Part 7

The Palais Royale is an immense building, in the form of a parallelogram, within which is a garden distributed into separate gravelled walks. In the piazzas which run along the sides of the edifice are shops, coffee-houses, bagnios, money-changers, gambling-houses, and stockbrokers. The jewellers’ shops are as numerous and brilliant as if neither misery nor miserable human beings existed. You see nothing but chains, half pearl, half diamond. The woollen drapers unfurl from the top of their shops to the floor every kind of stuff. The stuffs are under your hand, no one watching you; and the master is careless and sorry when you ask him the price.

The odour of exquisite ragouts ascends in vapours to the air, the side tables are loaded with fruit, confectionery and pastry, and you may dine to the sound of musical instruments and French horns played by girls who are _not_ nymphs of Diana. Petty gaming-houses support the shops of women who sell garters, lavender water, toothbrushes and sealing-wax. Booksellers’ shops allure the libertine and entrap innocent youth. Pictures from curious collection books, licentious engravings, libidinous novels serve as signs to a crowd of loose women, lodging in the wooden shops. Their nets are ten feet distant from the sauntering youth, idle and already emaciated in the flower of his age. Above the wooden shops are gambling-rooms, where all the passions and torments of hell are assembled.

As soon as the day closes all the arcades are suddenly illuminated, the shops become resplendent and the crowd more numerous. This is the moment when the gaming-houses open under the sanction of the Government and afford it a productive revenue. While the great sharpers are employed in the drawing-rooms above, the lesser ones are at work in the through passages, which communicate with the adjacent street and serve as gliding holes to swarms of pickpockets and money jobbers. Your steps under the arcades are arrested by smoke, which pricks your eyes, it is the kitchen flame of the restaurateurs. Close to them are the balls beginning in subterraneous grottoes. Across the air-holes you see circles of girls, leaping, giggling, rushing on their gallants like Bacchantes. In the auction rooms the brokers, dealers, retailers are all seated. Women’s wigs, chimney pendulums, shawls, handkerchiefs, shirts, beds _â la Duchesse_ were sold to the highest bidder. Spies of the police prowl in every coffee house, but no one dares now talk politics in them. Under the arcades are holes of shops, where young girls attract the passengers by their glances. These places are the assiduous rendezvous of every man fattened by rapine, army contractors, agents, administrators of tontines and lotteries, professors of nocturnal robberies, and stock-jobbers.

These places are to the seraglio what the cookshops are to the restaurateurs. At these latter places you are served by a nod. The dish is placed on the table the moment it is ordered. Private rooms offer you everything to satiate gluttony and sensuality. The glasses which decorate them offer to the libidinous eye of an old satyr the charms of his mistress, and all the seats are elastic. There is a private saloon in which you drink the coolest liquors, and where burnt incense escapes from boxes in light cloudy streams. There you dine _à l’Orientale_! and find on certain days all the pomp and singularity of a repast of Trimalcion. On a signal given the ceiling opens, and from above descended heathen goddesses in classical attire. The amateurs choose, and the divinities, not of Olympus, but the ceiling, join the mortals.

[Sidenote: GARDEN OF THE PALAIS ROYALE]

Such is the infected lazar house, placed in the middle of a great city, which has reduced the whole of society to degradation and corruption. Independently of the fatal contagion of gaming, the excuses of cupidity under all its forms, and the licentiousness of morals, blasphemy and infidelity in every mouth, and at every moment, brutal and depraved language has pervaded every condition and made a sport of sacred words heretofore never pronounced without respect. Everywhere you meet troops of children, without order or modesty, who swear, blaspheme, and scandalise chaste and pious ears. At Sodom and Gomorra they would not have allowed such books to circulate as are printed and sold in the Palais Royale. The infamous work of De Sade,[1] “Justine, or the Misfortunes of Virtue,” is exposed on every stall, and a hundred other productions, equally distinguished for turpitude and vice, are there to finish the decomposition of what instinctive morality remains in the hearts of young people.

