Part 9 (1/2)
Our first tramp for a sight was to Notre Dame; and I shall never forget, Charley, my first view of this cathedral. The exterior is more striking than any church edifice that I have yet seen. No engraving can afford a fair idea of its grandeur to one who has not seen it, though it will help my mind, to recall its beauties whenever I see the picture. You are so well read about Paris, that I hardly need tell you that eight centuries have rolled away since Notre Dame was built. It is regarded as the n.o.blest Gothic pile in France, and is the pride of Paris. The front is one hundred and twenty feet wide, and the richness of the carvings upon the exterior is wonderful. I am really glad to see that great pains are taking to restore and adorn this church. The decayed stones are taken out, and new ones replaced, and the carvings also are renewed where necessary, so that future ages may see what so delights us. The two towers are forty feet square and two hundred high, and you ascend by a staircase of four hundred steps. The form of the church is that of the Latin cross. Its dimensions inside are four hundred feet by one hundred and forty, and the height is one hundred feet. All through the cathedral is a line of Gothic arches supported by columns, and, as you enter the great door, you see the entire edifice. The walls look bare to my eye, in spite of the paintings. We were much pleased at seeing the spot where Napoleon was crowned; and George was in ecstasies, for you know how thoroughly he goes in for his beau ideal of the hero. Here are, the splendid candelabra which the emperor gave on the occasion. We heard ma.s.s, but the service was very formal, and the priest might have been a real downeaster, for he had a horrid nasal tw.a.n.g, and his ”_sanctissime_” was ”_shanktissime_.” The history of these churches is strange, and I think a pretty good book might be written on the romance of church architecture. The portal of the north aisle of the choir was erected by a vile a.s.sa.s.sin, the Duke of Burgundy, who murdered his cousin, the Duke of Orleans, in 1407. This, of course, was his penance, and fully expiated his crime. The great bell weighs thirty-two thousand pounds, and was baptized in presence of Louis XIV., and is called Emanuel Louise Therese, after his queen. I cannot attempt to describe the beauties of this building, inside or out. The exterior is all flying b.u.t.tresses, crocketed pinnacles, and sculpture. Inside you see chapel after chapel; and as to windows of painted gla.s.s, they are studies for hours. The rose windows are exquisite.
We repaired to a small chapel used as a sacristy, or treasure-house of the church. Here we saw the coronation robes of Napoleon, and splendid capes and embroideries, in gold and silver, given by Charles X. and Louis Philippe; and here, too, is the vertebrae of the late Archbishop of Paris, who was killed in the revolution of 1848. The bone has a silver arrow tracing the course of the bullet, which lies beside it. This is in time to be a saintly relic, but it seems to me a filthy sight, and in wretched taste. But Popery knows well what to do with dead men's bones.
For a minute description of this church, I would refer you to three volumes, called the ”History of Paris,” published by Galignani. On our return we went to the Hotel de Ville, and had the company of M. O----n, whose kindness did much for us on several occasions. The Hotel de Ville stands in the Place de Greve, where so much blood has been shed in other days. Here the martyrs of the Protestant faith have been put to death. Here it was that Dubourg was strangled and burnt by order of Francis II. Dubourg was a n.o.ble character. His last words were, ”Father, abandon me not; neither will I abandon thee.”
This n.o.ble pile was begun in 1533, and only completed in 1841, and in the modern improvements fifteen millions have been expended. The whole now forms an immense quadrangle. The front is Corinthian, with pillars and niches between the windows. A vast number of statues adorn the front, and others are in preparation.
It was at the doorway in the centre that Lamartine, ”the n.o.blest Roman of them all,” so gloriously withstood the mob in February, 1848, declaring that the red flag should not be the flag of France. I wish you could see this palace, for such it is, though occupied by the city authorities. London has nothing to approach it in splendor. The staircases are gorgeous, and are so rich in sculpture that only a sculptor could properly speak of them. We saw the room where Robespierre held his council and attempted suicide, and also the window where our Lafayette embraced Louis Philippe, and presented him to the mob in 1830. It is the same window where poor Louis XVI. addressed the savages, when he wore the cap of liberty. By the way, I hate the sight of that cap, which always reminds me of the lamp-post executions of the French capital in 1792-3. Its prevalence in our happy country is owing to the French mania which once possessed the people, and has very much died out. The apartments are regal, and some of them, I think, quite superior to those of Windsor Castle. In this building is a fine library, and here are deposited the vast collection of American books obtained by Vattemare, whom, you recollect, we saw at Was.h.i.+ngton.
I cannot tell you how sorely vexed we are to find the Louvre shut up for repairs and decoration; every week they say it is to be reopened, but I fear we shall leave Paris ere it happens.
How much we would all give to have you here; for, though we are glad to tell you what we see, we feel there are scores of objects which interest us that we have to pa.s.s over, but which would make your eyes glisten, if you could gaze upon. Well, my dear fellow, stick to your business, make your fortune, and then come and look at the beautiful and fair in the old world; and who knows but perhaps we may yet chat cosily together in Paris? O, I do love to wander through this city by moonlight, and gaze upon the bright, lofty buildings as they loom up so gloriously in the mild l.u.s.tre of a silvery night. G.o.d bless you.
Yours affectionately,
JAMES.
Letter 26.
PARIS.
