CHAPTER XX.

June 5.
T O-DAY we journeyed five miles from Paris, and visited the ancient abbey church, consecrated in honor of that great Christian martyr, St. Denis. Vari- ous sovereigns helped to restore and add to the original chapel, that was built centuries ago, designing that within its walls their ashes should rest in undisturbed slumber ; and thus, the long range of a thousand years converted the spot into a vast sepulchre. If ever a desecrating mandate went out from council or convention, it was the one of 1793, when the tombs of this edifice were thrust open, and bones and ashes were disinterred that should only have been summoned forth at the last great day. Thus did rash man decree that Princes, who had worn the proudest of crowns, should no longer sleep in peace, but be hurled into a common trench, as unbefit- ting to their rank as the order to disentomb them was sacrilegious and wicked. Who that beholds the anti- quated monuments, in their defaced condition, does not denounce and deplore the scourge that made these places empty, and ruined these sacred shrines ? Interesting as is this church, in its ancient and royal associations, it has an additional claim in the possession of the remains of
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Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, that lie in the under- croft. Verily do we stand above the dust of these un- fortunate ones, who suffered so keenly for the errors of their people ; but vacant are the tombs of Dagobert and his consort, Nanthilde ; the superb monuments of Louis XII and Anne of Brittany, with effigies and kneeling statues ; and the still grander tomb of Henry II and Catherine de Medicis. It seems strange that this Queen, who planned so much suffering for others to bear, should have been represented so perfectly placid in feature. One might say, in looking at the calm, composed face, “ There was nothing cruel in that woman’s nature ; ” and yet history leaves upon the fair marble the crimson stain of blood. A side chapel contains some rich treasures, excellent paintings, and a massive plate of steel filled with figures executed with wonderful merit. Everywhere about the building does the work of restoration go on, and what with the obstructions incidental thereto, and the hurried steps of the guide, many of the minute de- tails of art were lost to us. Louis Napoleon, like his illustrious uncle, will continue lavishly to expend from the coffers of France, so as to make this edifice a fitting burial-place for Imperial dead ; and it has been rumored that Les Invalides may yet give up to St. Denis the revered dust of him whose last wish was that his “ ashes might repose on the borders of the Seine.”
After a ramble through the town, decidedly uninter- esting, we stopped at a little garden near the station, and enjoyed for awhile the green shrubbery. Strange to say, there were no flowers in bloom ; but a pleasant surprise
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awaited me at home, in the gift of some beautiful mag- nolias and roses.
June 6. — A pleasant drive, this morning, with some English friends, brought me to Sevres, a village very ancient in appearance, founded in 560, and whose prin- cipal attraction, at the present day, is the porcelain man- ufactory, of whose splendid treasure the government may well be proud. Some of the rooms display speci- mens of rare beauty, from colossal vases and table-ser- vices, down to the tiniest article, the exquisite painting of which will tell of hours expended to make it the perfect gem. Here are to be found faithful copies of some of the chefs d y oeuvre of Raphael and Michael Angelo, and so smoothly delicate and beautiful are these porcelains, that canvas, ever grand and noble, seems, for the moment, to yield the palm to the newer art. Titian and Guido are also imitated with a mellowness that is like summer twilight, lovely to behold. Prices are fabulous, a single picture commanding from forty to fifty thousand francs ; but what is glittering gold, compared to the possession of that beautiful Psyche, whose beauty, dwelling at Sevres, will haunt us when we are more than a thousand leagues away ? The ladies of our party were interested in some charming little articles of bijouterie , particularly a brooch of porcelain with a tiny rooster on it, that looked as if he were ready to crow ; yet, when we were forced to say “ good-bye ” to chanticleer, he did n’t utter a single cry. Doubtless the charm of these choice specimens dies out with many a visitor, when he reaches the workshop and
