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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:09:08 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:09:08 -0700 |
| commit | 77fb73af86277604f2d977bb3e68d4cda38a0838 (patch) | |
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diff --git a/37937-h/37937-h.htm b/37937-h/37937-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c1fc47 --- /dev/null +++ b/37937-h/37937-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13105 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Wanderer in Paris, by E. V. Lucas</title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: left; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} +hr {margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.l15 { + width: 15%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.left25 {margin-left: 25%;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + margin-bottom: 2em;} + +ul.none {list-style-type:none; + text-align: left;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.flright {float: right;} +.flleft {float: left;} +.fl20 {float: left; + position: relative; + left: 20%;} +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.i1 {margin-left: 1em;} +.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} +.i4 {margin-left: 4em;} +.i6 {margin-left: 6em;} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +.b1 {font-size:1.5em;} +.s1 {font-size:.90em;} +.s2 {font-size:.80em;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 90%; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + empty-cells: show; +} +.tdc {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.topC {text-align: center; vertical-align: top;} +.topR {text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + +.tnbox {margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + margin-bottom: 8em; + margin-top: auto; + text-align: center; + border: 1px solid; + padding: 1em; + color: black; + background-color: #f6f2f2; + width: 25em;} + +.slimad {margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Wanderer in Paris, by E. V. Lucas, +Illustrated by Walter Dexter</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: A Wanderer in Paris</p> +<p>Author: E. V. Lucas</p> +<p>Release Date: November 6, 2011 [eBook #37937]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WANDERER IN PARIS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Melissa McDaniel,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="tnbox"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p> +<p>Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have +been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i_spine.jpg" width="87" height="350" alt="spine" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter p6"><a name="map" id="map"></a> +<img src="images/map.jpg" width="650" height="442" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h1 class="p6">A WANDERER IN PARIS</h1> + +<p class="p2 center">OTHER WORKS BY E. V. LUCAS</p> + +<p class="slimad">Mr. Ingleside<br /> +Over Bemerton's<br /> +Listener's Lure<br /> +London Lavender<br /> +One Day and Another<br /> +Fireside and Sunshine<br /> +Character and Comedy<br /> +Old Lamps for New<br /> +The Hambledon Men<br /> +The Open Road<br /> +The Friendly Town<br /> +Her Infinite Variety<br /> +Good Company<br /> +The Gentlest Art<br /> +The Second Post<br /> +A Little of Everything<br /> +A Swan and Her Friends<br /> +A Wanderer in Florence<br /> +A Wanderer in London<br /> +A Wanderer in Holland<br /> +The British School<br /> +Highways and Byways in Sussex<br /> +Anne's Terrible Good Nature<br /> +The Slowcoach<br /> +Sir Pulteney<br /> +The Life of Charles Lamb<br /> + and<br /> +The Pocket Edition of the Works of Charles<br /> + Lamb: I. Miscellaneous Prose; II. Elia;<br /> + III. Children's Books; IV. Poems and<br /> + Plays; V. and VI. Letters</p> + +<div class="figcenter p6" style="width: 341px"><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> +<img src="images/i_005.jpg" width="341" height="650" alt="RUE DE L'HÔTEL DE VILLE" /> +<p class="caption"><span class="flleft s2">HÔTEL DE SENS</span><br /> +THE RUE DE L'HÔTEL DE VILLE</p></div> + +<h1 class="p6">A WANDERER IN<br /> +PARIS</h1> + +<p class="center s1">BY</p> + +<p class="center b1">E. V. LUCAS</p> + +<p class="center s1 p4">WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY</p> + +<p class="center">WALTER DEXTER</p> + +<p class="center s1">AND THIRTY-TWO REPRODUCTIONS FROM WORKS OF ART</p> + +<p class="center s1 p4">"I'll go and chat with Paris"</p> + +<p class="center s1 i6"><i>—Romeo and Juliet</i></p> + +<p class="center s1 p4">TENTH EDITION</p> + +<p class="center p4">METHUEN & CO. LTD.<br /> +36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br /> +LONDON</p> + +<div class="center p6"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="editions"> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>First Published (Crown 8vo)</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>August 5th 1909</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Second Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>September 1909</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Third Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>October 1909</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Fourth Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>January 1910</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Fifth Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>June 1910</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Sixth Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>December 1910</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Seventh Edition, revised (Fcap. 8vo)</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>September 1911</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Eighth Edition (Crown 8vo)</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>October 1911</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Ninth Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>March 1912</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><i>Tenth Edition ( " )</i></td><td class="tdl"><i>February 1913</i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="p6">PREFACE</h2> + +<p>Although the reader will quickly make +the discovery for himself, I should like +here to emphasise the fact that this is a book +about Paris and the Parisians written wholly +from the outside, and containing only so much +of that city and its citizens as a foreigner +who has no French friends may observe on +holiday visits.</p> + +<p>I express elsewhere my indebtedness to a +few French authors. I have also been greatly +assisted in a variety of ways, but especially +in the study of the older Paris streets, by +my friend Mr. Frank Holford.</p> + +<p><span class="flright">E. V. L.</span></p> + +<p class="center p2 b1">NOTE</p> + +<p>Since this new edition was prepared for the press +the devastating theft of Leonardo da Vinci's "Monna +Lisa" was perpetrated. Pages 81-87 therefore—describing +that picture as one of the chief treasures +of the Louvre—must change their tense to the past.</p> + +<p><span class="flright">E. V. L.</span></p> + +<h2 class="p6">CONTENTS</h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="table of contents"> +<col width="270" /> +<col width="220" /> +<col width="260" /> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_i">CHAPTER I</a></td> +<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The English Gates of Paris</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_i">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_ii">CHAPTER II</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Ile de la Cité</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_ii">9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_iii">CHAPTER III</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Notre Dame</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_iii">31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_iv">CHAPTER IV</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Saint Louis and his Island</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_iv">54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_v">CHAPTER V</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Marais</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_v">61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_vi">CHAPTER VI</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Louvre: I. The Old Masters</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_vi">78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_vii">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Louvre: II. Modern Pictures and Other Treasures</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_vii">97</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_viii">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Tuileries</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_viii">114</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_ix">CHAPTER IX</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysées and the +Invalides</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_ix">132</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_x">CHAPTER X</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Boulevard St. Germain and its Tributaries</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_x">158</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xi">CHAPTER XI</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Latin Quarter</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xi">170</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xii">CHAPTER XII</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Panthéon and Sainte Geneviève</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xii">188</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xiii">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Two Zoos</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xiii">199</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xiv">CHAPTER XIV</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Grands Boulevards: I. The Madeleine to the Opera</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xiv">214</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xv">CHAPTER