DEAR CHARLEY:--
We have been to dine at the Palais Royal, at the _Trois Freres Provencaux_, of which I suppose the boys have told you; and I shall only speak about the fine building, so renowned all over the world. The Palais Royal is to Paris what Paris is to France. Its history is briefly this: Cardinal Richelieu built it for himself; but the king, Louis XIII., was jealous, and the wily old priest gave it to the monarch, and, after Richelieu's death, he moved into it. In 1692, it fell into the hands of Philippe, Duke of Orleans, as a gift, or marriage portion, from Louis XIV., and here the great Orleans collection of paintings was gathered, and which was sold in 1789, at the breaking out of the great troubles. In 1814, Louis Philippe obtained it as his inheritance, and lived there till 1831. The garden is very fine, and is about seven hundred and fifty feet by three hundred, and has beautiful rows of lime-trees, trimmed into shape, as are most of these trees in Paris. In the centre are flower gardens and a basin of water, with a fine fountain. In this open s.p.a.ce are beautiful bronze and marble statues.
One I admired exceedingly; it is Eurydice, stung by a snake. In this garden are hundreds of persons under the trees, on chairs, which are hired, where they read and take refreshments. Under the arcades which surround the area are the most tasty shops of Paris, and where you may get any thing you please. A gayer sight than this same Palais Royal, or, as they now call it, Palais National, cannot be seen in this world. I shall not attempt to tell you about the apartments of the palace, and which you can read of at your leisure. What a loss it was to the world when, in February, 1848, six hundred thousand engravings, all cla.s.sified by Louis Philippe, and making one hundred and twenty-two enormous folios, were destroyed by the mob, and the queen's own library also!
We lounged about from one shop to another, and made purchases of some pretty things, which we hope may serve to show friends at home that we did not quite forget them.
The Pa.s.sage d'Orleans will never die out from my memory, nor shall I ever forget the Cafe d'Orleans, with its mirrors, walls, and ceilings, all radiant with a thousand lights. We find at every few steps the magazine for the Indian weed, and all varieties of pipe, from the commonest _en bois_ to the elegantly carved _ec.u.me de mer_, which would cost two or three hundred francs. Here, too, are the Theatres Francais and Palais Royal, and other places of amus.e.m.e.nt.
In our walks about the city we are sure to have all the notable places pointed out; and one morning, just after I had obtained a Henry IV.
silver coin, in fine preservation, we were taken home by a long walk through the Rue St. Honore. The house No. 3, in this street, is the one in front of which Henry IV. was a.s.sa.s.sinated by Ravaillac. A bust of the king stands against the second story, with an inscription. In the Rue Vivienne, No. 34, we saw the house where Moliere died, on which is a marble tablet, with this inscription: ”_Moliere est mort dans cette maison, le _17_ Fevrier_, 1673, _a l'age de_ 51 _ans._” At the corner of the same street, where a small pa.s.sage way branches off, is a fine monument to the memory of the great poet and the n.o.blest comic writer of France. The statue is of bronze, in a sitting posture; on each side are figures,--one humorous, the other serious,--both looking at the statue.
At the foot of the monument is a basin to receive water, which flows from three lions' heads. This work was put up in 1844, with public services, on which occasion the first men of France took a part. Another morning's walk led us to the Rue de l'ecole de Medecine, and in this street Marat lived, at No. 20, and here it was, in a small room, that he was stabbed, while bathing, by Charlotte Corday, in 1793. And in this same street was held the old club of the Cordeliers.
When I see the places of which I have heard so often it seems very interesting, and will forever identify the scenes with my future reading.
We all enjoyed a visit to the palace of the Luxembourg. This edifice was begun in the sixteenth century, and the present palace was chiefly built early in the next one, by Marie de Medicis, in imitation of one at Florence. Bonaparte used it when chief consul. The old senate held its sessions there till its dissolution, in 1814. I never saw a building whose proportions appeared to me so elegant. The court is a parallelogram of three hundred and sixty by three hundred feet. The front consists of two pavilions, joined by terraces, and in the centre rises a cupola, around which are statues. In such a palace fine rooms are to be expected, and here they are in great number. The Senate Chamber or Chamber of Peers, is very suitable for its purpose. The library is good, and contains about fifteen thousand volumes. The picture gallery is large, and at present princ.i.p.ally filled with pictures of living artists, and at his death the picture of each one is removed to the Louvre. All the great paintings of Napoleon's battles are gone to Versailles; so we shall see them in the series. The chapel is an exquisite gem: it has, beyond all comparison, the most devotional air of any thing I have seen _of the sort_.
The gardens are fine, and have some n.o.ble terraces, adorned with plenty of statues, some of which are quite old; but a great many new ones, by living artists, are rapidly taking their places. The bal.u.s.trades of the terraces are beautified with groups of children, athletae, &c. Here are some fine old orange-trees, which were throwing out their blossoms most fragrantly; and I must not forget the n.o.ble cl.u.s.ters of chestnut-trees which are on the sides of the walks. The garden is a lovely spot, and I saw hundreds of old and young, who seemed to enjoy themselves highly. I am half surprised to find myself more delighted in Europe with the completeness and splendor of the gardens and public grounds than with the palaces and their internal gorgeousness. If I could carry back to my own beloved country any thing from England or France, it should be their gardens, their walks, their libraries and museums. As to the comforts and elegances of life, we have enough of them for our good. The Musee d'Artillerie is quite a place of interest, and here are seen some fine suits of ancient armor. The arrangement is good, and an hour's attention is well repaid.
Yours affectionately,
WELD.
Letter 27.