Part 9
I attended the chemical lecture of Fourcroy; he delivers himself with purity, eloquence and cleverness. He exercises (what would be deemed extraordinary in any country but this) the two functions of a public lecturer on science and a Counsellor of State, in which latter capacity he often discusses political measures before the Legislative Body. All the benches of the amphitheatre are in a semicircular form, rising one above the other, and capable of containing 2000 persons. The lecturer is stationed at the bottom, with a large table and apparatus before him.
There is no doubt students in chemistry derive advantages from those lectures, but much of their good effect is impaired by the amphitheatre being considered a fashionable lounge for the idle and a favourite place of “rencontre” between the fair Parisian and her lover. The women constitute a distinguished part of the auditory, and in number and noise are not inferior to the males.
There are thirteen professors in this institution, whereof seven are members of the French “Académie,” or Institut, and one an Associate. _Fourcroy_, Professor of Chemistry; _Desfontaines_, Botany; _Lamark_, Zoology; _Thonin_, Gardening; and _Vanspaendorick_, of Ichnography, have each a pleasant dwelling, free of expense, in the garden. In the centre of the garden and near a pool of water, is a small hamlet, where philosophical students and the curious may entertain themselves on girls and burgundy, of a wretched quality and at a trifling expense. I am at a loss to explain how the sage superintendent of his museum should have licensed the existence of his hovel, devoted to disreputable practices, in the sequestered bowers of Acadème. Unless it be meant as a practical illustration of the moral tendency of Darwin’s Loves of the Plants--a work greatly admired here. The Botanical Garden, itself, fell very far short of my expectations; it is neither well laid out nor pleasing to the eye.
The garden is about 2000 feet long and 700 wide, divided into three alleys, terminating in the public walks.
Henry IV. was the first who established a Botanical Garden in France. He authorised John Robin to rear in a private garden some plants several navigators had brought from America. It was his intention to have had this garden in Paris, but he was persuaded that these exotics would flourish better in the southern part of France; in consequence, Montpellier was preferred, and a physician appointed in 1598 to superintend the enterprise. But Gui la Brosse[1] persuaded Louis XIII. some twenty years later of the inconvenience of this arrangement, and an edict was issued for the establishment of the present “Jardin des Plantes.” By la Brosse’s exertions two thousand plants were placed in it, in the space of ten years.
The Government then numbered three professors to make known their properties and virtues and an exhibitor to display them.
The Garden was, in course of time, greatly enlarged and beautified, but its most rapid progress was during the reign of the late unfortunate Louis XVI.
[Sidenote: REMINISCENCES OF THE TERROR]
On the left of the Museum is a plantation of trees and shrubs, called “The Labyrinth.” The greatest part of the trees are ever-green, and there is a noble cedar of Lebanon. It was brought from England and planted by the famous Bertrand de Sussien[1] in the year 1734; beneath its shades stands a pedestal, formerly supporting the bust of Linnæus,[1] which was destroyed by the revolutionists under the notion it represented an aristocrat. From the top of the Labyrinth there is a very extensive view of Paris from a tower, which M. de la Metherie[1] and myself ascended, the ladies and S---- having returned home. Here, while we were looking at the city, M. de la Metherie pointed to a large building, not far distant, and desired me to look at the third window upon the second floor--he further remarked, “I was imprisoned there.” Confounded for the moment by this observation (for I had never understood the ruffians had meddled with him), I could not help laughing, and he joined heartily in my merriment. But two persons standing near, who, though wearing lay attire, were evidently priests, turned round and addressed us with much agitation. “This is not a laughing matter; what honest man has not been imprisoned in this land of _scélérats_?” This observation restored our gravity, and I said to one of them: “I hope, sir, you have not been a sufferer?” To which he abruptly replied: “I was imprisoned five times and sentenced to the guillotine. My life, however, was spared, and, by way of compensation for my sufferings, they took all my property from me!” De la Metherie introduced me, saying, “Monsieur est Anglais.” Upon this they took off hats, and the speaker remarked: “Vous avez raison, monsieur, de vous vous moquer de la France!”
[A] See Appendix.
