CHAPTER XVIII.

May 24.
O UR party of six, bound for the Chantilly Races, on reaching the Northern railway, witnessed an un- commonly gay scene — a Paris station, on such occasions, differing widely from its every-day appearance. Hun- dreds of persons were scrambling, jostling and running to secure seats by the earliest trains ; and such a variety of ladies’ costume, from the high-toned colors, pink, orange and Metternich green, to the delicate dove, gray and pearl, was never before seen. After a ride of about ten leagues, we found ourselves near the busy scene of action, the race-course being only a short distance from the depot. The promenade leading thereto, was through a fine grove of trees — a leafy avenue, such as is often seen in bright, beautiful France. Just as we reached the Tribune, towards the conclusion of the first race, an accident occurred. A horse threw his rider, and injured very severely a man who attempted to cross the course. The animal, trained to the work of running for a sum, regardless of injuries inflicted, and not disconcerted by the absence of a rider, pursued his way, coming out ahead, but, inasmuch as he had carried no weight, the prize was not awarded to him. The Prix du Jockey Club —
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25,000 francs — was won by Suzerain , to the discom- fiture of many of the betting English gentry, who had wagered large sums on the Duke of Hamilton’s horses. Our mother-country was represented in large numbers, and it was rumored that the Prince of Wales was pres- ent, but whether his Royal Highness participated or not, there were enough of watchful eyes and strained pockets to keep up the spirit of the races, even to the latest moment. In the Prix dee Etangs — 2000 francs — Count de la Grange’s horse, Airel — surely, the light and pleasant sounding name deserved success — saved me a modest little sum, but made a rash Englishman near by look like a thunder-cloud, even on this bright May day, because he had lost seventy-five pounds ; and we should hot be surprised if the disappointment yet cost him twenty more — avoirdupois. At the termination of the races, the rush of persons for the railway must have been very comical to a looker-on ; it certainly gave a striking proof of the lack of patience in this world. Into our car, in somersault fashion, tumbled several persons, who barely escaped with unbroken limbs. One man had lost his sweet-heart, in the confusion, and blank appeared his face, when, from a car in the rear, she called out u Jc ne suis pas 8cule ” — most unwelcome tidings, and poor consolation to the disappointed swain, who sank back into his seat, and began to work into place the strained muscles of his neck. Locked in with us, he vented his ire in an occasional “Sacre!” the roll of which, between his clenched teeth, was listened to with an irrepressible smile; our lack of smpathy enfuri- Y
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ating him all the more ; and yet we did not mean to be unkind. At seven o’clock our party sat down to dinner, at a restaurant on the Champs Elysees, corner of Rue d’Alma, where, with fraternal spirit, the bond between England and America was strengthened. If the thought came up— soon must all these happy hours pass, and friends be called to separate, the reflection seemed mourn- fully true to me, a few moments later, on hearing of the sudden death of a friend at Florence. How sad to die away from home, with no kindred sigh or tear to smooth the passage to the grave ; yet stranger-hands and hearts fulfilled well the office of paying the last tribute to one, who, coming to breathe the soft air of that delicious clime, and to look upon its fair scenes, was suddenly wafted into eternity.
May 25. — The tomb of Napoleon ! How grand and majestic its situation under the dome of Les Invalides, where, secure from the destructive influences of weather, its beauty will be preserved through long ages ! Who can stand by the marble balustrade, and gaze below into the crypt, without feeling reverence for the valiant hero, whose fame has shed such brilliant lustre throughout the world? The sarcophagus is magnificent, though strikingly simple, the only ornamentation upon its sur- face of highly polished red granite being several carved laurel crowns. On top, lay a wreath of violets, tied with a ribbon of the same color ; the chaplet of flowers lending an emotional charm to the solemn shrine. What hand could have dropped that eloquent memorial?