I cannot help expressing the utmost indignation against the compiler of a publication just issued, entitled, “A Practical Guide, during a journey from London to Paris,” in which the writer asserts “that no station, no age, no temper could leave the Palais Royale without an ardent desire to return.” It is proper the English public should not be thus abused by perversions and falsehoods, and on this account I have entered more fully into a detail of the wanton and disgusting scenes at the Palais Royale than their monstrous enormities would otherwise deserve.

Accompanied by an English gentleman, like myself a married man, we visited every part of this Temple of Sin, and we agreed in opinion that as long as it existed it will be vain to look in Paris for any sincere demonstrations of either moral probity, decency in private or honesty in public life. The Government appears sensible of the evil, though they have taken no steps to prevent it. It is believed, and from what I have seen I do not entertain the least doubt upon the subject, that they _protect_ these scenes of voluptuousness for the purpose of enervating the minds and diverting the attentions of the Parisians from the consideration of public affairs.

If this is not the case why should the legislators and the Government be continually preaching up the advantage of morality, and the necessity of establishing a national education system for the encouragement of virtue and the suppression of vice, when they receive at the same time a considerable revenue from the wages of harlots and the profits of gambling-houses? Why is a soldier stationed at the door of every one of these dens of impurity but to demonstrate that they are tolerated? There is another circumstance which is noticeable in the Palais Royale, this is the domineering aspect and conduct of the military, the airs and consequence assumed by the soldiers, and the manifest superiority they affect and maintain over their fellow citizens. Every one makes room for them to pass, the officers strut or saunter along arm in arm, the clinking of their sabres along the pavement announcing their approach warns the servile citizen to make way. The very prostitute, leaning on the arm of the large whiskered regimental pantaloon, feels an importance far above her sisters. She laughs and talks loud, and as she moves exacts from the spectators the ecstatic apostrophe: “_Eh! regardez-là, comme elle est belle!_”

These things are better ordered in our country, which is at once a land of liberty and of paramount laws. The soldier, with us, comprehends the obligation he owes the laws, and while he displays the utmost loyalty to his sovereign he associates under the idea of duty a regard for his fellow subjects. I cannot conclude this subject without noticing a remark made to me by one of the founders of the French Revolution, an ex-Bishop and now a member of the Senate.

The thing [said he] which gives me most pleasure in your English institutions is the general appearance of moral conduct that everywhere prevails, the astonishing observance of Sunday and holy days, the respect for religion, and the orderly and unaffected manners of your soldiers, who are neither insolent nor consequential, but who seem to feel they are neither masters nor slaves.

XIV

EXCURSION TO VERSAILLES

Versailles is four leagues from Paris, and the road leading to it is perhaps the finest and most elegant in the world. I was prompted by curiosity to pass two or three days in a city formerly the seat of government and pleasure, and which now presents a striking contrast with its ancient splendour. When I last saw Versailles it was the pride and boast of the French nation. What a change does it now exhibit! how silent are those streets, formerly the scenes of gaiety, bustle and delight! In consequence of the events of the Revolution and the removal of the Court, its population is reduced from 80,000 to 18,000 souls. It is now, therefore, the cheapest town in France, and to those who are fond of sequestered walks and retired scenery offers a most enchanting residence. There are excellent libraries, quiet and good society, plenty of rational amusements, and the disgusting orgies of vice and sensuality so prevalent in the capital are here unknown.

[Sidenote: EXCURSION TO VERSAILLES]

The Palace is built on an elevated site, and is a gorgeous and massy pile. The following is the account given of its origin. Louis XIII. purchased the land of John de Soissy[1] in 1627, and erected upon it a hunting lodge. Louis XIV. was delighted with the site, and decided to erect a magnificent Palace upon this spot. He collected skilful architects and artists, converted the village into a city and the hunting lodge into the finest royal residence in the world. The work commenced in 1673, and was completed in 1680. The artists employed were Mansard[1] for the architecture, André le Nostre[1] for the arrangement of the gardens, and Charles le Brun[1] for the department of painting, sculpture and design. The stables were planned by Mansard, commenced in 1679 and completed in 1685, they are remarkable for the regularity of their structure, and relieved by some good pieces of sculpture.