XV</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Chair at the Café de la Paix</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xv">227</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xvi">CHAPTER XVI</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Grands Boulevards: II. The Opera to the Place de +la République</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xvi">244</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xvii">CHAPTER XVII</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Montmartre</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xvii">260</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xviii">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Elysée to the Hôtel de Ville</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xviii">276</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xix">CHAPTER XIX</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Place des Vosges and Hugo's House</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xix">299</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdc"><a href="#chapter_xx">CHAPTER XX</a></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Bastille, Père Lachaise and the End</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#chapter_xx">306</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#index"><span class="smcap">Index</span></a></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_321">321</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="p6">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<p class="center b1">IN COLOUR</p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="list of illustrations"> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Rue de l'Hôtel de Ville</span></td> +<td> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Courtyard of the Compas d'Or</span></td> +<td class="tdc"><i>To face page</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#courtyard">6</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Ile de la Cité from the Pont des Arts</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#ile">40</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Notre Dame</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#notre">58</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#etoile">74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Parc Monceau</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#parc">116</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#carrousel">124</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Place de la Concorde</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#concorde">140</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Pont Alexandre III.</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#alexandre">160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Fontaine de Médicis</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#fontaine">180</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Musée Cluny</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#cluny">200</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Rue de Bièvre</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#bievre">222</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Boulevard des Italiens</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#italiens">240</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Porte St. Denis</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#porte">258</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Sacre Cœur de Montmartre from the +Buttes-Chaumont</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#sacre">280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Place des Vosges, Southern Entrance</span></td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#vosges">300</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">x</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="p6">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<p class="center b1">IN BLACK AND WHITE</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="2" summary="list of illustrations"> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Map.</span> From a Drawing by B. C. Boulter</td> +<td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i><a href="#map">Front Cover</a></i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Nativity.</span> Luini (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Mansell</span></td> +<td class="topC"><i>To face page</i></td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#nativity">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Giovanna Tornabuoni and the Cardinal +Virtues</span>—Fresco from the Villa Lemmi.<br /> +<span class="i2">Botticelli (Louvre)</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#giovanna">20</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">La Vierge aux Rochers.</span> Leonardo da Vinci +(Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#vierge">26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Sainte Anne, La Vierge, et l'Enfant Jésus.</span> +Leonardo da Vinci. (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#anne">36</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">La Pensée.</span> Rodin (Luxembourg)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#pensee">46</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Balthasar Castiglione.</span> Raphael (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#balthasar">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">L'Homme au Gant.</span> Titian (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#homme">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Portrait de Jeune Homme.</span> Attributed to Bigio +(Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Alinari</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#portrait">70</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">The Winged Victory of Samothrace.</span> (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Giraudon</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#winged">80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">La Joconde: Monna Lisa.</span> Leonardo da Vinci +(Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#joconde">86</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Portrait d'une Dame et sa Fille.</span> Van Dyck +(Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Mansell</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#vandyck">94</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">xi</a></span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Le Vallon.</span> Corot (Louvre, Thomy-Thierret +Collection)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#vallon">106</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Le Printemps.</span> Rousseau (Louvre, Thomy-Thierret +Collection)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#printemps">120</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Vieux Homme et Enfant.</span> Ghirlandaio (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Mansell</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#vieux">136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Vénus et l'Amour.</span> Rembrandt (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#venus">146</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Les Pèlerins d'Emmaüs.</span> Rembrandt (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#pelerins">154</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">La Vierge au Donateur.</span> J. van Eyck (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#donateur">166</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Portrait de sa Mère.</span> Whistler (Luxembourg)</td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#mere">176</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">La Bohémienne.</span> Franz Hals (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#hals">186</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Ste. Geneviève</span>. Puvis de Chavannes (Panthéon)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#chavannes">190</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">La Leçon de Lecture.</span> Terburg (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#lecon">206</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">La Dentellière.</span> Vermeer of Delft (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Woodbury</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#dentelliere">216</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Girl's Head.</span> Ecole de Fabriano (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Mansell</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#head">228</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Le Bénédicité.</span> Chardin (Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Giraudon</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#benedicite">234</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">Madame Le Brun et sa Fille.</span> Madame Le Brun +(Louvre)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Hanfstaengl</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#madame">246</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Le Pont de Mantes.</span> Corot (Louvre, Moreau Collection)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#pont">252</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">xii</a></span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">La Provende des Poules.</span> Troyon (Louvre, +Thomy-Thierret Collection)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Alinari</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#provende">266</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td><span class="smcap">The Windmill.</span> R. P. Bonington (Louvre)</td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#windmill">274</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">L'Amateur d'Estampes.</span> Daumier (Palais des +Beaux Arts)</td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#amateur">286</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Le Baiser.</span> Rodin (Luxembourg)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#baiser">294</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">La Bergère Gardant ses Moutons.