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sees the process of manufacture — the rough clay ; the whirling tables ; and the workmen, in blouse, mould- ing into divers shapes the plastic material. Not so with us, as the various means employed in making these crude things reach the goal of perfection rather inter- ested our inquiring minds ; and our pleasure was cer- tainly enhanced by the accommodating spirit of several of the artisans, who made cups and saucers, plates and vases, and a little of everything, for our benefit. Hold- ing a special permit from the Minister of State, we left no part of the establishment, even to the furnaces, un- seen. In the museum there was a large collection of earthenware and pottery; foreign specimens of every design, shape and size ; stained glass, enameled metals, and a good deal more that must be left un mentioned. In the gallery, where sat the busy painters, with vases and plates strewn around them, dwells my most faithful memory. A gray-haired old man, with feeble frame, raised up for a moment’s rest from work, — his brush glided away from the petals of a delicate flower, and a sort of greeting smile lit up the wan eyes at a word or two of praise from me, — a tribute to the genius that was evidently making a vast sacrifice of health ; and at what price? It ought to be princely, thought I, and may it at least be comfortable under Imperial patronage! * * To-night being warm enough to favor out-door strolls, we repaired to a cafe chantant, on the Champs Elysees. Like all Americans, we evince something of a break- neck spirit to sieze at all kinds of entertainment, in the shortest possible time, mixing the serious with the
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frivolous; passing from solemn shrines and classic art, to scenes of mirth and buffoonery. So it goes in Paris ! We weep at one moment, and laugh at the next. The poet writes
“Pleasures are like poppies spread,
You sieze the flower — the bloom is shed,”
— so is the charm of our amusements here very soon gone. An orderly crowd, — the bourgeoisie , had gathered at this place, and no noise was heard, save the murmur of conversation, half lost in space and air, or some animated applause, occasionally called forth by the eccentricities of the performers. What a melange of entertainment did the brilliant Kiosk afford ! Singing, skating, dancing, recitations and dialogue. The duet, with a male and female voice, in imitation of fighting cats, was inimitable, and so was the skating of a demoi- selle, clad a la Polonaise, who pirouetted equal to Fanny Essler. Admission is free to all this merry show, but those who play the fiddle, and dance to its music, expect every one to lay out a reasonable sum in beer and ices, which are served by gargons, who trip around with a speed and a spirit peculiar to this people, and which cannot be improved upon. If one is not much refreshed by what he has eaten or drunk, he, at least, goes away in a good humor — the great promoter of comfortable sleep — being that much happier than some of his neighbors, for all the world is not so privileged as to be able to lounge at a cafe chantant, in the beauti- ful month of June, with stars overhead, and music in the air.
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June 7. — The grand races took place at the Bois to-day, the prizes amounting to more than a hundred thousand francs. Their majesties, the Prince Imperial, and other dignitaries were present, and added much to the interest of the scene.
June 8. — We marshalled our forces, i. e., our little remaining strength, at 11 A. if., for the Gobelins , pur- posing to include the world-renowed tapestry among the sights that battle so hard now with the fast-speeding hours; but, upon a slight eminence, the factory stood as formidable as the castle of the giant that Jack killed, and the guard at the gates, as cross as that same ogre, who " smelled the blood of an Englishman ” — only, this time it was not un Anglais , pleading for admission, but a German Baron, more eloquent than politic. Not even the charms of a comely English maiden, one of our party, could do aught towards gaining entrance : we had mistaken the day, and soon discovered that rules and regulations in this country, rarely ever yield to the most persistent entreaties. Politeness is a predominent ele- ment of French character, and the omission of it, on this occasion, shall be excused, in consideration of the courtesy that is usually shown to the stranger. The best remedy for a disappointment is a search for some- thing else, and it were well, indeed, if all could find consolation as did the fisherman of old, who lost his pearl, yet wasted no time in weeping, because he be- lieved that the sea would soon yield him another. With this reflection, we turned away, and went to the ChapeUe
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Expiatoire , where glowing worsted colors soon faded out of the imagination before the pale, cold marble, sadly commemorative of Louis XVI and his Queen. Over this little chapel, erected to their memory by Louis XVIII, will forever hang the shadow of their terrible fate ; and a bitter thought must arise from those, who, bending o’er the sculptured stone, read the last instruc- tions of Marie Antoinette to the Princess Elizabeth. It is a farewell, wrung from a breaking heart, in the sever- ance of earthly ties, but withal, shows the firm spirit that sustained her in the closing scenes of life — “ stern en- durance conquering fate.” Her figure is mournful and beautiful, as, kneeling, she extends her arms towards an angel. The opposite monument, of the king, represents him sustained by religion, and bears on its base an in- scription of his last testament. A few moments were spent in the subterranean chapel, in contemplation of the hallowed ground, whither the bodies of these sov- ereigns were brought direct from the guillotine, and consigned to a most obscure sepulture, in order that they might be saved from desecrating hands. Here their ashes rested for twenty-one years, and were then trans- ferred with all becoming pomp to St. Denis, which sad ceremonial scene the visitor will find represented in a bas-relief in the upper chapel, near by the monuments. No day is allowed to pass without some religious recogni- tion of the sanctity that clothes the precincts. Other victims of the revolution, including the faithful Swiss guards, also found burial in the adjacent ground, — once the grave-yard of the Madelaine. Tread lightly, stranger,