The entrance to the interior of the Palace by the grand marble staircase is closed. It was the original design of the Government to have converted this Palace into a museum of the French School, by retaining the paintings and ornaments it contained. But since the whole of the Republic is now squeezed to furnish wealth and splendour to the Metropolis, the greater part of those paintings have been removed to Paris. The Cabinet of Natural History has also been stripped of all its beauties for the benefit of the Parisians. We entered by the last staircase on the North Terrace, into the Saloon of Hercules, sixty-four feet long by fifty-four feet broad, superbly decorated. The ceiling is painted with a representation of Olympus and the apotheosis of Hercules. In the middle of this saloon is the marble Cupid formerly in the Temple of Love at Trianon.

The second great apartment is the Hall of Plenty, the ceiling painted by Houdon,[1] then comes the Hall of Diana, painted by Blanchard.[1] The fourth apartment is called the Hall of Mars. Audran[1] has painted this deity in his car, surrounded by all his martial attributes. Here is an ingenious mechanical clock by Moraud, which played a carillon every hour, but since the Revolution the tunes have been altered. Through the Halls of Mercury and Apollo we reach the Saloon of War. Over the chimney-piece is a fine oval bas-relief of Mars on horseback, but as the head of Mars was a copy of the features of Louis XV., the Sovereign People thought proper to knock it off. It is in contemplation to repair this mischief by placing a resemblance of a celebrated Corsican gentleman in the stead of the former master.

It would be folly to dispute the superiority of the French in the art of decoration; their public edifices, without excluding those constructed since the Revolution, exhibit the highest proof of excellence in the ornamental art, and in no part of Europe is there any apartment to compare with the Grand Gallery of Versailles, for both arrangements or magnificence. It is 220 feet in length, 30 in breadth and 32 in height, and contains seventeen large windows, opposite which are as many arcades, filled with looking-glasses that reflect the gardens and their water pieces.

Between the arcades and the windows are forty-eight pilasters of the rarest marbles, the bases and capitals being of gilded bronze.

[Sidenote: EXCURSION TO VERSAILLES]

The Gallery terminates in the Saloon of Peace, which formed part of the apartments of the Queen of France. Beyond this chamber are two apartments, which complete this magnificent suite, they are superbly ornamented with plate glasses, vases, columns and busts. In the last there are twenty-two paintings by Leseuer, brought from the Chartreuse monastery.

Formerly we might have passed through the apartments of the late King and descended by the marble staircase, but these rooms are now all occupied by military invalids. We had to return through the state saloons and descend to the gallery which leads to the Opera House, unquestionably the most magnificent in Europe. This building was commenced in 1753, and it was only finally completed in 1770, being first used for the festivities given in honour of the marriage of the late unfortunate Louis XVI., then Dauphin.

It would be tedious to detail every particular of this elegant hall, suffice it to observe that it combines taste with splendour, and that the orchestra is large enough to contain eighty musicians. The Chapel of the Palace was finished in the year 1710 and is a superb monument. This chapel has been preserved with great care from the havoc of the Revolution, and is in the same state as when it was the daily resort of the Royal family of France.

The Library is detached from the Palace, and consists of a collection of books in different languages, by no means comparable, either for choice or arrangement, to his Majesty’s collection at Buckingham House.

One compartment was peculiarly appropriated to the use of the late King and Queen, and their handwriting is often to be met with in turning over the books. There is a splendid volume in vellum, containing an account of a tournament given by Louis XIV. at the conclusion of a general peace, when the Princes of the blood and the nobility appeared in costumes of different nations and characters. Larcher’s translation of Herodotus is printed on the richest paper I ever beheld. The librarian tells me it was a favourite work of Louis XVI.