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Perhaps, some war-scarred veteran had wandered there to lay the sweetest and gentlest of all tokens over the remains of him, who, having passed through a world of strife, now reposes on the field of perpetual peace. The pavement of the crypt is beautiful in its fret-mosaic design. A garland of laurel, mingling its vivid green with strips of lilac, forms a circle around the tomb, and from its outer edges shoot golden, sunlike rays ; also, like a halo of glory to Napoleon, is the inner circle, embossed with the names of his victorious battles — and, commemorative of some of those events, are twelve large statues, holding symbols, and tattered ensigns grouped above. Under the circular gallery hang the funeral lamps, whose flame should light up the gloom daily, instead of only once or twice annually, if but to bring out the beautiful bas- reliefs so deeply enshrouded in shadows. On a slab over the massive bronze gate, leading to the monument, is a dying wish of Napoleon, as expressed in his last testament — “ Je desire que mes cendres reposent sur les bords de la Seine y an milieu de ce peuple Francais que fai tant aim e;” and, near by, are two sarcophagi, to the memory of Marshals Duroc and Bertrand, his faithful followers in glory and misfortune, and, therefore, fit sentinels to guard the sacred spot. The high altar of Les Invalides is reached by ten steps, at the base of which are Cupids holding cornucopias. Spiral columns of black and white marble sustain a rich gold canopy, surmounted by a cross, and two little angels bear in their hands gilded palms, which meet to form a half-crown over the gold crucifix. The ceiling frescoes, above the
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altar, are rendered doubly attractive by the golden light that streams in through stained windows on the sides, bathing them with the glory that comes from the sky ; and then the magnificent dome, resting on four arches, beams with pictured glories — the labors of some of the best masters. In this edifice there are other tombs besides that of Napoleon. Those of Turenne and Vauban are chef ing in death, and Immortality, holding a gold crown, as the reward of a well spent life. At his feet stands the eagle of conquered Germany, with folded pinions. The cenotaph of Vauban, in the opposite transept, is surmounted by a reclining statue of the hero, and is sur- rounded by all the paraphernalia of State — the crown, the sceptre, books and flags. Genius and Prudence are the side statues. Jerome Napoleon’s tomb is of black marble, with gilded garlands, in imitation of laurel, and with gold eagles at the side. That of Joseph Napoleon — very massive, but of extreme simplicity — consists of a block of green and white streaked marble, on which a wreath, in black marble, stands out in bold relief. Upon leaving the temple that enshrines so much monumental grandeur, and that deserves more than a passing word of praise, we were besieged by venders of books and medals. Brass and paper could not have better told the dead warrior’s fame than the words of an old woman, who, parrot-like, kept repeating — “Achetez un litre s’il vovs plait — Void le portrait de Vhommc le plus celebre de la France , ou du monde” On our way home, we passed a small garden of refreshing shade, at one end of which
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was a restaurant, “ au petit moulin rouge” At tables, under the trees, sat groups of thirsty mortals, holding huge mugs of Bavarian beer ; but the morning being intensely warm, ice-water seemed to us much more desirable than a heating beverage.
The Hippodrome formed a part of the entertainment for the day, but the equestrian exercises were not more remarkable than many I had seen before. The arena being uncovered, the sun’s hot rays proved quite as ob- jectionable to the riders as to the audience. A liliputian jockey was thrown from his pony, and received some bruises on his head ; an unfortunate result, inasmuch as the receipts of the box-office, we should judge, hardly amounted to a sum sufficient to pay for a surgeon’s ser- vices. A woman performed many wonderful feats on the tight-rope, but the ascension of a balloon was a more interesting feature. Three trips were made to the re- gions of “ thin air,” and if our party had not been timid, we, too, might have enjoyed the salubrious change. Sev- eral friends expressed themselves satisfied with soaring aloft, the only unpleasant sensation they experienced being the swaying motion of the balloon before the start.
May 26.^— Showers of rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning, brought gladness to the denizens of Paris this morning, serving, as they did, to lessen the intense heat, and to render an afternoon drive to the Bois the more agreeable. The Emperor was out in a small coupe , and showed less consideration for state than some of his Y*
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Ministers, who rode in splendid coaches with fine liv- eries. He looked quite pale, and there were furrows on his brow that not even the bright sunshine and bland breezes could efface. We thought that, though he held an empire in his grasp, he was not as free and happy as we who were on our way to Pre Catelan, to drink delicious milk, served by pretty waiting-girls, under snow-white tents on the greensward. Their costume is very picturesque — a black skirt, a yellow cap, and a scarlet corsage, open at the throat, to show a large black cross suspended by a ribbon. Indeed, they looked more like Swiss or Italian peasants than French women, which was, perhaps, owing to the absence of the uni- versal white cap. Their bronzed faces plainly told of the al fresco life they lead. Many happy young people had alighted from carriages to sip of nature’s sweets, and several panting steeds, in the grove, impatiently champed their bits, while the lithe, fair riders that had wielded the whip, glided off to coquette with their escorts, and to teach them the fatal power of beautiful eyes and hon- eyed words.