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over this greensward, for under its mantle hath lain embosomed many a sleeper, to whom memory still loves to pay her sacred tribute. * * * * *
Such balmy nights as these are sure to beguile to a promenade or drive. Somewhere on the way to the Latin Quarter, we came across several rag-pickers, who were industriously raking among the piles of rubbish in front of shops and houses. Stop we must, to see a member of this Bohemian class, wondering if, with his long.hook, he would extract anything of value from such a mass of rags, bones, broken china, etc. With lantern close to the ground, he seemed determined to discover something worth carrying off, and at last, found a piece of iron, and a half smoked cigar. He cannot make much by the sale of the former, but the latter, although taken from the filthy garbage, may give him some com- fort when he sits down at home to overhaul his basket. What a sorry occupation, yet, it is extensively followed in its several orders, which embrace the poor, miserable raker of the river-banks; the shabby Diogenes — too poor to own a basket — with a coarse sack thrown over his shoulders ; and those of more decent appearance, the labors of one of whom we watched with some curiosity and interest ! These chiffoniers are mysterious beings, prowling about in the silence and darkness of the night ; and, during the hours when sleep befriends the couch of the man of luxury and riches, they are gathering the crumbs that have fallen from his table, and the refuse of his mansion. As insignificant as this class might seem, these ragged wretches — possessed of passions like
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other men, yet, exercised with less reason and fore- thought, — can render themselves very powerful, even to the overthrow of the dominions of their opulent brothers — and how ? The changeful tide in the affairs of France affords them, now and then, an opportunity to make themselves objects to be greatly feared. In a revolution, they rush forward to pillage, aye, even murder. Their bent and stooping forms are straightened and strength- ened to the work of destruction; and then, truly, are the manacles of les miserable* placed upon the tender hands of aristocracy. We hear of singular reverses in the lives of persons all over the world, but they are more observable here ; especially, when it is told that men of the position of a marquis, and of professional title, and women of beauty and intelligence, have fallen into this low condition. It will only sadden my lady- readers to draw a picture of one of our own sex, reduced to so miserable a state, — to tell of delicate features hard- ened, and soft complexion marred and bloated ; of fair hands stained with the mud of the streets, — therefore, I throw a veil over the sepulchre of the hopes that must have perished in some hearts that loved her, and leave unrevealed the inscription of so unhappy a fate. .* *
Another phase of Parisian amusement ! What shall be said of the danseuses at Closerie de Lilas , and the frolicsome students, who, by hundreds, are throwing themselves away physically, if not morally in the frantic whirl ? This is the student's ball, his hope and aim after the hours that he has devoted during the day to medicine, law or art. He is the dignified, intellectual man whilst the sun shines, but, when, at the hour of
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9 P. M., he lights his cigar, and struts off to this resort, he seems altogether another individual, looking only for recreation in a swing, a bound, a twist, and every kind of antic wild and grotesque. Gazing at all this wonder- ful twirling, we might ask if any bones have been broken, or if that youth has dealt with so many dead bodies, that he imagines his own sinew and muscle have no longer a spring of life to be snapped or injured. This place has not the beauty of Mabille in its ornamentation. The attire, too, of the girls who dance here, is less pleas- ing than that seen at the other garden ; but the true coquetry of the nation is not missing — discernible in the toss of the head, the mincing laugh, the flash of the eye, the sprightly air, — and may be as harmless as it is at- tractive, if only like les fleurs passageres. From the Moorish-like hall or gallery, designed for winter use, one may look down upon this strange, comical scene, and make his own reflections. He will observe numer- ous gemdarmes, and soldiers pacing to and fro ; for the government eye watches very closely over this mirthful quarter, lest the students, exhilarated beyond the dance, bring stem politics into the arena — yet, why should they do so, when they have bright eyes, beer, and cigar- ettes to regale themselves with ?