The Palace is surrounded to the west by three enclosures the last of which, called the Great Park, is thirty miles in circumference, and comprises the villages of Bac, St. Cyr, Bois d’Arcy Bailly. On the north of this Great Park are Nursery Gardens, and on the south the furthermost ponds and aqueducts which conduct into the reservoirs of the Deer Park. There were very few deer there, but an immense quantity of game, which has been entirely destroyed by the Sovereign People. The circuit of the little park comprises several farms, one of which, the Menagerie, has been presented by Bonaparte to the celebrated Abbé Siezes.[1] This property and Trianon are enclosed at the two extremities of the two arms of the canal.

The most noble entrance to the Park is by the great stairs of the greenhouse. When the waterworks played the _coup d’œil_ was exquisite. Various parts of the garden are ornamented with groves, groups, antique statues, bottes, vases, basins and fountains in marble, bronze or gilded metal. The principal groves are the Rock or Bath of Apollo, the colonnade, the domes and the three fountains.

The Bath of Apollo is the masterpiece of Girardon.[1] This divinity is represented surrounded by nymphs offering their services, the two groups of horses held by Tritons are admirably executed. The figures of Apollo and the nymphs are on an elevated situation at the entrance of the Grotto of Thetis, upon the top of a rock which has been wrought into a most romantic form. On either side the horses are seen in the act of drinking; a large quantity of water falls into a great reservoir, with wild and picturesque beauty, and the whole piece is enclosed within a plantation of wild and exotic trees. Nothing can exceed the extreme beauty of this spot and the exquisite sculpture of the horses.

[Sidenote: VERSAILLES]

The Grove of the Colonnade is remarkable for the group representing the Rape of Proserpine. The Domes contain two cabinets supported by eight marble columns and enriched with bas-reliefs of bronze and metal.

The statues of Amphitrite, Acis and Galatea are the most distinguished in this collection.

All the other groves are ornamented with bas reliefs and pieces of sculpture. The basins of water, fountains, arcades and spouts which abound in them, give additional charm to the scenery.

Amongst the groups scattered about the garden are two by Puget--these are Milo of Crotona and Perseus delivering Andromeda. The great piece of Neptune is a vast basin of water, ornamented with five groups and twenty-two great vases of bronze metal. The principal groups represent Neptune, Amphitrite, Proteus and the Ocean.

The greenhouse was built in 1685, upon the plan of Mansard. The parterre, decorated with marble vases, is surrounded with a considerable number of orange trees, some of them as old as the time of Francis I.

The hothouse is 480 feet long and 38 wide, in the middle is a statue in white marble executed by Dessardin, 10 feet 9 inches high, of Mars, dressed Roman fashion. Why this divinity has been placed in the abode of Flora I have not been able to understand.

Opposite to the greenhouse is a large basin, 2100 feet in length and 700 in breadth, called La Pièce des Suisses, at the extremity of which is an equestrian statue of Louis XIV. They have changed the traits of the countenance so that it now represents Quintus Curtius. These metamorphoses are very common in France, and have been occasionally carried to blasphemous impiety. A picture represented the Descent of the Saviour from the Mountain--the countenance of the Redeemer was altered so as to represent that of Robespierre; should the painting descend in this dishonoured state to posterity it will be a memorable record of the iniquity and madness of the days of the Terror.

On one side of the Pièce des Suisses are 50 acres of land, which formerly served as the King’s Garden.

The canal is 4800 feet in length, the two branches join on one side of Trianon; but the whole is in a wretched state and almost destitute of water.

Trianon, called in the twelfth century Trianum, is the name of an ancient palace belonging to the diocese of Chartres. Louis XIV. purchased it from the Abbaye of Ste. Geneviève. It has always been called the region of flowers on account of the enchanting gardens, by which it is surrounded. The two wings are united by a peristyle of twenty-two columns of the Doric order, and the whole building contains only a ground floor.