This evening we went to the Cirque de l’Imperatrice, taking several juveniles, whose tiny hands went as busily to work as those of the hired daquers , upon the appear- ance of a wee little girl on the tight-rope — Mile. Chia- rini— rdressed as La Fille du Regiment . Her perform- ance was wonderful, and elicited frequent applause. Bockrill, an American rider, made his debut, and accom- plished very successfully the feat of jumping through a number of hoops with his ankles tied. In Le jeu des
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barres , Mmes. TherSse, Sternath and Palmyre rode most recklessly, their horses making such rapid turns as to weary our eyes in the watching. A performance on the violin by Mr. Price, burlesquing several operas — Tro- vatore and Lucia — was a rare combination of the “ sub- lime and the ridiculous ; ” and I thought — Shall such sweet notes be whined away any longer on a crazy string? — will not Verdi himself appear somewhere in the crowd, and cry out against the ridicule of his grand and melo- dious compositions ? But the people are convulsed with laughter, for, at one moment, louder goes the squeaking, and, at the next, more tremulous goes the shake. Has it ended in that slight whisper of sound? Pray keep on awhile longer, to make us the more merry. Should the immortal Beethoven walk in, I wager he would help us to laugh. Next came les jeux Icariem, by Mr. Russel and his two little boys, whom he handled like India- rubber balls, leading us to think that circus performers are differently made from ourselves, their bones seeming to bend like whalebones, and their craniums to be pos- sessed of wonderful elasticity, else why should that little fellow be tossed across the ring, lighting on his head, and still live to be tossed again ? Grace and motion certainly found their meaning this night in the per- formances held in the very pretty building named for the fairest of women, the beautiful Empress. The Indian fight, dashing and wild, caused me to turn away solicitously from the dark red-skins to the little ones at my side, who timidly shrank back at the sound of the war-whoop, their roses vanishing in an instant, leaving
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a marble-like pallor on their faces. Lastly, appeared the celebrated gymnast, Avolo ; young, handsome, and finely developed. The close of the performance was a regret; but why deplore it, as entertainments are by no means scarce in this gay, volatile city, and hours die here to be born again with pleasures still more attractive.
May 30. — Lost, for the past two days, in a whirl of varying emotions at the Louvre, whose charms, like a love legend, haunt the memory ! — for do not its walls a thousand times and more give the history of some heart- passion, some religious worship, some sad martyrdom, some mighty fame, some mental anguish, and some joy and happiness bright as the flowers of spring? What a charmed spell and delicious thraldom in the countless colors that stretch away and seem never to end, and out of which are woven images and shapes of noble beauty and perfect grace ! So faithfully delineated are the sub- jects that we seem almost to breathe the blue air, to inhale the perfume of the flowers, to hear the whisper of a love strain, to catch the anguished cry of a broken heart, to look upon the writhing of the tortured body, to start at the trumpet-sound of war, and to weep over the still immobile features of the beautiful dead.
We found ourselves before the mournful, loving Magdalene , who gazes upon the cross as if ready to fall down in worship. It is her fond spirit’s shrine where tearful woes are calmed, and where faithful trust is anchored, safe from the waves of passion. Other beau- tiful paintings are St. Paul, the devout apostle, in his
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lonely cell, wrapt with ail expression of holy thought ; The Guardian Angel, who turns the wayward feet of the sin-beset mortal to brightest hopes and heaven ; The Angels appearing to the Shepherds — on the clouds they soar, invoking adoration for the " new-born babe,” who is represented in a group with the Virgin and St. Joseph ; The Annunciation, where Gabriel, bearing the w T hite lily, holds communion with the Virgin — the “ handmaid of the *Lord ” — to whom, on glad mission, come also the Holy Ghost and a host of angels ; Jesus Christ giving the Keys of IFis Church to His favored Servant, St. Peter, who, in a kneeling attitude, in the midst of the apostles, receives the holy charge ; St. Se- bastian, suffering martyrdom — an arrow piercing his body ; Hercules hilling the Hydra, the monster rising in w r rath against the descending club; and Hercules on his Funeral Pyre , offering himself to Heaven, his mighty earthly labors being ended. A joyously bright picture is Cupid’s triumph, the young god sitting in his chariot, drawn by doves, who tread among flowers strewn by a winged child ; he holds the arrow, so destructive to hearts, and smiles at the sight of it ; and another gem is Murillo’s Beggar-boy , so lazy, fat and saucy, with a jug and a basket of fruit at his side— a delicious treat for the hungry youth.