We requested him to oblige us with his history. He said he lived formerly in Bordeaux and possessed considerable property in that neighbourhood. He had been arrested and confined in the prison of that city, together with a multitude of persons of both sexes. The only accusation against him was, that being a priest, he must necessarily be an aristocrat. He explained that he had not exercised sacerdotal functions since the Decree of the National Convention, and that his whole and sole pursuit was the science of Botany--“Botany!” exclaimed the Judge and President of the Court--“c’est une science royale!--it abounds with aristocratic terms, was the favourite diversion of Kings and Princes, and is of no use to a Republic--your attachment to this study clearly proves your hankering after the old _régime_, and convicts you!” He was hurried off to prison and close confinement at once. However, he escaped destruction, and recovered his liberty by paying a large sum of money as a bribe for his release. He returned with joy to the house of a friend, and was just sitting down to dinner when an officer of the Municipality entered the apartment, stating he had come to arrest him. He acquainted the officer with the fact that he had only two hours before been released by an _arrêt_ of the Municipality. “I know that perfectly well,” was the reply; “you were dismissed upon the charge laid against you, but since then another _serious charge_ has been established against you, by Citizen Tallien,[1] and I am ordered to arrest you _on suspicion of being suspected_!!!” There was no resisting the dreadful name of Tallien, and the unhappy priest was reconducted to his former cage. As the name of Tallien was mentioned, I interrupted the conversation to ask whether the atrocities said to have been committed at Bordeaux by Tallien and Lequino were not greatly exaggerated. He answered “Unhappily those enormities could hardly be exaggerated, for there was scarcely a family in that city and district which did not mourn the murder of a relative or friend.” The butcheries of Tallien were perpetrated chiefly in the streets and on the scaffold. He often took large sums of money from the persons, upon condition of releasing them, and the next day they were sure to be guillotined. This removal from the prison to the scaffold Tallien, in his merry moods, used to call a Republican release in full of all demands. Lequino[1] was never suspected of having realised money in this manner, he confined his little peculations to the public revenues. But his brutal and ferocious nature exercised itself within as well as without the walls of the prisons, by frequently shooting at the prisoners with pistols and killing them without any discrimination. He dined almost daily with the public executioners.
[Sidenote: PERSECUTED PRIEST AND PHILOSOPHER]
But to continue--after a long confinement, the priest was brought to a trial with a number of other persons, and charged with conspiring against the Republic. He and they were all found guilty and condemned to public execution. But at that moment a courier arrived with news of the fall and death of Robespierre, and orders to suspend all carnage until further directions from the Committee of Public Safety.
“What evidence was adduced against you?” I asked.
“None, save that I was a _ci-devant_ minister of religion.”
“You have suffered,” said I, “because you were a priest; and here,” pointing to de la Metherie, “is one who has suffered because he was a philosopher.”
In the progress of the fiery Revolution, the different Governments of France must have been inspired by the spirit of a merry devil, for if such charges were sufficient to deprive a man of his liberty nine-tenths of the French people ought to have been locked up. But although de la Metherie was in no way interested in politics, he was suspected of being a suspicious man. When the ruling power wished to criminate or murder a man, every circumstance of his life from infancy was raked up and passed under review, and therefore no accused individual could hope to escape if his destruction was decided upon.
The accusation against this philosopher was that of coolness, indifference and incivism, because, amidst the noise of arms and domestic slaughter, he continued to cultivate in the sequestered shade of private life, the philosophy of nature.
By a miracle he escaped--the fall of the tyrant Robespierre calmed the fury of the Terror, and de la Metherie was more fortunate than Lavoisier[1]--after a few months’ rigorous confinement he was released from his prison. He was permitted to return to his house, the seals were taken off his library, his beautiful collections of plants and minerals, and his manuscripts. The _Journal de Physique_, which he had edited for above twenty years, again shone forth in all its wonted splendour.
Monsieur de la Metherie assured me that during the time of the Revolutionary Tribunals, it was in serious contemplation to reduce the population of France to 14,000,000. Dubois Crouée[1] was a very distinguished and enthusiastic partisan of this humane and philosophical policy.
One of the most horrible and affecting anecdotes I ever heard related to a young married lady of rank and beauty, whose husband was immured in the same prison cell with de la Metherie. After having solicited one Bureau, petitioned another, and bribed a third in vain to obtain her husband’s liberty, she applied in person to the representative of the people, by whose influence her husband had been arrested. The hypocritical assassin returned her supplications with scorn. At length after many entreaties he informed her that there was _one_ way in which she might obtain her husband’s liberty. Anxious to save his life, the distracted female sacrificed her honour to the brutal lust of this deputy of the National Convention. On the next day, when she went to the prison to bring to her husband the joyful news of his impending delivery, she found him bound and seated in the cart, which a moment later carried him to the place of execution. Frantic with rage and despair, and shuddering with horror at the unavailing sacrifice she had made of her chastity, the hapless young woman rushed into the presence of her betrayer and severely rebuked him for his perfidy; in return for which he caused her to be arrested, and she was guillotined upon the following day.
XVII
THE ARSENAL. SITE OF THE BASTILLE. FAUBOURG STE. ANTOINE. THE DONJON DE VINCENNES. SHORT ACCOUNT OF FRANÇOIS DE NEUFCHÂTEAU. THE TEMPLE
[Sidenote: THE ARSENAL]
My principal object in going beyond the Bois des Vincennes was to examine the agricultural dispositions and the improved plough of François de Neufchâteau,[1] who has obtained a considerable celebrity in France for the great encouragement he, when Minister of the Interior, afforded to husbandry.
