I have not, however, told you one tenth part of the marvellous absurdities she poured forth; yet I suspect I have told you enough. I have never before met anything so pre-eminently ridiculous as this: but upon my saying so to my old friend as I passed him near the door, he assured me that he knew another lady, whose mania was education, and whose doctrines and manner of explaining them were decidedly more absurd than Madame — — ‘s philosophy of the soul.
“Be not alarmed, however; I shall not bestow her upon you, for I intend most carefully to keep out of her way. Do you know of any English ladies thus devoted to the study of the soul?”... I am sincerely happy to say that I do not.
LETTER XXIV.
Expedition to the Luxembourg. — No admittance for Females. — Portraits of “Henri.” — Republican Costume. — Quai Voltaire. — Mural Inscriptions. — Anecdote of Marshal Lobau. — Arrest.
Ever since the trials at the Luxembourg commenced, we have intended to make an excursion thither, in order to look at the encampment in the garden, at the military array around the palace, and, in short, to see all that is visible for female eyes in the general aspect of the place, so interesting at the present moment from the important business going on there.
I have done all that could be done to obtain admission to the Chamber during their sittings, and have not been without friends who very kindly interested themselves to render my efforts successful — but in vain; no ladies have been permitted to enter. Whether the feminine regrets have been lessened or increased by the daily accounts that are published of the outrageous conduct of the prisoners, I will not venture to say. C’est égal; get in we cannot, whether we wish it or not. It is said, indeed, that in one of the tribunes set apart for the public, a small white hand has been seen to caress some jet-black curls upon the head of a boy; and it was said, too, that the boy called himself George S —— d: but I have heard of no other instance of any one not furnished with that important symbol of prerogative, une barbe au menton, who has ventured within the proscribed limits.
Our humble-minded project of looking at the walls which enclose the blustering rebels and their patient judges has been at length happily accomplished, and not without affording us considerable amusement.
In addition to our usual party, we had the pleasure of being accompanied by two agreeable Frenchmen, who promised to explain whatever signs and symbols might meet our eyes but mock our comprehension. As the morning was delightful, we agreed to walk to the place of our destination, and repose ourselves as much as the tossings of a fiacre would permit on the way home.
That our route lay through the Tuileries Gardens was one reason for this arrangement; and, as usual, we indulged ourselves for a delightful half-hour by sitting under the trees.
Whenever six or eight persons wish to converse together — not in tête-à-tête, but in a general confabulation, I would recommend exactly the place we occupied for the purpose, with the chairs of the party drawn together, not spread into a circle, but collected in a group, so that every one can hear, and every one can be heard.
Our conversation was upon the subject of various prints which we had seen exposed upon the Boulevards as we passed; and though our two Frenchmen were excellent friends, it was very evident that they did not hold the same opinions in politics; — so we had some very pleasant sparring.
We have been constantly in the habit of remarking a variety of portraits of a pretty, elegant-looking youth, sometimes totally without letters — and yet they were not proofs, excepting of an antique loyalty, — sometimes with the single word “Henri!” — sometimes with a sprig of the pretty weed we call “Forget-me-not,” — and sometimes with the name of “Le Duc de Bordeaux.” As we passed one of the cases this morning which stand out before a large shop on the Boulevards, I remarked a new one: it was a pretty lithographic print, and being very like an original miniature which had been kindly shown me during a visit I paid in the Faubourg St. Germain, I stopped to buy it, and writing my name on the envelope, ordered it to be sent home.
M. P —— , the gentleman who was walking beside me when I stopped, confirmed my opinion that it was a likeness, by his personal knowledge of the original; and it was not difficult to perceive, though he spoke but little on the subject, that an affectionate feeling for “THE CAUSE” and its young hero was at his heart.
M. de L —— , the other gentleman who had joined our party, was walking behind us, and came up as I was making my purchase. He smiled. “I see what you are about,” said he: “if you and P —— continue to walk together, I am sure you will plot some terrible treason before you get to the Luxembourg.”
When we were seated in the Tuileries Gardens, M. de L —— renewed his attack upon me for what he called my seditious conduct in having encouraged the vender of a prohibited article, and declared that he thought he should but do his duty if he left M. P —— and myself in safe custody among the other rebellious characters at the Luxembourg.
“My sedition,” replied M. P —— , “is but speculative. The best among us now can only sigh that things are not quite as they should be, and be thankful that they are not quite as bad as they might be.”
“I rejoice to find that you allow so much, mon cher,” replied his friend. “Yes, I think it might be worse; par exemple, if such gentry as those yonder were to have their way with us.”
He looked towards three youths who were stalking up the walk before us with the air of being deeply intent on some business of dire import. They looked like walking caricatures — and in truth they were nothing else.