</span> Millet +(Louvre, Chauchard Collection)</td> +<td class="tdc">"</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#bergere">308</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><span class="smcap">Le Monument aux Morts.</span> A. Bartholomé (Père +la Chaise)<br /> +<span class="i2">From a Photograph by Neurdein</span></td> +<td class="topC">"</td> +<td class="topR"><a href="#morts">316</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h2 class="p6">A WANDERER IN PARIS</h2> + +<h2><a name="chapter_i" id="chapter_i"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +THE ENGLISH GATES OF PARIS</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Gare du Nord and Gare St. Lazare—The Singing Cabman—"Vivent +les femmes!"—Characteristic Paris—The Next Morning—A +Choice of Delights—The Compas d'Or—The World of Dumas—The +First Lunch—Voisin wins. +</p> + +<p>Most travellers from London enter Paris in the +evening, and I think they are wise. I wish it +were possible again and again to enter Paris in the +evening for the first time; but since it is not, let me +hasten to say that the pleasure of re-entering Paris +in the evening is one that custom has almost no power +to stale. Every time that one emerges from the Gare +du Nord or the Gare St. Lazare one is taken afresh by +the variegated and vivid activity of it all—the myriad +purposeful self-contained bustling people, all moving +on their unknown errands exactly as they were moving +when one was here last, no matter how long ago. For +Paris never changes: that is one of her most precious +secrets.</p> + +<p>The London which one had left seven or eight hours +before was populous enough and busy enough, Heaven +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span> +knows, but London's pulse is slow and fairly regular, +and even at her gayest, even when greeting Royalty, +she seems to be advising caution and a careful demeanour. +But Paris—Paris smiles and Paris sings. +There is an incredible vivacity in her atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Sings! This reminds me that on the first occasion +that I entered Paris—in the evening, of course—my +cabman sang. He sang all the way from the Gare du +Nord to the Rue Caumartin. This seemed to me +delightful and odd, although at first I felt in danger of +attracting more attention than one likes; but as we +proceeded down the Rue Lafayette—which nothing but +song and the fact that it is the high road into Paris +from England can render tolerable—I discovered that no +one minded us. A singing cabman in London would +bring out the Riot Act and the military; but here he +was in the picture: no one threw at the jolly fellow +any of the chilling deprecatory glances which are the +birthright of every light-hearted eccentric in my own +land. And so we proceeded to the hotel, often escaping +collision by the breadth of a single hair, the driver singing +all the way. What he sang I knew not; but I doubt +if it was of battles long ago: rather, I should fancy, +of very present love and mischief. But how fitting a +first entry into Paris!</p> + +<p>An hour or so later—it was just twenty years ago, +but I remember it so clearly—I observed written up in +chalk in large emotional letters on a public wall the +words "Vivent les femmes!" and they seemed to me also +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> +so odd—it seemed to me so funny that the sentiment +should be recorded at all, since women were obviously +going to live whatever happened—that I laughed aloud. +But it was not less characteristic of Paris than the +joyous baritone notes that had proceeded from beneath +the white tall hat of my cocher. It was as natural for +one Parisian to desire the continuance of his joy as +a lover, even to expressing it in chalk in the street, as +to another to beguile with lyrical snatches the tedium +of cab-driving.</p> + +<p>I was among the Latin people, and, as I quickly +began to discover, I was myself, for the first time, a +foreigner. That is a discovery which one quickly makes +in Paris.</p> + +<p>But I have not done yet with the joy of entering and +re-entering Paris in the evening—after the long smooth +journey across the marshes of Picardy or through the +orchards of Normandy and the valley of the Seine—whichever +way one travels. But whether one travels by +Calais, Boulogne, Dieppe or Havre, whether one alights +at the Gare du Nord or St. Lazare, once outside the +station one is in Paris instantly: there is no debatable +land between either of these termini and the city, as +there is, for example, between the Gare de Lyons and +the city. Paris washes up to the very platforms. A +few steps and here are the foreign tables on the pavements +and the foreign waiters, so brisk and clean, +flitting among them; here are the vehicles meeting and +passing on the wrong or foreign side, and beyond that, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> +knowing apparently no law at all; here are the deep-voiced +newsvendors shouting those magic words <i>La +Patrie!</i> <i>La Patrie!</i> which, should a musician ever write +a Paris symphony, would recur and recur continually +beneath its surface harmonies. And here, everywhere, +are the foreign people in their ordered haste and their +countless numbers.</p> + +<p>The pleasure of entering and re-entering Paris in the +evening is only equalled by the pleasure of stepping +forth into the street the next morning in the sparkling +Parisian air and smelling again the pungent Parisian +scent and gathering in the foreign look of the place. +I know of no such exuberance as one draws in with +these first Parisian inhalations on a fine morning in May +or June—and in Paris in May and June it is always fine, +just as in Paris in January and February it is always cold +or wet. His would be a very sluggish or disenchanted +spirit who was not thus exhilarated; for here at his feet +is the holiday city of Europe and the clean sun over all.</p> + +<p>And then comes the question "What to do?" Shall +we go at once to "Monna Lisa"? But could there +be a better morning for the children in the Champs-Elysées? +That beautiful head in the His de la Salle +collection—attributed to the school of Fabriano! How +delightfully the sun must be lighting up the red walls of +the Place des Vosges! Rodin's "Kiss" at the Luxembourg—we +meant to go straight to that! The wheel +window in Notre Dame, in the north transept—I have +been thinking of that ever since we planned to come. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span></p> + +<p>So may others talk and act; but I have no hesitancies. +My duty is clear as crystal. On the first morning +I pay a visit of reverence and delight to the ancient +auberge of the Compas d'Or at No. 64 Rue Montorgeuil. +And this I shall always do until it is razed to +the earth, as it seems likely to be under the gigantic +scheme, beyond Haussmann almost, which is to renovate +the most picturesque if the least sanitary portions of +old Paris at a cost of over thirty millions of pounds. +Unhappy day—may it be long postponed! For some +years now I have always approached the Compas d'Or +with trembling and foreboding. Can it still be there? +I ask myself. Can that wonderful wooden hanger that +covers half the courtyard have held so long? Will +there be a motor-car among the old diligences and +waggons? But it is always the same.</p> + +<p>From the street—and the Rue Montorgeuil is as a +whole one of the most picturesque and characteristic +of the older streets of Paris, with its high white houses, +each containing fifty families, its narrowness, its barrows +of fruit and green stuff by both pavements, and +its crowds of people—from the street, the Compas d'Or +is hardly noticeable, for a butcher and a cutler occupy +most of its façade; but the sign and the old carvings +over these shops give away the secret, and you pass +through one of the narrow archways on either side and +are straightway in a romance by the great Dumas. Into +just such a courtyard would D'Artagnan have dashed, +and leaping from one sweating steed leap on another +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> +and be off again amid a shower of sparks on the stones. +Time has stood still here.</p> + +<p>There is no other such old inn left. The coach to +Dreux—now probably a carrier's cart—still regularly +runs from this spot, as it has done ever since the beginning +of the sixteenth century. Rows of horses +stand in its massive stables and fill the air with their +warm and friendly scent; a score of ancient carts huddle +in the yard, in a corner of which there will probably +be a little group of women shelling peas; beneath the +enormous hanger are more vehicles, and masses of hay +on which the carters sleep. The ordinary noise of +Paris gives way, in this sanctuary of antiquity, to the +scraping of hoofs, the rattle of halter bolts, and the +clatter of the wooden shoes of ostlers. It is the past in +actual being—Civilisation, like Time, has stood still in +the yard of the Compas d'Or. That is why I hasten to +it so eagerly and shall always do so until it disappears +for ever. There is nothing else in Paris like it.</p> + +<p>And after? Well, the next thing is to have lunch. +And since this lunch—being the first—will be the best +lunch of the holiday and therefore the best meal of the +holiday (for every meal on a holiday in Paris is a little +better than that which follows it), it is an enterprise +not lightly to be undertaken. One must decide carefully, +for this is to be an extravagance: the search for the +little out-of-the-way restaurant will come later. To-day +we are rich.