, as violent on one side as they
were formerly on the other. Of course, no satisfactory information is to
be derived from them. As to the general bulk of the nation, passive under
the iron tyranny of that sanguinary monster, Robespierre, they preferred,
at that time, the accidental hope of individual escape, to the generous
and braver conduct of a bold resistance. They are still the same people;
and, now that their tranquillity and private happiness are secured, they
look on in perfect apathy, and (if the term were not too rash) I should
add, in sulky content.

Should France be deprived of Bonaparte, a circumstance which french men
of all parties allow would be at present a great national misfortune,
I have no doubt that obedience would be quietly and generally yielded
to whatever party should seize the reins of power. It is universally
allowed, that there is no security beyond the life of the first
consul[94]; yet no one proposes, and I am sure no one thinks of providing
against an event, which, in the order of nature, must sooner or later
arrive. You cannot, living in England, form an idea of the indifference
prevalent here about public matters.

The time of Robespierre, or “la regne de la terreur,” as it is commonly
called, is often the subject of conversation, and it is mentioned
with as much disgust and horror as in other countries; yet it never
seems to occur to any one, that in having been the tacit spectators
and instruments of the murders committed at that time, the inhabitants
of this country were parties to his crimes. But it is perhaps absurd
to complain of the present want of feeling, when we recollect the
strange unconcern with which, under the immediate terror and view of
the _guillotine_, the persons confined in the different prisons, while
they awaited their turn of cruelty, engaged in every sort of frivolous
amusement. I have been assured, by those who were themselves in custody
at that unhappy period, that toilets were made, parties planned, cards
played, scandal talked of, assemblies arranged, and little jealousies
entertained, in the very caverns of death. More than one person was taken
from the dinner table, or the game of chess, to the place of execution.
From a nation so strangely indifferent to its dearest interests, what
intelligence can you expect to collect? If you ask a question relating
to those dreadful moments, instead of a simple answer of facts, you
receive a violent philippic against the memory of a man, too infamous
even to deserve the honours of abuse. If you make an inquiry about the
present constitution, you are laughed at, and, _pour toute réponse_, are
told, “C’est Bonaparte qui fait tout—tout lui est soumis—tout lui est
possible.[95]”

A gentleman and his wife, proposing to visit Paris, particularly if they
happen to be attached to each other, and have no decided rank, ought
carefully to provide themselves with all the letters of recommendation
which they can possibly obtain, if they wish to be admitted into any
of the houses of the parisians. They must remember, that every thing
is calculated in this town, and that, if the female traveller will not
conciliate the masters of families by her smiles, nor her husband by
presents and attentions to the ladies, no door will be opened which is
not forced open by the imperious command of some person, on whose power
and interest the party depends. With the most insignificant title, or
the lowest order of chivalry, something may be done, for these add to
the splendour of an assembly; but without these advantages, and without
vice, foreigners live but dully in this gay city. An english lady, of
superiour talents, observed to me one day, with great truth, that she
never discovered that her title of “countess” was of any use, till she
entered the territory of the french republic. I ought also to mention,
that it seldom happens in this country, that a person, to whom a stranger
is recommended, thinks it necessary to present him to another. Of
course, the number of acquaintance will not exceed that of the letters
with which a foreigner is favoured. It may be doubtful, whether all
of these will be attended to; but, at any rate, the houses of those
to whom he is addressed will form the limits of his society. Families
coming here with children, will have great advantages in procuring them
education. Masters in every science, and in every language, may be had
at a very easy expense. The only antidote is the temptation to pleasure.
Under a certain age, no place can be so well suited to the purposes of
instruction.

Having taken a hasty view of the different situations in which this town
may be visited, I shall conclude my subject by enumerating in what I
conceive London is superiour to Paris, and in what Paris is superiour to
London.

In width, cleanliness, and beauty, the streets of London have such a
decided advantage over those of Paris, that I believe even a frenchman
would acknowledge, that the question could not be disputed. The footpaths
of the former, on which the pedestrian may walk without danger or dirt;
the excellent pavement, which prevents any fatigue from being experienced
in the use of a carriage; and the brilliance of the lamps at night, which
renders the passage, in an evening, from one part of the town to another,
rather a pleasure than a pain, are but ill contrasted by the narrow and
filthy lanes of the latter, in which persons on foot are constantly
exposed to every kind of accident and inconvenience; to the neglected
carriage ways, in moving over which individuals are bruised, and wheels
rapidly worn out, and to the dismal and uncertain light, which a few
lanterns, hung by cords suspended from the opposite houses, faintly
afford. But if the streets of Paris must yield to those of London,
the former city is undoubtedly superiour in its palaces and public
buildings, and in the height, style, and architecture of private houses,
the stone fronts, regular plan, and lofty dimensions of which, have a
very commanding appearance. But though the edifices are finer, and the
arrangement more convenient, each floor consisting of a complete set of
rooms, yet, from their great size, it usually happens that the same house
is inhabited by several families, and the stairs, consequently, becoming
public, are as dirty and as disgusting as the common streets. Where too
an individual keeps an entire house in his possession, the number of his
servants is rarely proportioned to the size of his habitation, and either
only a part is occupied, or the whole is neglected and in bad order.

I cannot help adding, as a singular circumstance, that notwithstanding
the extensive and superiour scale on which private hotels are built at
Paris, I have seldom seen open, at an assembly here, either as many
rooms, or those of such large dimensions, as are met with, on similar
occasions, in families of rank and fashion in London. The reason of this
apparent contradiction, perhaps, is this, that as but one floor (whether
others belong to the same person or not) is generally made use of, the
bed rooms, offices, and antichamber, occupy too large a space to allow
much extent for the apartments devoted to the reception of company.
From the opposite reason, it often happens that a house in London, of
moderate size, has several large rooms, in which a numerous society may
be entertained, though these rooms are scattered on different floors.

In respect to furniture, the houses of the “_parvenus_” are elegantly
and splendidly fitted up. Most of the other private hotels have received
little improvement, repair, or alteration, since the beginning of
the revolution, and are consequently not very remarkable, either for
freshness or novelty of taste. Carpets are not common; and though the
beds are generally better, and in a more ornamental form, than those
usually seen in England, and the antique shapes are most classically
imitated in the decoration of these, and in the chairs, or _fauteuils_;
yet, in other respects, I think our modern manner of fitting up houses
has the advantage over that which generally prevails at Paris. Mahogany,
so commonly used in England for dinner tables, is seldom applied to that
purpose in France; and, as the cloth is never removed, they are made
of deal. _En revanchè_ it forms, instead of gold, the frames of satin
furniture; and the walls of drawing rooms are often ornamented with
that wood. I cannot say, I admire mahogany thus employed; but this is
entirely a matter of taste. Plate glass is, of course, very superiour,