Rubens lias admirably portrayed scenes in the life of Marie de Medicis, from her earliest youth to her death ; and the spectator, following the glory and misfortune of the Queen, feels that life, unto the highest, sometimes brings less security against care and grief than promise
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of pleasure and ease. We first see the young Princess in happy childhood, when Minerva presides over her education, and she herself is under the influence of the Gods and the Graces — next, Henry IV receiving her portrait, and acquiescing in the behest of France to enter into a matrimonial alliance, — then the proxy mar- riage scene before the altar of the church, — the landing of the Queen at Marseilles, — the scene at Fontainebleau, when a mother’s joy is blended with a nation’s delight that an heir is born to the realm, — the voyage to Pont de CS, in Anjou, which city, through her agency, is con- quered — she is mounted on a white steed, and wears a helmet with white and green plumes— the flight of the Queen, at night, from the castle of Blois, where she was imprisoned by her son Louis XIII, — the reconciliation with Louis XIII, and the Triumph of Truth, the latter showing that in heaven there is union and pardon. The Queen and her son are represented holding a medal- lion — two joined hands, and over them a heart. From the Flemish school we passed to another apartment, to see the Wedding at Cana , by Paul Veronese; The Im- maculate Conception , by Murillo ; The Last Supper — Vinci; The Return of Marcus Sextus ; and the sad, though ever attractive painting, Atala in the Tomb . If grief was ever poignantly portrayed, it is in that struggle of Choctas against resigning the beautiful dead body of Atala, and if the vanity of human life needed to be strongly impressed upon the mind, it would speak from that canvas, from the pale form, the marble-like hands grasping the cross, and the inscription from the psalms
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of David — “ My days are like a shadow that declinetli, and I am withered like grass.” Endymion sleeping ! — so peaceful and calm does he rest under the plane tree, that he seems not to heed the presence of Cupid, in the form of Zepherus, pushing aside the foliage, that the moon may look down kindly and lovingly. Pysche re - ceiving the first kiss of love ! — how beautiful is the god- dess, invoking love, as she sits upon the mossy bank, with her arms clasped to her heart ! Cupid might im- print a thousand kisses on her fair forehead, for the purity of her soul would keep him lingering on in the gentle wooing. Then to the war-like paintings we turned — the fray of Romulus with Tatius, and the Sabine women delivering up their offspring to the darts of the soldiery ; the lictors bringing to Brutus the bodies of his sons ; and the oath of the Horatii as the three brothers receive their weapons from the hands of their father.
June 1. — As a farewell to the flowery month of May, we passed yesterday at St. Cloud, where thousands had gathered to celebrate Whit-Sunday. Gazing at the cha- teau, none can fail to think of the important events that have transpired there, and of the many proud inmates that, like obscure mortals, have had finally to succumb to the power of fate or death. It was here that Henry III was assassinated ; that Queen Henrietta of England died ; that Napoleon expelled the Council of Five Hun- dred, laying the foundation of his future greatness; and that Charles X signed the fatal ordinances which brought about the Revolution of 1830. Here come up, also,
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the names of Josephine and Marie Antoinette, who es- teemed the ch&teau a favorite residence ; and the prefer- ence now given it by the Imperial family adds but an- other graceful charm to the olden interest. Some of the salons are hung with Gobelin tapestry, rich and beauti- ful, representing the same scenes in the life of Marie de Medicis that Rubens has given to the Louvre ; but the Gallery of Apollo, the most gorgeous of all, is fitly named for the favorite god. A full length marble statue of the Empress Josephine looks cold and solemn amid the profuse gilding, the reflecting crystals, and rich paintings. The parks surrounding the ch&teau have much of the same ornamentation as Versailles and Fon- tainebleau, — flower-pots, statues, vases, fountains, and the picturesque rural attractions, water, woods and hills. Velocipede racing formed a prominent feature of the day’s amusement, and, at the end of each course, a full band of music struck up a lively air. The crowd being uncomfortably great, we wandered off through the shady park, and, after a short stroll, found ourselves in the midst of a varied entertainment — a catch-penny, at every step, in Guignol or Polichinelle, fortune-telling, hurdy- gurdy, fandango, and what not. There was a little vil- lage of stalls, displaying articles of every description. Incongruous sounds from shouting venders, boisterous gamins and beating drums rent the air, and so harsh and discordant was the din that those who had a consid- eration for their nerves hastily retreated from the Bed- lam. This was, indeed, a melange , characteristic of the French.