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="courtyard" id="courtyard"></a> +<img src="images/i_022.jpg" width="650" height="360" alt="THE COURTYARD OF THE COMPAS D'OR, RUE MONTORGEUIL" /> +<p class="caption">THE COURTYARD OF THE COMPAS D'OR, RUE MONTORGEUIL</p></div> + +<p>This book is not a guide for the gastronome and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> +gourmet. How indeed could it be, even although +when heaven sends a cheerful hour one would scorn to +refrain? Yet none the less it would be pleasant in +this commentary upon a city illustrious for its culinary +ingenuity and genius to say something of restaurants. +But what is one to say here on such a theme? Volumes +are needed. Every one has his own taste. For me +Voisin's remains, and will, I imagine, remain the most +distinguished, the most serene, restaurant in Paris, in +its retired situation at the corner of the Rue Saint-Honoré +and the Rue Cambon, with its simple decoration, its +unhastening order and despatch, its Napoleonic head-waiter, +its Bacchic wine-waiter (with a head that calls +for vine leaves) and its fastidious cuisine. To Voisin's +I should always make my way when I wished not only +to be delicately nourished but to be quiet and philosophic +and retired. Only one other restaurant do I +know where the cooking gives me the satisfaction of +Voisin's—where excessive richness never intrudes—and +that is a discovery of my own and not lightly to be +given away. Voisin's is a name known all over the +world: one can say nothing new about Voisin's; but +the little restaurant with which I propose to tantalise +you, although the resort of some of the most thoughtful +eaters in Paris, has a reputation that has not spread. +It is not cheap, it is little less dear indeed than the +Café Anglais or Paillard's, to name the two restaurants +of renown which are nearest to it; its cellar is poor and +limited to half a dozen wines; its two rooms are minute +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> +and hot; but the idea of gastronomy reigns—everything +is subordinated to the food and the cooking. If you +order a trout, it is the best trout that France can breed, +and it is swimming in the kitchen at the time the +solitary waiter repeats your command; no such asparagus +reaches any other Paris restaurant, no such Pré Salé +and no such wild strawberries. But I have said enough; +almost I fear I have said too much. These discoveries +must be kept sacred.</p> + +<p>And for lunch to-day? Shall it be chez Voisin, or +chez Foyot, by the Sénat, or chez Lapérouse (where the +two Stevensons used to eat and talk) on the Quai des +Augustins? Or shall it be at my nameless restaurant?</p> + +<p>Voisin's to-day, I think.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_ii" id="chapter_ii"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> +THE ILE DE LA CITÉ</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +Paris Old and New—The Heart of France—Saint Louis—Old Palaces—Henri +IV.'s Statue—Ironical Changes—The Seine and the +Thames—The Quais and their Old Books—Diderot and the Lady—Police +and Red Tape—The Conciergerie—Marie Antoinette—Paris +and its Clocks—Méryon's Etchings—French Advocates—A +Hall of Babel—Sainte Chapelle—French Newspapers Serious +and Comic—The Only Joke—The English and the French.</p> + +<p>Where to begin? That is a problem in the writing +of every book, but peculiarly so with Paris; +because, however one may try to be chronological, the +city is such a blend of old and new that that design +is frustrated at every turn. Nearly every building of +importance stands on the site of some other which +instantly jerks us back hundreds of years, while if we +deal first with the original structure, such as the remains +of the Roman Thermes at the Cluny, built about +300, straightway the Cluny itself intrudes, and we leap +from the third century to the nineteenth; or if we trace +the line of the wall of Philip Augustus we come swiftly +to so modern an institution as the Mont-de-Piété; or +if we climb to such a recent thoroughfare as the Boulevard +de Clichy, with its palpitatingly novel cabarets +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> +and allurements, we must in order to do so ascend a +mountain which takes its name from the martyrdom +of St. Denis and his companions in the third century. +It is therefore well, since Paris is such a tangle of past +and present, to disregard order altogether and to let +these pages reflect her character. Expect then, dear +reader, to be twitched about the ages without mercy.</p> + +<p>Let us begin in earnest by leaving the mainland and +adventuring upon an island. For the heart of Paris is +enisled: Notre Dame, Sainte Chapelle, the Palais de +Justice, the Hôtel Dieu, the Préfecture de Police, the +Morgue—all are entirely surrounded by water. The +history of the Cité is the history of Paris, almost the +history of France.</p> + +<p>Paris, the home of the Parisii, consisted of nothing +but this island when Julius Cæsar arrived there with +his conquering host. The Romans built their palace +here, and here Julian the Apostate loved to sojourn. +It was in Julian's reign that the name was changed +from Lutetia (which it is still called by picturesque +writers) to Parisea Civitas, from which Paris is an easy +derivative. The Cité remained the home of government +when the Merovingians under Clovis expelled the +Romans, and again under the Carlovingians. The +second Royal Palace was begun by the first of the +Capets, Hugh, in the tenth century, and it was completed +by Robert the Pious in the eleventh. Louis +VII. decreed Notre Dame; but it was Saint Louis, +reigning from 1226 to 1270, who was the father of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> +Cité as we now know it. He it was who built Sainte +Chapelle, and it was he who surrendered part of the +Palace to the Law.</p> + +<p>While it was the home of the Court and the Church +the island naturally had little enough room for ordinary +residents, who therefore had to live, whether aristocrats +or tradespeople, on the mainland, either on the north +or south side of the river. The north side was for the +most part given to merchants, the south to scholars, +for Saint Louis was the builder not only of Sainte +Chapelle but also of the Sorbonne. Very few of the +smaller buildings of that time now remain: the oldest +Paris that one now wanders in so delightedly, whether +on the north bank or the south, whether near the +Sorbonne or the Hôtel de Sens, dates, with a few +fortunate exceptions, from the fifteenth and sixteenth +centuries.</p> + +<p>Nowhere may the growth of Paris be better observed +and better understood than on the highest point on this +Island of the City—on the summit of Notre Dame. +Standing there you quickly comprehend the Paris of +the ages: from Cæsar's Lutetia, occupying the island +only and surrounded by fields and wastes, to the Paris of +this year of our Lord, spreading over the neighbouring +hills, such a hive of human activity and energy as will +hardly bear thinking of—a Paris which has thrown off the +yoke not only of the kings that once were all-powerful but +of the Church too.</p> + +<p>By the twelfth century the kings of France had begun +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> +to live in smaller palaces more to their personal +taste, such as the Hôtel Barbette, the Hôtel de Sens +(much of which still stands, as a glass factory, at the +corner of the Rue de l'Hôtel de Ville and the Rue de +Figuier, one of the oldest of the Paris mansions), the +Hôtel de Bourgogne (in the Rue Etienne Marcel: you +may still see its tower of Jean Sans Peur), the Hôtel +de Nevers (what remains of which is at the corner of +the Rue Colbert and Rue Richelieu), and, of course, +the Louvre. Charles VII. (1422-1461) was the first +king to settle at the Louvre permanently.</p> + +<p>To gain the Ile de la Cité we leave the mainland +of Paris at the Quai du Louvre, and make our crossing +by the Pont Neuf. Neuf no longer, for as a matter of +historical fact it is now the oldest of all the Paris bridges: +that is, in its foundations, for the visible part of it has +been renovated quite recently. The first stone of it +was laid by Henri III. in 1578: it was not ready for +many years, but in 1603 Henri IV. (of Navarre) ventured +across a plank of it on his way to the Louvre, +after several previous adventurers had broken their +necks in the attempt. "So much the less kings they," +was his comment. He lived to see the bridge finished.</p> + +<p>Behind the statue of this monarch, whom the +French still adore, is the garden that finishes off the +west end of the Ile very prettily, sending its branches +up above the parapet. Here we may stop; for +we are now on the Island itself, midway between the +two halves of the bridge, and the statue has such +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> +a curious history, so typical of the French character, +that I should like to tell it. The original bronze figure, +erected by Louis XIII. in 1614, was taken down in 1792, +a time of stress, and melted into a commodity that was +then of vastly greater importance than the effigies of +kings—namely cannon. (As we shall see in the course +of this book, Paris left the hands of the Revolutionaries +a totally different city from the Paris of 1791.) Then +came peace again, and then came Napoleon, and in the +collection at the Archives is to be seen a letter written +by the Emperor from Schönbrunn, on August 15th, 1809, +stating that he wishes an obelisk to be erected on the site +of the Henri IV. statue—an obelisk of Cherbourg granite, +180 pieds d'élévation, with the inscription "l'Empereur +Napoléon au Peuple Français". That, however, was not +done.</p> + +<p>Time passed on, Napoleon fell, and Louis XVIII. +returned from his English home to the throne of France, +and was not long in perpetrating one of those symmetrical +ironical jests which were then in vogue. Taking +from the Vendôme column the bronze statue of Napoleon +(who was safely under the thumb of Sir Hudson Lowe +at St. Helena, well out of mischief), and to this adding +a second bronze statue of the same usurper intended for +some other site, the monarch directed that they should +be melted into liquid from which a new statue of Henri +IV.—the very one at which we are at this moment +gazing—should be cast. It was done, and though to +the Röntgen-rayed vision of the cynic it may appear +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> +to be nothing more or less than a double Napoleon, +it is to the world at large Henri IV., the hero of +Ivry.