The gallery and the billiard-rooms are ornamented with a great many different views of Versailles and Trianon, but all the gilded fleurs de lys which were affixed to the frames have been torn off by order of the Jacobin Municipality at Versailles. A fine portrait of the Emperor Joseph II. in this Palace was destroyed years ago.

Charles Delacroix attended the sale of the movables, and when this picture was put up to be sold, he observed to the citizens that no true Republican could desire to have any resemblance of the family of Marie Antoinette, and therefore he should serve this portrait as he would like to deal with all kings. Accordingly he drew a carving knife from his side and decapitated the Emperor Joseph. It was Hildebrand, the Suisse keeper of Trianon, from whom we heard this anecdote; and as he told it to us, he grinned a horrible and ghastly smile over the acts of the Revolutionists.

Little Trianon is at the extremity of the Park belonging to Trianon. The beautiful gardens are now going to decay. The pavilion and grounds are held for three years at the rent of 18,000 livres (£750 sterling a year) by a man who was formerly cook to the late Queen. He realises considerable sums by the curiosity of the traveller and the visit of Parisian cockneys, the admissions being a franc for each male and half a franc for each female.

[Sidenote: VERSAILLES]

But although he contracted to keep the place in good repair he has allowed it to go to ruin. For instance, the lovely little Temple of Love, situated in the midst of artificial rocks and surrounded by a thick wood, has been completely ransacked, the marble floor pulled up and removed and the little Cupid transferred to Versailles. All the cottages are falling to pieces, and the water has been drawn off the lake.

This once enchanting spot was once the favourite resort of the late Queen, who often amused herself in sailing thither from the sheet of water in the Great Park.

These are the chief places of any note at Versailles. I have been rather minute in my narrative in order to establish a comparison between the ancient and present state of that celebrated place.

Versailles, as the capital of the Department, possesses a Criminal Tribunal, composed of a President, two Judges and Assistants, a Registrar and a sworn Commissary.

Justices of the Peace abound in every district, but it is in contemplation to reduce their number.

A project has been submitted to the Council-General of Versailles to make a number of embellishments and build a magnificent town hall for the use of the mayor and municipality; but as the town is already considerably in debt it would be a prudent and honest measure, though one not much practised by the present French Government, to postpone these decorations until they have liquidated their debts.

An hospital, under very excellent administration, is established here, and there are public baths near the park, open from four in the morning till nine at night.

We passed our time very agreeably at Versailles and were well accommodated, though the charges could not be called reasonable. The expenses of a dinner for four and lodging for ourselves and two servants for one night amounted to over four pounds sterling. We arrived at an unlucky moment in the hotel. For a young Irishman of rank was unfortunately in the house with his newly-married bride, and when we reflected that in less than six weeks’ residence in Paris he contrived to spend £16,000 it was not surprising that we too were bled in honour of our national character for generosity.

An English gentleman of our acquaintance and also personally acquainted with this young man and his lady, paid them a visit, and told me that they displayed to him a purchase of fifty-six snuff-boxes and twenty-five watches.

This recital excited our merriment, and we tried to imagine what motive could induce those young persons to throw away their money in such a ridiculous manner. He could not take snuff, it always made him sick. A man of his fortune could not have bought those trinkets as an article of merchandise, and they were too many and certainly unsuitable to decorate the girdle of his lady at a birthnight ball.[2]

Finally we united in surmising that these costly articles were intended as presents for the electors of the county of X----, for which he proposed to be returned as member at the coming election.

Having now thoroughly investigated the _remains_ of the once magnificent Versailles, we took leave of Mr. B----, who set off for La Vendée, and returned to Paris through the Bois de Boulogne.

XV

ACCOUNT OF AN ESTABLISHMENT AT CHAILLOT FOR THE RECEPTION OF THE AGED AND DESTITUTE

[Sidenote: ASYLUM FOR AGED AT CHAILLOT]