June 9. — Breakfast at 6 a. m., — and in Paris ! The record is startling to myself, and will doubtless be dis- credited by friends. The fashion here is a dejeunei •, at noon, that makes life seem very lazy, easy and luxurious. This morning, for the first time since my arrival, I saw the sun emerge out of the gray shadows, and kiss into
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light the sky ; and the air came refreshing and grateful, after the excessive fatigue and late hours of the last few weeks. A party of three of us started for the chapel of St. Ferdinand, and, in passing numbers of men and women on their way to the workshop, and the sewing room, it occurred to us, that they were not so unfortunate, as they are represented, for does not their early rising give to them the freshness and purity of the morning air, — a boon unknown to the paresseuse f Whilst waiting for a carriage on the route, we overheard the following con- versation between two femmes de chambre : “ Nannette, comment se porte Madame G — f On m’a dit qu’elle eiait malade .” “Oh! non! vousvous trompez, — pas malade, mais die dort a cette heure comme un sabot . EUe ne se leve jamais jusqu’a midi . Quelquefois a dix heures, die sonne pour des raisins et un roman” This description was indeed characteristic of a Parisian home. Smiling at the truth — for haven’t we fallen into just such habits as Madame G — ’s ? — we continued our way, and arrived at the iron gates that enclose the little chapel, not later than seven o’clock, when the concierge looked still drowsy, and his broom had not done its morning work.
The building is of the Lombard-Gothic design, and was erected soon after the Duke of Orleans lost his life, over the place where he was brought to die. Standing by the black marble cenotaph, on which rests his recum- bent figure, clad in uniform, with breast bared, and fea- tures stamped with the peace of approaching death, we recalled these lines, as appropriate to the melancholy in- terest of the spot :
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11 Bemember, life is but a shadow,
Its date the intermediate breAth we draw.
Ten thousand accidents in ambush lie To crush the frail and fickle tenement,
Which, like the brittle hour-glass measuring time,
Is often broke ere half its sands are run."
The angel, kneeling at the head of the expiring Duke, was executed by the Princess Marie. Thus did a loving sister — who went before him to dwell with God's angels — leave a memorial of her genius, little dreaming that it would one day decorate his tomb. A bas-relief on the monument is too beautiful to pass unremarked — France weeping over a funereal urn, the French flag drooping at her feet. Triquetti^s laurels are very fairly won in a portion of this tomb, as also in the " Descent from the Cross," in marble, over the altar ; and it is due to the industry of old age to allude to several chairs, the tapes- try work of Amelie, Queen of the Belgians. Just be- hind the altar, in the sacristy, is a painting representing the death-bed scene. The royal family surround the couch, and marshals, dukes, cures and physicians, add to the mournful group. We were shown a clock of black marble, whose design was the lament of France, over a broken shaft, the hands pointing to ten minutes to twelve, the precise time the Duke fell from his car- riage. In the court, among the sombre cypresses, is a flourishing cedar tree, brought by him from Lebanon, and which was transplanted by his son, the Count de Paris — its thick branches fitly wave near the spot where he breathed his last. After leaving the chapel, we ap- propriated an hour to the Jardin d’Acclimatation, bright, cheerful and sunny, and green as the greenest of Paris-
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ian gardens. How picturesque are those thirty-three acres! — the pleasant rural walks; the rivulet, where ducks, geese and swans, from Egypt and the Sandwich isles, float harmoniously together; the rustic bridges, spanning here and there the winding stream ; the little islands, with their emerald turf ; the aquatic plants ; the fine trees, transplanted from foreign soils, the most con- spicuous being the Greek fir ; the flower-beds, fragrant and showy; the conservatory, three hundred feet in length, bright in tropical bloom, with a miniature rivu- let coursing along, and a tiny grotto lending a mysteri- ous charm; the aquarium, one of the most animated attractions of the place, with finny occupants large and small ; the department of silk-worms, Chinese and Jap- anese; the aviary, containing a brood of doves, peacocks and pheasants ; and the stables of donkeys, horses and camels. I made my adieu to the Bois in all its fresh- ness and sunlit beauty, when smiling nature seemed to whisper the glad promise, u These places shall know thee again.” * * * * *
10 p. M. — I have just participated in a dinner, a fare- well compliment, tendered by friends, at the cafe of the Grand Opera. If the choice dishes served to make me carry away a remembrance of the excellent cuisine of Paris, how much more did the many pleasant associa- tions of the city, its attractive scenes, and the hospitality of its people, crowd in upon the mind this evening, asking an abiding place in memory. Some one remarked that the name of Paris should be inscribed upon our hearts, and wreathed with the pemee — a flower as beau- tiful as its emblem is appropriate.
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