</p> + +<p>I have seen comparisons between the Seine and the +Thames; but they are pointless. You cannot compare +them: one is a London river, and the other is a Paris +river. The Seine is a river of light; the Thames is a river +of twilight. The Seine is gay; the Thames is sombre. +When dusk falls in Paris the Seine is just a river in the +evening; when dusk falls in London the Thames becomes +a wonderful mystery, an enchanted stream in a land of +old romance. The Thames is, I think, vastly more +beautiful; but on the other hand, the Thames has no +merry passenger steamers and no storied quais. The +Seine has all the advantage when we come to the consideration +of what can be done with a river's banks in +a great city. For the Seine has a mile of old book and +curiosity stalls, whereas the Thames has nothing.</p> + +<p>And yet the coping of the Thames embankment is as +suitable for such a purpose as that of the Seine, and as +many Londoners are fond of books. How is it? Why +should all the bookstalls and curiosity stalls of London +be in Whitechapel and Farringdon Street and the Cattle +Market? That is a mystery which I have never solved +and never shall. Why are the West Central and the +West districts wholly debarred—save in Charing Cross +Road, and that I believe is suspect—from loitering at +such alluring street banquets? It is beyond understanding. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span></p> + +<p>The history of the stall-holders of the quais has been +told very engagingly by M. Octave Uzanne, whom one +might describe as the Austin Dobson and the Augustine +Birrell of France, in his work <i>Bouquinistes et Bouquineurs</i>. +They established themselves first on the Pont Neuf, but +in 1650 were evicted. (The Paris bridges, I might say +here, become at the present time the resort of every kind +of pedlar directly anything occurs to suspend their +traffic.)</p> + +<p>The parapets of the quais then took the place of those +of the bridge, and there the booksellers' cases have been +ever since. But no longer are they the gay resort that +once they were. It was considered, says M. Uzanne, +writing of the eighteenth century, "quite the correct +thing for the promenaders to gossip round the bookstalls +and discuss the wit and fashionable writings of +the day. At all hours of the day these quarters were +much frequented, above all by literary men, lawyers +clerks and foreigners. One historical fact, not generally +known, merits our attention, for it shows that not +only the libraries and the stall-keepers assisted in drawing +men of letters to the vicinity of the Hôtel Mazarin, +but there also existed a 'rendez-vous' for the sale of +English and French journals. It was, in fact, at the +corner of the Rue Dauphine and the Quai Conti that +the first establishment known as the Café Anglais was +started. One read in big letters on the signboard: +Café Anglais—Becket, propriétaire. This was the meeting +place of the greater part of English writers visiting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> +Paris who wished to become acquainted with the literary +men of the period, the encyclopædists and poets of the +Court of Louis XV. This Café offered to its habitués +the best-known English papers of the day, the <i>Westminster +Gazette</i>, the <i>London Evening Post</i>, the <i>Daily +Advertiser</i>, and the various pamphlets published on the +other side of the Channel....</p> + +<p>"You must know that the Quai Conti up to the year +1769 was only a narrow passage leading down to a place +for watering horses. Between the Pont Neuf and the +building known as the Château-Gaillard at the opening +of the Rue Guénégaud, were several small shops, and a +small fair continually going on.</p> + +<p>"This Château-Gaillard, which was a dependency of +the old Porte de Nesle, had been granted by Francis I. +to Benvenuto Cellini. The famous Florentine goldsmith +received visits from the Sovereign protector of +arts and here executed the work he had been ordered to +do, under his Majesty's very eyes....</p> + +<p>"One calls to mind that Sterne, in his delightful +<i>Sentimental Journey</i>, was set down in 1767 at the Hôtel +de Modène, in the Rue Jacob, opposite the Rue des Deux-Anges, +and one has not forgotten his love for the quais +and the adventure which befell him while chatting to a +bookseller on the Quai Conti, of whom he wished to buy +a copy of Shakespeare so that he might read once more +Polonius' advice to his son before starting on his travels.</p> + +<p>"Diderot, in his <i>Salon</i> of 1761, relates his flirtation +with the pretty girl who served in one of these shops +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> +and afterwards became the wife of Menze. 'She called +herself Miss Babuti and kept a small book shop on the +Quai des Augustins, spruce and upright, white as a lily +and red as a rose. I would enter her shop, in my own +brisk way: "Mademoiselle, the 'Contes de la Fontaine' +... a 'Petronius' if you please."—"Here you are, Sir. +Do you want any other books?"—"Forgive me, yes"—"What +is it?"—"La 'Religieuse en Chemise.'"—"For +shame, Sir! Do you read such trash?"—"Trash, +is it, Mademoiselle? I did not know...."'"</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="nativity" id="nativity"></a> +<img src="images/i_034.jpg" width="427" height="650" alt="The Nativity" /> +<p class="caption">THE NATIVITY<br /> +<span class="s2">LUINI</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>M. Uzanne's pages are filled with such charming +gossip and with character-sketches of the most famous +booksellers and book-hunters. One pretty trait that +would have pleased Mary Lamb (and perhaps did, in +1822, when her brother took her to the "Boro' side of +the Seine") is mentioned by M. Uzanne: "The stall-keeper +on the quais always has an indulgent eye for +the errand boy or the little bonne [slavey] who stops in +front of his stall and consults gratis 'La Clef des Songes' +or 'Le Secrétaire des Dames'. Who would not commend +him for this kind toleration? In fact it is very +rare to find the bookseller in such cases not shutting +his eyes—metaphorically—and refraining from walking +up to the reader, for fear of frightening her away. +And then the young girl moves off with a light step, +repeating to herself the style of letter or the explanation +of a dream, rich in hope and illusions for the rest of the +day."</p> + +<p>But the best description of the book-hunter of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> +quais is that given to Dumas by Charles Nodier. "This +animal," he said, "has two legs and is featherless, +wanders usually up and down the quais and the boulevards, +stopping at all the old bookstalls, turning over +every book on them; he is habitually clad in a coat +that is too long for him and trousers that are too short; +he always wears on his feet shoes that are down at the +heel, a dirty hat on his head, and, under his coat and +over his trousers, a waistcoat fastened together with +string. One of the signs by which he can be recognised +is that he never washes his hands."</p> + +<p>Henri IV.'s statue faces the Place Dauphine and the +west façade of the Palais de Justice. At No. 28 in the +Place Dauphine Madame Roland was born, little thinking +she was destined one day to be imprisoned in the +neighbouring Conciergerie, which, to those who can +face the difficulties of obtaining a ticket of admission, +is one of the most interesting of the Island's many interesting +buildings. But the process is not easy, and +there is only one day in the week on which the prison +is shown.</p> + +<p>The tickets are issued at the Préfecture of Police—the +Scotland Yard of Paris—which is the large building +opposite Sainte Chapelle. One may either write or call. +I advise writing; for calling is not as simple as it +sounds: simplicity and sightseeing in Paris being indeed +not on the best terms. It was not until I had asked +five several officials that I found even the right door +of the vast structure, and then having passed a room +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> +full of agents (or policemen) smoking and jesting, and +having climbed to a third storey, I was in danger of losing +for ever the privilege of seeing what I had fixed my +mind upon, wholly because, although I knew the name +and street of my hotel, I did not know its number. +Who ever dreamed that hotels have numbers? Has the +Savoy a number in the Strand? Is the Ritz numbered +in Piccadilly? Not that I was living in any such +splendour, but still, on the face of it, a hotel has a name +because it has no number. "C'est égal," the gentleman +said at last, after a pantomime of impossibility and +reproach, and I took my ticket, bowed to the ground, +replaced my hat and was free to visit the Conciergerie +on the morrow. Such are the amenities of the tourist's +life.</p> + +<p>Let me here say that the agents of Paris are by far +its politest citizens, and in appearance the healthiest. +I have never met an uncivil agent, and I once met one +who refused a tip after he had been of considerable +service to me. Never did I attempt to tip another. +They have their defects, no doubt: they have not the +authority that we give our police: their management +of traffic is pathetically incompetent; but they are street +gentlemen and the foreigner has no better friend.</p> + +<p>The Conciergerie is the building on the Quai de l'Horloge +with the circular towers beneath extinguishers—an +impressive sight from the bridges and the other bank of +the river. Most of its cells are now used as rooms for +soldiers (André Chénier's dungeon is one of their kitchens); +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> +but a few rooms of the deepest historical interest have +been left as they were. These are displayed by a listless +guide who rises to animation only when the time comes +to receive his bénéfice and offer for sale a history of his +preserves.</p> + +<p>One sees first the vaulted Salle Saint Louis, called the +Salle des Pas Perdus because it was through it that the +victims of the Revolution walked on their way to the +Cour de Mai and execution. The terribly significant +name has since passed to the great lobby of the Palais +de Justice immediately above it, where it has less appropriateness. +It is of course the cell of Marie Antoinette +that is the most poignant spot in this grievous place. +When the Queen was here the present room was only +about half its size, having a partition across it, behind +which two soldiers were continually on guard, day and +night. The Queen was kept here, suffering every kind +of indignity and petty tyranny, from early September, +1793, until October 16th. Her chair, in which she sat +most of the time, faced the window of the courtyard.