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Returning to the town, we repaired to a favorite res- taurant, elevated above the level of the street, and quite ornamental in its terraced gardens, trained vines and flowers. Some of the most exquisite moss-rose bushes attracted our admiration, and the proprietor very gal- lantly presented us with a choice cluster of their fragrant buds, in gratitude, perhaps, for the liberal order that had been sent to his Cuisine . Time, that never hangs heavily in this land, had vanished unawares, and when we left our cosy little board, some straggling lights were to be seen outside, and great was the reduction of the vast crowd, that a few hours before had jostled about in the bright sunshine. Some gay music beguiled us into a building a few yards distant, where a country ball, with its pell-mell, grotesque dancing was taking place. Femmes de chambre , Cuisinieres , and sturdy lads, in short jackets and tight breeches, tripped over the saw-dust as contentedly as fastidious dancers would over a polished floor. Many spectators sat around the ring, paying nothing for keeping quiet; but those who “made merry / on the toe and heel, were asked to hand over a few sous to a man who went around collecting, with a fathomless hat, and a jabbering tongue. Towards nine o’clock, strolling in the gardens of the ch&teau, we were grati- fied by the fulfilment of our wish, that the sky would frown its blackest, or conceal its every star, in order to favor the grand pyrotechnic display that was to come off a few moments later ; and, when it began, the glare of light revealed to our astonished eyes thousands of persons who had patiently lingered to witness the beau- z
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tiful spectacle. The Cascade of St. Cloud, so architec- turally grand, with its statues, tablets, urns, dolphins and shell-work, was even more beautiful under the influence of a shower of fire than of water, for the mar- bles seemed to be imbued with life by the reflected colors, together with the crimson, green and blue tints that occasionally flashed upon them through the vistas of the dark background. At intervals, Bengal-ligkts, in sapphire beauty, burst high up in the air, and others scattered down gold upon us like the fabled Danae shower. Honors, it would seem, are paid to Napoleon everywhere, and in every shape, and he was not forgotten on this occasion, the initial N glistening in the centre of a laurel wreath, around which fell a diamond-like spray. The hovering eagle, a part of the beautiful design, re- fused to fade as quickly as did the rest, for, after turning away, we caught, for some minutes, a view of its gilded talons. The programme of the evening ended with a torchlight procession, accompanied by delightful music. The town was illuminated with colored lanterns, whilst from posts, arches and doorways hung garlands, wreaths and other flowery devices. Thus we passed from a blaze of brightness, floating banners, mirthful sounds, and shortly afterwards found ourselves in Paris, at an hour when cockers sigh for a night-cap, and other folks for the luxury of an eider-down pillow.
June 2. — Poetry should coin a new and graceful word of praise for the entertainment that has been given by Baron de la T ; and we, who have read of a " Feast
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of lights and a Bower of roses,” can attest that it is not fancy alone that invents bewitching scenes. Last even- ing was a bright and beautiful reality — salons festooned with rare exotics ; walls draped with faint rose-colored silk and soft lace ; a huge pyramid of bouquets in the centre of a room, dropping as if by magic touch its flowery favors into the hands of fair dames and damsels ; delicious music stealing in from a balcony garlanded with nature’s green ; waxen tapers beaming and lighting up smiles of beauty and forms of grace ; the banquet rich as an Oriental Feast, with rare delicacies ; fruits mingling their gold, purple, crimson and pink ; varie- gated ices, in the forms of flowers and cupids, resting on frozen pinnacles, and doomed to short life, for suddenly the lily and the tulip vanish, and the God of Love is ruthlessly decapitated to please a Psyche near at hand ; lastly, the sprinkle of all such fetes , the rosy champagne, that tells, with its glow and sparkle, much more of en- chanting France than we who write after the goblet is drained and the ball ended. The June heat must soon terminate les soirees dansantes l
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