They were republicans. Similar figures are constantly seen strutting upon the Boulevards, or sauntering, like those before us, in the Tuileries, or hovering in sinister groups about the Bois de Boulogne, each one believing himself to bear the brow of a Brutus and the heart of a Cato. But see them where or when you will, they take good care to be unmistakable; there is not a child of ten years old in Paris who cannot tell a republican when he sees him. In several print-shops I have seen a key to their mystical toilet which may enable the ignorant to read them right. A hat, whose crown if raised for a few inches more would be conical, is highest in importance, as in place; and the shade of Cromwell may perhaps glory in seeing how many desperate wrongheads still mimic his beaver. Then come the long and matted locks, that hang in heavy ominous dirtiness beneath it. The throat is bare, at least from linen; but a plentiful and very disgusting profusion of hair supplies its place. The waistcoat, like the hat, bears an immortal name— “GILET À LA ROBESPIERRE” being its awful designation; and the extent of its wide-spreading lapels is held to be a criterion of the expansive principles of the wearer. Au reste, a general air of grim and savage blackguardism is all that is necessary to make up the outward man of a republican of Paris in 1835.
But, oh! the grimaces by which I have seen human face distorted by persons wearing this masquerading attire! Some roll their eyes and knit their brows as if they would bully the whole universe; others fix their dark glances on the ground in fearful meditation; while other some there be who, while gloomily leaning against a statue or a tree, throw such terrific meaning into their looks as might naturally be interpreted into the language of the witches in Macbeth —
“We must, we will — we must, we will
Have much more blood, — and become worse,
And become worse” ... &c. &c.
The three young men who had just passed us were exactly of this stamp. Our legitimate friend looked after them and laughed heartily.
“C’est à nous autres, mon cher,” said de L —— , “to enjoy that sight. You and yours would have but small reason to laugh at such as these, if it were not the business of us and ours to take care that they should do you no harm. You may thank the eighty thousand National Guards of Paris for the pleasure of quizzing with such a complacent feeling of security these very ferocious-looking persons.”
“For that I thank them heartily,” replied M. P —— ; “only I think the business would have been
quite as well done if those who performed it had the right to do so.”
“Bah! Have you not tried, and found you could make nothing of it?”
“I think not, my friend,” replied the legitimatist: “we were doing very well, and exerting ourselves to keep the unruly spirits in order, when you stepped in, and promised all the naughty boys in Paris a holiday if they would but make you master. They did make you master — they have had their holiday, and now....”
“And now ...” said I, “what will come next?”
Both the gentlemen answered me at once.
“Riots,” said the legitimatist.
“Good order,” said the doctrinaire.
We proceeded in our walk, and having crossed the Pont Royal, kept along the Quai Voltaire, to avoid the Rue du Bac; as we all agreed that, notwithstanding Madame de Staël spoke so lovingly of it at a distance, it was far from agreeable when near.
Were it not for a sort of English horror of standing before shop-windows, the walking along that Quai Voltaire might occupy an entire morning. From the first wide-spread display of “remarkable people” for five sous apiece — and there are heads among them which even in their rude lithography would repay some study — from this five-sous gallery of fame to the entrance of the Rue de Seine, it is an almost uninterrupted show; — books, old and new — rich, rare, and worthless; engravings that may be classed likewise, — articles d’occasion of all sorts, — but, far above all the rest, the most glorious museums of old carving and gilding, of monstrous chairs, stupendous candlesticks, grotesque timepieces, and ornaments without a name, that can be found in the world. It is here that the wealthy fancier of the massive splendour of Louis Quinze comes with a full purse, and it is hence that beyond all hope he departs with a light one. The present royal family of France, it is said, profess a taste for this princely but ponderous style of decoration; and royal carriages are often seen to stop at the door of magasins so heterogeneous in their contents as to admit all titles excepting only that of “magasin de nouveautés,” but having at the first glance very greatly the air of a pawnbroker’s shop.
During this lounge along the Quai Voltaire, I saw for the first time some marvellously uncomely portraits, with the names of each inscribed below, and a running title for all, classing them en masse as “Les Prévenus d’Avril.” If these be faithful portraits, the originals are to be greatly pitied; for they seem by nature predestined to the evil work they have been about. Every one of them looks
“Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
The multiplying villanies of nature
Do swarm upon him.”
It should seem that the materials for rebellion were in Shakspeare’s days much of the same kind as they are in ours. If these be portraits, the originals need have no fear of the caricaturist before their eyes — their “villanies of nature” could hardly be exaggerated; and I should think that H. B. himself would try his pencil upon them in vain.
On the subject which the examination of these prévenus d’Avril naturally led to, our two French friends seemed to be almost entirely of the same opinion; the legitimatist confessing that “any king was better than none,” and the doctrinaire declaring that he would rather the country should have gone without the last revolution, glorious and immortal as it was, than that it should be exposed to another, especially such a one as MM. les Prévenus were about to prepare for them.
Being arrived at le quartier Latin, we amused ourselves by speculating upon the propensity manifested by very young men, who were still subjected to restraint, for the overthrow and destruction of everything that denotes authority or threatens discipline. Thus the walls in this neighbourhood abounded with inscriptions to that effect; “A bas Philippe!”— “Les Pairs sont des assassins!”— “Vive la République!” and the like. Pears of every size and form, with scratches signifying eyes, nose, and mouth, were to be seen in all directions: which being interpreted, denotes the contempt of the juvenile students for the reigning monarch. A more troublesome evidence of this distaste for authority was displayed a few days ago by four or five hundred of these disorderly young men, who assembling themselves together, followed with hootings and shoutings M. Royer Collard, a professor lately appointed by the government to the medical school, from the college to his home in the Rue de Provence.