</p> + +<p>A few acts of kindness reached her in spite of the +vigilance of the authorities; but very few. I quote +the account of two from the official guide, a poor +thing, which I was weak enough to buy: "The Queen +had no complaint to make against the concierges +Richard nor their successors the Baults. It is told +that one day Richard asked a fruitseller in the +neighbourhood to select him the best of her melons, +whatever it might cost. 'It is for a very important +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> +personage, then?' said the seller disdainfully, looking at +the concierge's threadbare clothes. 'Yes,' said he, 'it is +for some one who was once very important; she is so no +longer; it is for the Queen.' 'The Queen,' exclaimed the +tradeswoman, turning over all her melons, 'the Queen! +Oh, poor woman! Here, make her eat that, and I won't +have you pay for it....'</p> + +<p>"One of the gendarmes on duty having smoked during +the night, learnt the following day that the Queen, +whom he noticed was very pale, had suffered from the +smell of the tobacco; he smashed his pipe, swearing not to +smoke any more. It was he also who said to those who +came in contact with Marie Antoinette: 'Whatever +you do, don't say anything to her about her children'."</p> + +<p>For her trial the Queen was taken to the Tribunal +sitting in what is now the First Circle Chamber of the +Palais de Justice, and led back in the evening to her +cell. She was condemned to death on the fifteenth, and +that night wrote a letter to her sister-in-law Elizabeth +which we shall see in the Archives Nationales: it is +firmly written.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="giovanna" id="giovanna"></a> +<img src="images/i_040.jpg" width="650" height="475" alt="GIOVANNA TORNABUONI" /> +<p class="caption">GIOVANNA TORNABUONI AND THE CARDINAL VIRTUES<br /> +<span class="s2">BOTTICELLI. FRESCO FROM THE VILLA LEMMI</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(Louvre)</span></p></div> + +<p>The Conciergerie had many other prisoners, but none +so illustrious. Robespierre occupied for twenty-four +hours the little cell adjoining that of the Queen, now +the vestry of the chapel. Madame Du Barry and +Madame Récamier had cells adjacent to that of Madame +Roland. Later Maréchal Ney was imprisoned here. +The oldest part of all—the kitchens of Saint Louis—are +not shown. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span></p> + +<p>The Pont au Change, the bridge which connects the +Place du Châtelet with the Boulevard du Palais, the +main street of the Ile de la Cité, was once (as the Ponte +Vecchio at Florence still is) the headquarters of goldsmiths +and small bankers. Not the least of the losses +that civilisation and rebuilders have brought upon us +is the disappearance of the shops and houses from the +bridges. Old London Bridge—how one regrets that!</p> + +<p>At the corner of the Conciergerie is the Horloge that +gives the Quai its name—a floridly decorated clock which +by no means conveys the impression that it has kept +time for over five hundred years and is the oldest exposed +time-piece in France. Paris, by the way, is very +poor in public clocks, and those that she has are not +too trustworthy. The one over the Gare St. Lazare +has perhaps the best reputation; but time in Paris is +not of any great importance. For most Parisians there +is an inner clock which strikes with perfect regularity at +about twelve and seven, and no other hours really +matter. And yet a certain show of marking time is +made in the hotels, where every room has an elaborate +ormolu clock, usually under a glass case and rarely +going. And in one hotel I remember a large clock on +every landing, of which I passed three on my way upstairs; +and their testimony was so various that it was +two hours later by each, so that by the time I had +reached my room it was nearly time to get up. On asking +the waiter the reason he said it was because they +were synchronised by electricity. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span></p> + +<p>There has been a Tour de l'Horloge at this corner +of the Conciergerie ever since it was ordained by Philippe +le Bel in 1299; the present clock, or at least its scheme +of decoration, dates, however, from Henri III.'s reign, +about 1585. The last elaborate restoration was in +1852. In the tower above was a bell that was rung +only on rare occasions. The usual accounts of the +Massacre of St. Bartholomew say that the signal for +that outrage was sounded by the bell of St. Germain +l'Auxerrois; but others give it to the bell of the Tour +de l'Horloge. As they are some distance from each +other, perhaps both were concerned; but since St. +Germain l'Auxerrois is close to the Louvre, where the +King was waiting for the carnage to begin, it is probable +that it rang the first notes.</p> + +<p>One of Méryon's most impressive and powerful etchings +represents the Tour de l'Horloge and the façade of the +Conciergerie. It is a typical example of his strange and +gloomy genius, for while it is nothing else in the world +but what it purports to be, it is also quite unlike the +Tour de l'Horloge and the façade of the Conciergerie +as any ordinary eyes have seen them. They are made +terrible and sinister: they have been passed through +the dark crucible of Méryon's mind. To see Paris as +Méryon saw it needs a great effort of imagination, so +swiftly and instinctively do these people remove the +traces of unhappiness or disaster. It is the nature of +Paris to smile and to forget; from any lapse into woe +she recovers with extraordinary rapidity. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span></p> + +<p>Méryon's Paris glowers and shudders; there is blood +on her hands and guilt in her heart. I will not say +that his concept is untrue, because I believe that the +concept formed by a man of genius is always true, although +it may not contain all the truth, and indeed one +has to recall very little history to fall easily into Méryon's +mood; but for the visitor who has chosen Paris for his +holiday—the typical reader, for example, of this book—Mr. +Dexter's concept of Paris is a more natural one. (I +wish, by the way, before it is too late, that Mr. Muirhead +Bone would devote some time to the older parts of +the city—particularly to the Marais. How it lies to +his hand!)</p> + +<p>Since we are at the gates of the Palais de Justice let +us spend a little time among the advocates and their +clients in the great hall—the Salle des Pas Perdus. (In +an interesting work, by the way, on this building, with +a preface by the younger Dumas, the amendment, "La +Salle du temps perdu" is recommended.) The French +law courts, as a whole, are little different from our own: +they have the same stuffiness, they give the same impression +of being divided between the initiated and the +uninitiated, the little secret society of the Bar and the +great innocent world. But the Salle des Pas Perdus is +another thing altogether. There is nothing like that +in the Strand. Our Strand counsel are a dignified, +clean-shaven, be-wigged race, striving to appear old +and inscrutable and important. They are careful of +appearances; they receive instructions only through +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> +solicitors; they affect to weigh their words; sagacious +reserve is their fetish. Hence our law courts, although +there are many consultations and incessant passings to +and fro, are yet subdued in tone and overawing to the +talkative.</p> + +<p>But the Palais de Justice!—Babel was inaudible +beside it. In the Palais de Justice everyone talks at +once; no one cares a sou for appearances or reticence; +there are no wigs, no shorn lips, no affectation of a +superhuman knowledge of the world. The French +advocate comes into direct communication with his +client—for the most part here. The movement as well +as the vociferation is incessant, for out of this great hall +open as many doors as there are in a French farce, and +every door is continually swinging. Indeed that is the +chief effect conveyed: that one is watching a farce, +since there has never been a farce yet without a +legal gentleman in his robes and black velvet cap. The +chief difference is that here there are hundreds of them. +As a final touch of humour, or lack of gravity, I may +add that notices forbidding smoking are numerous, and +every advocate and every client is puffing hard at his +cigarette.</p> + +<p>Victor Hugo's <i>Notre Dame</i> begins, it will be remembered, +in the great Hall of the Palais de Justice, where +Gringoire's neglected mystery play was performed and +Quasimodo won the prize for ugliness. The Hall, as +Hugo says, was burned in 1618: by a fire which, he +tells us, was made necessary by the presence in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> +archives of the Palais of the documents in the case of +the assassination of Henri IV. by Ravaillac. Certain of +Ravaillac's accomplices and instigators wishing these +papers to disappear, the fire followed as a matter of +course, as naturally as in China a house had to be +burned down before there could be roast pig.</p> + +<p>Sainte Chapelle, which, with the kitchens of Saint +Louis under the Conciergerie, is all that remains of the +royal period of the Palais de Justice, is, except on +Mondays, always open during the reasonable daylight +hours and is wholly free from vexatious restrictions. +Sanctity having passed from it, the French sightseers +do not even remove their hats, although I have noticed +that the English and Americans still find the habit too +strong. The Chapelle may easily disappoint, for such +is the dimness of its religious light that little is visible +save the dark coloured windows. One is, however, +conscious of perfect proportions and such ecclesiastical +elegance as paint and gold can convey. It is in fact +exquisite, yet not with an exquisiteness of simplicity but +of design and elaboration. It is like a jewel—almost +a trinket—which Notre Dame might have once worn +on her breast and tired of. Its flêche is really beautiful; +it darts into the sky with only less assurance and +joy than that of Notre Dame, and I always look up +with pleasure to the angel on the eastern point of the +roof.