In this excursion we were accompanied by two men of very different political characters. Monsieur P----, an avowed Royalist, and Monsieur Dumond,[1] a moderate Republican. The former is distinguished for his dramatic writings and by a very ingenious mode he has invented to enable foreigners to pronounce French correctly without the aid of an instructor. Monsieur Dumond is what we should call a gentleman farmer--and has a large establishment at Epluches, near Pontoise, where he makes an annual exhibition of sheep reared upon his own estate. He possesses excellent stock and great skill in this branch of rural economy. We promised ourselves great pleasure from the political battle I was determined they should wage, and the instructive conversation of M. Dumond upon farming and agricultural subjects.
After traversing the city in an easterly direction we alighted at the Arsenal. This place was gutted at the outbreak of the Revolution to supply arms to the sovereign people. It has never since been replenished.
There are, however, still some considerable quantity of arms in it, but I observed nothing particularly deserving of notice. The Bastille, so famous in the early history of the Revolution, from having been the first fortress over which the triumphant banner of the people waved, is now no more. But the gardens, the “fosse,” and part of the wall remain. The site of the Bastille, which the French vainly flattered themselves would become their Runnymede, is instead a lasting monument of their unfitness to be free--for it is impossible to walk over these ruins without despising a race of men who, in a paroxysm of jealousy, pulled down an ancient fortress for the sake of liberty, and twelve years later suffered their whole country to be converted into a vast prison where free speech and a free press are not tolerated.
From the site of the Bastille we proceeded along the Faubourg St. Antoine, now the cleanest and most unfrequented part of Paris. What a melancholy silence now reigns in that place! Who would suppose that this district of Paris was formerly the focus of intrigue and its inhabitants the successive instruments of every ambitious adventurer--of an Orleans, a Robespierre,[1] a Marat and a Babœuf?[1] In the days of the Convention this was the arsenal of blood and murder, here pikes were forged and poignards sharpened, and from hence an armed banditti issued to execute the bloody mandate of demagogues. But now no spirit-stirring drum is heard, no uplifted bleeding heads are carried as standards by butchering battalions. Santerre himself scarce dare show his face, and the whole Jacobin colony has been disarmed, and by a little thing from Corsica, who, acting as lieutenant to Barras in 1794, commenced his military operations against the liberties of France by a triumph over the fanatics of this Faubourg. The pikemen stand in awe of the heroes of Lodi and Marengo, who surround the palace of the usurper. Santerre, it is true, often murmurs vengeance, but the Government either laugh at this consequential man of no consequence or treat him with the most perfect contempt. He had an interview with Bonaparte soon after the latter became First Consul and was received with civility and attention, but the Consular Guard was not then formed, and Santerre might still be useful. Bonaparte, who must have heard that at the first fire of the Vendéans upon the Parisian Guard, Santerre actually ran away, said: “I think, general, you made war in La Vendée.” “Oui, général,” replied the brewer, “avec beaucoup d’éclat.” The Corsican grinned a smile, and Santerre withdrew, and boasted after the interview “that Bonaparte had treated him with proper consideration and acknowledged his great services in La Vendée.”
[Sidenote: VINCENNES]
The famous donjon de Vincennes is situated close by the public road, in the middle of a wood, and was in ancient times a royal castle, where State prisoners were confined. Since the Revolution it has been converted into a common jail--at present it is reserved entirely for deserters and runaway conscripts. We found about 600 of these in confinement. They were walking in the courtyard, and seemed extremely sorrowful and dejected.
We were not permitted to enter the Gothic tower, which is the finest part of The building; but if we may form an estimate of the interior by the exterior, the state prisoners formerly lodged there must have drawn out a wretched existence--yet here were confined the great Condé and the celebrated Mirabeau.
The attraction of this fortress is its antiquity. Draw-bridges, battlements, covered galleries and fosses display the ancient mode of defence. Some companies of infantry and a troop of horse are in barracks within the walls. After having sufficiently gratified our curiosity we continued our route, and the name of Mirabeau being mentioned I thought a favourable opportunity had arrived for us to enjoy our French companions.
The project succeeded, and the Revolution was furiously discussed from the time of Mirabeau to the present hour. I asked M. Dumond (the Republican) what was now the pay to the different ranks of general? M. P---- (the Royalist) answered before his friend had time to reply: “Nothing, we allow them to thrive and take what they please.” This unexpected answer produced a good laugh, in which M. Dumond joined. Some days after, happening to be in company with a celebrated general, as honest as it is possible for a modern French general to be, I asked him whether it was true that the Republican generals received no salary from the State, but were at liberty to take what they pleased, he answered: “You have been misinformed. The French generals are _well_ paid; but as they are fond of good living and their expenses are great, they naturally make some provision for themselves out of the contributions of conquered countries.” This reply fully confirmed M. P----’s assertion.