Upon all such occasions, this government, or any other, would do well to follow the hint given them by an admirable manoeuvre of General Lobau’s, the commander-in-chief of the National Guard. I believe the anecdote is very generally known; but, in the hope that you may not have heard it, I will indulge myself by telling you the story, which amused me infinitely; and it is better that I should run the risk of your hearing it twice, than of your not hearing it at all.
A party of les jeunes gens de Paris, who were exerting themselves to get up a little republican émeute, had assembled in considerable numbers in the Place Vendôme. The drums beat — the commandant was summoned and appeared. The young malcontents closed their ranks, handled their pocket-knives and walking-sticks, and prepared to stand firm. The general was seen to dismiss an aide-de-camp, and a few anxious moments followed, when something looking fearfully like a military engine appeared advancing from the Rue de la Paix. Was it cannon?... A crowd of high-capped engineers surrounded it, as with military order and address it wheeled about and approached the spot where the rioters had formed their thickest phalanx. The word of command was given, and in an instant the whole host were drenched to their skins with water.
Many who saw this memorable rout, in which the laughing pompiers followed with their leather pipes the scampering heroes, declare that no military manoeuvre ever produced so rapid an evacuation of troops. There is something in the tone and temper of this proceeding of the National Guard which appears to me strikingly indicative of the easy, quiet, contemptuous spirit in which these powerful guardians of the existing government contemplate its republican enemies.
Having reached the Luxembourg and obtained admission to the gardens, we again rested ourselves, that we might look about at our ease upon a scene that was not only quite novel, but certainly very singular to those who were accustomed to the ordinary aspect of the place.
In the midst of lilacs and roses an encampment of small white tents showed their warlike fronts. Arms, drums, and all sorts of military accoutrements were visible among them; while loitering troops, some smoking, some reading, some sleeping, completed the unwonted appearance of the scene.
It would have been impossible, I believe, in all France to have fixed ourselves on a spot where our two French friends would have found so many incitements to unity of opinion and feeling as this. Our conversation, therefore, was not only very amicable, but ran some risk of being dull from the mere want of contradiction; for to a hearty conscientious condemnation of the proceedings which led to this trial of the prévenus d’Avril there was an unanimous sentence passed nem. con. throughout the whole party.
M. de L —— gave us some anecdotes of one or two of the persons best known among the prisoners; but upon being questioned respecting the others, he burst out indignantly in the words of Corneille —
— — “Le reste ne vaut pas l’honneur d’être nommé:
Un tas d’hommes perdus de dettes et de crimes,
Que pressent de nos loix les ordres légitimes,
Et qui désespérant de les plus éviter,
Si tout n’est renversé, ne sauraient subsister.”
“Ben trovato!” exclaimed P —— ; “you could not have described them better — but....”
This “but” would very probably have led to observations that might have put our belle harmonie out of tune, or at least have produced the renewal of our peaceable sparring, had not a little bustle among the trees at a short distance behind us cut short our session.
It seems that ever since the trials began, the chief duty of the gendarmes — (I beg pardon, I should say, of la Garde de Paris) — has been to prevent any assembling together of the people in k
nots for conversation and gossipings in the courts and gardens of the Luxembourg. No sooner are two or three persons observed standing together, than a policeman approaches, and with a tone of command pronounces, “Circulez, messieurs! — circulez, s’il vous plaît.” The reason for this precaution is, that nightly at the Porte St. Martin a few score of jeunes gens assemble to make a very idle and unmeaning noise, the echo of which regularly runs from street to street till the reiterated report amounts to the announcement of an émeute. We are all now so used to these harmless little émeutes at the Porte St. Martin, that we mind them no more than General Lobau himself: nevertheless, it is deemed proper, trumpery as the cause may be, to prevent anything like a gathering together of the mob in the vicinity of the Luxembourg, lest the same hundred-tongued lady who constantly magnifies the hootings of a few idle mechanics into an émeute should spread a report throughout France that the Luxembourg was besieged by the people. The noise which had disturbed us was occasioned by the gathering together of about a dozen persons; but a policeman was in the midst of the group, and we heard rumours of an arrestation. In less than five minutes, however, everything was quiet again: but we marked two figures so picturesque in their republicanism, that we resumed our seats while a sketch was made from them, and amused ourselves the while in fancying what the ominous words could be that were so cautiously exchanged between them. M. de L —— said that there could be no doubt that they ran thus:
“Ce soir, à la Porte St. Martin!”
Answer.— “J’y serai.”
LETTER XXV.
Chapelle Expiatoire. — Devotees seen there. — Tri-coloured flag out of place there. — Flower Market of the Madeleine. — Petites Maîtresses.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 524