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="vierge" id="vierge"></a> +<img src="images/i_048.jpg" width="390" height="650" alt="LA VIERGE AUX ROCHERS" /> +<p class="caption">LA VIERGE AUX ROCHERS<br /> +<span class="s2">LEONARDO DA VINCI</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>What one has the greatest difficulty in believing is +that Sainte Chapelle is six hundred and fifty years old. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> +It was built for the relics brought from the Crusades +by Saint Louis, which are now in the Treasury of Notre +Dame. The Chapel has, of course, known the restorer's +hand, but it is virtually the original structure, and +some of the original glass is still here preserved amid +reconstructions. To me Sainte Chapelle's glass makes +little appeal; but many of my friends talk of nothing +else. Let us thank God for differences of taste. During +the Commune (as recently as 1871) an attempt was +made to burn Sainte Chapelle, together with the Palais +de Justice, but it just failed. That was the third fire +it has survived.</p> + +<p>From Sainte Chapelle we pass through the Rue de +Lutèce, which is opposite, across the Boulevard, because +there is a statue here of some interest—that of Renaudot, +who lived in the first half of the seventeenth +century at No. 8 Quai du Marché Neuf, close by, and +founded in 1631 the first French newspaper, the <i>Gazette +de France</i>. Little could he have foreseen the consequences +of his rash act! It is amusing to stand here +a while and meditate on the torrent that has proceeded +from that small spring. Other cities have as busy a +journalistic life as Paris, and in London the paper boys +are more numerous and insistent, while in London we +have also the contents' bills, which are unknown to +France; and yet Paris seems to me to be more a city +of newspapers than even London is. Perhaps it is the +kiosques that convey the impression.</p> + +<p>The London papers and the Paris papers could not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> +well be more different. In the matter of size, Paris, I +think, has all the advantage, for one may read everything +in a few minutes; but in the matter of ingredients +the advantage surely lies with us, for although English +papers tell far too much, and by their own over-curiousness +foster inquisitiveness and busy-bodydom, yet they +have some sense of what is important, and one can always +find the significant news. In Paris, if one excepts the +best papers, the <i>Temps</i> in particular, the significant +news is elusive. What one will find, however, is a +short story or a literary essay written with distinction, +an anecdote of the day by no means adapted for the +young person, and a number of trumpery tragedies of +passion or excess, minutely told; and in the <i>Figaro</i> +once or twice a week an excellent humorous or satirical +drawing. The signed articles are always good, and +when critical usually fearless, but the unsigned notices +of a new play or spectacle credit it with perfection in +every detail; and here, at any rate, as in our best reviews +of books, we are in a position to feel some of the +satisfaction that proceeds from conscious superiority.</p> + +<p>But, it has to be remembered, in Paris people go to the +theatre automatically, whereas we pick and choose and +have our reasons, and even talk of one play being moral +and another immoral, and therefore in Paris an honest +criticism of a play is of little importance. The Paris +<i>Daily Mail</i> seems to have fallen into line very naturally, +for I find in it, on the morning on which I write these +lines, a puff of the Capucines revue, saying that it kept +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> +the house in continuous laughter by its innocent fun, and +will doubtless draw all Paris. As if (i) the laughter in +any Paris theatre was ever continuous, and as if (ii) +there was ever any innocent fun at the Capucines, and as +if (iii) all Paris would go near that theatre if there were!</p> + +<p>One reason, I imagine, for the diffuseness of the +English paper and the brevity of the French, is that +the English have so little natural conversation that +they find it useful to acquire news on which to base +more; while the French need no such assistance. The +English again are interested in other nations, whereas +the French care nothing for any land but France. +There is no space in which to continue this not untempting +analysis: it would require much room, for +to understand thoroughly the difference between, say, the +<i>Daily Telegraph</i> and the <i>Journal</i> is to understand the +difference between England and France.</p> + +<p>The French comic papers one sees everywhere—except +in people's hands. I suppose they are bought, or +they would not be published; but I have hardly ever +observed a Frenchman reading one that was his own +property. The fault of the French comic paper is +monotony. Voltaire accused the English of having +seventy religions and only one sauce; my quarrel with +the French is that they have seventy sauces and only +one joke. This joke you meet everywhere. Artists +of diabolical cleverness illustrate it in colours every +week; versifiers and musicians introduce it into songs; +comic singers sing it; playwrights dramatise it; novelists +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> +and journalists weave it into prose. It is the +oldest joke and it is ever new. Nothing can prevent a +Parisian laughing at it as if it were as fresh as his roll, +his journal or his petit Gervais. For a people with a +world-wide reputation for wit, this is very strange; but +in some directions the French are incorrigibly juvenile, +almost infantine. Personally I envy them for it. I +think it must be charming never to grow out of such +an affection for indecency that even a nursery mishap +can still be always funny.</p> + +<p>One of the comic papers must, however, be exempted +from these generalisations. <i>Le Rire</i>, <i>Le Journal Amusant</i>, +<i>La Vie Parisienne</i> and the scores of cheaper imitations +may depend for their living on the one joke; but +<i>L'Assiette au Beurre</i> is more serious. <i>L'Assiette au +Beurre</i> is first and foremost a satirist. It chastises +continually, and its whip is often scorpions. Even its +lighter numbers, chiefly given to ridicule, contain streaks +of savagery.</p> + +<p>At the end of the brief Rue de Lutèce is the great +Hôtel Dieu, the oldest hospital in Paris, having been +founded in the seventh century; and to the left of it is +one of the Paris flower markets, where much beautiful +colour may be seen very formally and unintelligently +arranged. Gardens are among those things that we +order (or shall I say disorder?) better than the French +do.</p> + +<p>And now we will enter Notre Dame.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_iii" id="chapter_iii"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> +NOTRE DAME</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +Pagan Origins and Christian Predecessors—The Beginnings of Notre +Dame—Victor Hugo—The Dangers of Renovation—Old Glass +and New—A Wedding—The Cathedral's Great Moment—The +Hundred Poor Girls and Louis XVI.—The Revolution—Mrs. +Momoro, Goddess of Reason—The Legend of Our Lady of the +Bird—Coronation of Napoleon—The Communards and the +Students—The Treasures of the Sacristy—Three Hundred and +Ninety-seven Steps—Quasimodo and Esmeralda—Paris at our +Feet—The Eiffel Tower—The Devils of Notre Dame—The Precincts—Notre +Dame from the Quai.</p> + +<p>If the Ile de la Cité is the eye of Paris, then, to +adapt one of Oliver Wendell Holmes' metaphors, +Notre Dame is its pupil. It stands on ground that has +been holy, or at least religious, for many centuries, for +part of its site was once occupied by the original mother +church of Paris, St. Etienne, built in the fourth century; +and close by, in the Place du Parvis, have been discovered +the foundations of another church, dating from +the sixth century, dedicated to Sainte Marie; while +beneath that are the remains of a Temple of Apollo or +Jupiter, relics of which we shall see at the Cluny. The +origin of Notre Dame, the fusion of these two churches, +is wrapped in darkness; but Victor Hugo roundly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> +states that the first stone of it was laid by Charlemagne +(who reigned from 768 to 814, and whose noble equestrian +statue stands just outside), and the last by Philip +Augustus, who was a friend of our Richard Cœur de +Lion. The more usual account of the older parts of +the Notre Dame that one sees to-day is that the first +stone of it was laid in 1163, in the reign of Louis VII., +by Pope Alexander III., who chanced then to be in +Paris engaged in the task of avoiding his enemies, the +Ghibellines, and that in almost exactly a hundred years, +in the reign of Saint Louis, it was completed. (I say +completed, but as a matter of fact it is not completed +even yet, for each of the square towers was designed to +carry a spire, and I remember seeing at the Paris +Exhibition of 1889 a number of drawings of the cathedral +by young architects, with these spires added. It is, +however, very unlikely that they will ever sprout, and +I, for one, hope not.)</p> + +<p>Victor Hugo is, of course, if not the first authority +on Notre Dame, its most sympathetic poet, lover and +eulogist; and it seems ridiculous for me to attempt +description when every book shop in Paris has a copy +of his rich and fantastic romance, Book III. of which +is an interlude in the story wholly given to the glory +of the cathedral. You may read there not only of what +Notre Dame is, but of what it is not and should be: +the shortcomings of architects and the vandalism of +mobs are alike reported. Mobs! Paris is seared with +cicatrices from the hands of her matricidal children, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> +Notre Dame especially so. Attempts to set her on fire +were made not only by the revolutionaries but by +the Communards too. These she resisted, but much of +her statuary went during the Revolution, the assailants +sparing the Last Judgment on the façade, but accounting +very swiftly for a series of kings of Israel and Judah +(who, however, have since been replaced) under the impression +that they were monarchs of native growth and +therefore not to be endured.