At the extremity of the Bois de Vincennes in a hollow stands the Château of Monsieur François. All the country hereabouts is in a fine state of cultivation, the fruits exquisite, and the wine from the vineyards is highly esteemed in Paris.
Monsieur François de Neufchâteau’s house is of moderate size, the gardens large and well disposed. The barns and other out-houses make a respectable appearance, but I perceive none of the animals essential to husbandry or a thrifty farmyard. Most of the ground we went over had been sown. I perceived, however, no grass or meadow land. The French are an age behind us in this branch of agriculture. All the arable land was well cleared and showed care and attention had been bestowed upon it. But I saw no yards, either near or distant to the house, for raising poultry or pigs, &c., which constitute no small proportion of the wealth of a well-managed farm.
After we had sufficiently viewed the general distribution of the grounds, we examined the improved drill plough, to inspect which had been the principal object of our journey. But I discovered not a single property in it which is not already known to the English agriculturist.
[Sidenote: FRANÇOIS DE NEUFCHÂTEAU]
Perhaps I am wrong in thus entering into the particulars of a farm which, though in a very satisfactory state, promises to be much better when the owner’s attention can be spared upon it. The house has not long been in the possession of its present proprietor. There are only two bedrooms furnished and not one sitting-room, though there is an excellent library, containing many beautiful editions of the most celebrated works.
The gallery upon the first floor contains some interesting plans and drawings of canals and other public works of France, conceived, executed or repaired when M. de Neufchâteau was Minister of the Interior.
Monsieur Nicholas François, for that is his real and only proper name, was born at the village of Neufchâteau, where he married a woman like himself of humble parentage, and endeavoured to live by writing poetry and scribbling nonsensical verses.
He is the first instance in the history of nations of a poet who exchanged his tattered garments for the mantle of a chief magistrate. M. François being cast upon the surface of the revolutionary cauldron, contributed his humble mite in the holy work of human regeneration, under a variety of Protean shapes, sometimes as a punster in the public journals, at other times by striking off a few _calembours_ and diatribes and then by some fine-spun antitheses, and next by fulsome adulations heaped on the great scoundrels who have successively disturbed the peace of France and of mankind. M. François contrived to at length receive the reward of his indefatigable labours, in the appointment to the very arduous and important functions of Minister of the Interior to the French Revolution.
No sooner had he begun to figure upon the revolutionary stage, over which was inscribed _Liberty_, _Equality_, _Abolition of Titles and Privileged Caste_, than he assumed the feudal name of François de Neufchâteau, a name to which under the old _régime_ he would have no more pretensions than the political adventurer who now rules France would have to that of Bonaparte of Ajaccio.
Another instance of his philosophic mind was shown at the same time. He discarded his virtuous wife, the humble companion of his adverse fortunes, as unworthy to share in the splendour of his new situation, and a handsome and elegant woman was introduced in her stead as mistress of his mansion, and she still continues to fill in the midst of plenty and opulence the place of a legitimate wife now driven to want and wretchedness.
But these are trifles in Paris at the present day, and Monsieur François de Neufchâteau passes for a mild, amiable and _virtuous_ man.
Of the administration of this man I shall have much to say in a future letter, he certainly contributed towards the establishment of many salutary institutions in the Republic, _i.e._, he revived such of the old government as were contented to promote the happiness and prosperity of France upon the return of a general peace.
I am the more astounded at this as from the conversation I had with him and from the relations made to me by those most intimately acquainted with him he appeared to be a man of weak, contemptible and superficial character. Nevertheless we find him in a short time seated upon the curule chair, and forming one of that junto of rapacious tyrants who under the name of the Executive Directory, by their imbecility, wickedness and crimes, prepared the way for the reign of the usurper who stole like a coward from Egypt to complete the misery of France. François, it appears, took no active part in the directorship, he was merely an empurpled pageant, whose sole occupation was to sign his name whenever ordered to do so by his more wily colleagues. At length finding his situation irksome he profited by an offer from his more ambitious partners and left the Government before the Government left him. In consideration of a douceur of a million livres, £40,000 sterling, he connived at a sham ballot by which he voluntarily blackballed himself from the further enjoyment of the executive magistracy.
[Sidenote: VISIT TO THE TEMPLE]
His conduct was fortunate as well as prudent. For when the Corsican made short work of the Directory, instead of being banished like Barras[1] or discarded like la Reveillère[1] and Leproux, we find him admitted into the new tyrant’s Senate and actively receiving at the present time £2000 a year sterling during his life for registering the edicts of his master. This annuity, together with his £40,000 indemnification money, and the little pickings he was able to secure during his Ministry, enable him to live in better style than ever before fell to the lot of a French rhymer, for he can now jingle cash as well as the words of the great nation.