</p> + +<p>The statue of the Virgin in the centre of the façade, +with Adam and Eve on each side, is not, I may say, the +true Notre Dame of Paris: She is within the church—much +older and simpler, on a column to the right of +the altar as we face it. She is a sweeter and more +winning figure than that between our first parents on +the façade.</p> + +<p>When I first knew Notre Dame it was, to the visitor +from the open air, all scented darkness. And then as +one grew accustomed to the gloom the cathedral opened +slowly like a great flower—not so beautifully as Chartres, +but with its own grandeur and fascination. That was +twenty years ago. It is not the same since it has been +scraped and lightened within. That old clinging darkness +has gone. There are times of day now, when the +sun spatters on the wall, when it might be almost any +church; but towards evening in the gloom it is Notre +Dame de Paris again, mysterious and a little sinister. +A bright light not only chases the shade from its aisles +and recesses but also shows up the garishness of its glass. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> +For the glass of France, usually bad, is here often almost +at its worst. That glorious wheel window in the north +transept—whose upper wall has indeed more glass than +stone in it—could not well be more beautiful, and the +rose window over the organ is beautiful too. But for +the rest, the glass is either too pretty, as in the case of +the window over the altar, so lovely in shape, or utterly +trumpery.</p> + +<p>The last time I was in Notre Dame I followed a +wedding party through the main and usually locked +door, but although I was the first after the bride and +her father, I was not quick enough to set foot on the +ceremonial carpet, which a prudent verger rolled up +literally upon their heels. It was a fortunate moment +on which to arrive, for it meant a vista of the nave from +the open air right up the central aisle, and that, except +in very hot weather, is rare, and probably very rare +indeed when the altar is fully lighted.</p> + +<p>The secret of Notre Dame, both within and without, +is to be divined only by loitering in it with a mind at +rest. To enter intent upon seeing it is useless. Outside, +one can walk round it for ever and still be surprised by +the splendid vagaries, humours and resource of its stone; +while within, one can, by making oneself plastic, gradually +but surely attain to some of the adoration that was +felt for this sanctuary by Quasimodo himself. Let us +sit down on one of these chairs in the gloom and meditate +on some of the scenes which its stones have witnessed.</p> + +<p>While it was yet building Raymond VII., Count of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> +Toulouse, was scourged before the principal doorway for +heresy, on a spot where the pillory long stood. That +was in 1229. In 1248 St. Louis, on his way to the Holy +Land, visited Notre Dame to receive his pilgrim's staff +and scrip from the Bishop. In 1270 the body of St. +Louis lay in state under this roof before it was carried +to St. Denis for burial. Henry VI. of England was +crowned here as King of France—the first and last +English king to receive that honour. One Sunday in +1490, while Mass was being celebrated, a man called +Jean l'Anglais (as we should now say, John Bull) +snatched the Host from the priest's hand and profaned +it: for which crime he was burnt. In 1572 Henri IV. +(then Henri of Navarre) was married to Marguerite de +Valois, but being a Protestant he was not allowed within +the church, and the ceremony was therefore performed +just outside. When, however, he entered Paris triumphantly +as a conqueror and a Catholic in 1594, he heard +Mass and assisted at the Te Deum in Notre Dame like +a true Frenchman and ironist. In 1611 his funeral +service was celebrated here.</p> + +<p>Some very ugly events are in store for us; let something +pretty intervene. On February 9th, 1779 (in the +narrative of Louise de Grandpré, to whom the study of +Notre Dame has been a veritable passion), a large crowd +pressed towards the cathedral; the ground was strewed +with fresh grass and flowers and leaves; the pillars were +decorated with many coloured banners. In the choir +the vestments of the saints were displayed: the burning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> +tapers lit up the interior with a dazzling brightness: +the organ filled the church with joyful harmony, and +the bells rang out with all their might. The whole +court was present, the King himself assisting at the +ceremony, and the galleries were full to overflowing of +ladies of distinction in the gayest of dresses.</p> + +<p>Then slowly, through the door of St. Anne, entered +a hundred young girls dressed in white, covered +with long veils and with orange blossom on their heads. +These were the hundred poor girls whom Louis XVI. +had dowered in memory of the birth of Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte +of France, afterwards Duchess of Angoulême, +and it was his wish to assist personally at their wedding +and to seal their marriage licences with his sword, which +was ornamented on the handle or pommel with the +"fleur de lys".</p> + +<p>Through the door of the Virgin entered at the same +time one hundred young men, having each a sprig of +orange blossom in his button-hole. The two rows advanced +together with measured steps, preceded by two +Swiss, who struck the pavement heavily with their +halberds. They advanced as far as the chancel rails, +where each young man gave his hand to a young girl, +his fiancée, and marched slowly before the King, bowing +to him and receiving a bow in return. They were then +married by the Archbishop in person.</p> + +<p>A very charming incident, don't you think? Such a +royal gift, adds Louise de Grandpré, would be very +welcome to-day, when there are so many girls unmarried, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> +for the want of a dot. Every rich young girl who is +married ought to include in her corbeille de noces the +dot of some poor girl. All women, remarks Louise de +Grandpré, have a right to this element of love, which is +sanctified by marriage, honoured by men and blessed +by God. Christian marriage, says Louise de Grandpré, +is a nursery not only of good Catholics but still more +of good citizens. It is much to be wished, she concludes, +that obstacles could be removed, because one deplores +the depopulation of France.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="anne" id="anne"></a> +<img src="images/i_060.jpg" width="502" height="650" alt="SAINTE ANNE" /> +<p class="caption">SAINTE ANNE, LA VIERGE, ET L'ENFANT JÉSUS<br /> +<span class="s2">LEONARDO DA VINCI</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>The most fantastic and discreditable episode in the +history of Notre Dame occurred one hundred and fifteen +years ago, when the Convention decreed the Cult of +Reason, and Notre Dame became its Temple. A ballet +dancer was throned on the high altar, Our Lady of +Paris was taken down, and statues of Voltaire and +Rousseau stepped into the niches of the saints. Carlyle +was never more wonderful than in the three or four pages +that describe this cataclysm. He begins with the revolt +of the Curate Parens, followed by Bishop Gobel of Paris +clamouring for an honest calling since there was no +religion but Liberty.</p> + +<p>"The French nation," Carlyle writes, "is of gregarious +imitative nature; it needed but a fugle-motion in +this matter; and Goose Gobel, driven by Municipality +and force of circumstances, has given one. What Curé +will be behind him of Boissise; what Bishop behind him +of Paris? Bishop Grégoire, indeed, courageously declines; +to the sound of 'We force no one; let Grégoire +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> +consult his conscience'; but Protestant and Romish by +the hundred volunteer and assent. From far and near, +all through November into December, till the work is +accomplished, come letters of renegation, come Curates +who 'are learning to be Carpenters,' Curates with their +new-wedded Nuns: has not the day of Reason dawned, +very swiftly, and become noon? From sequestered +Townships come Addresses, stating plainly, though in +Patois dialect, that 'they will have no more to do with +the black animal called Curay, <i>animal noir appelé Curay</i>.'</p> + +<p>"Above all things, there come Patriotic Gifts, of +Church-furniture. The remnant of bells, except for +tocsin, descend from their belfries, into the National +melting-pot to make cannon. Censers and all sacred +vessels are beaten broad; of silver, they are fit for the +poverty-stricken Mint; of pewter, let them become +bullets, to shoot the 'enemies <i>du genre humain</i>'. Dalmatics +of plush make breeches for him who had none; +linen albs will clip into shirts for the Defenders of the +Country: old-clothesmen, Jew or Heathen, drive the +briskest trade. Chalier's Ass-Procession, at Lyons, was +but a type of what went on, in those same days, in all +Towns. In all Towns and Townships as quick as the +guillotine may go, so quick goes the axe and the wrench: +sacristies, lutrins, altar-rails are pulled down; the Mass-Books +torn into cartridge-papers: men dance the Carmagnole +all night about the bonfire. All highways +jingle with metallic Priest-tackle, beaten broad; sent to +the Convention, to the poverty-stricken Mint. Good +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> +Sainte Geneviève's <i>Chasse</i> is let down: alas, to be burst +open, this time, and burnt on the Place de Grève. +Saint Louis's Shirt is burnt;—might not a Defender of +the Country have had it?...</p> + +<p>"For the same day, while this brave Carmagnole-dance +has hardly jigged itself out, there arrive Procureur +Chaumette and Municipals and Departmentals, +and with them the strangest freightage: a New Religion! +Demoiselle Candeille, of the Opera; a woman +fair to look upon, when well rouged; she, borne on +palanquin shoulder-high; with red woollen nightcap; +in azure mantle; garlanded with oak; holding in her +hand the Pike of the Jupiter-<i>Peuple</i>, sails in: heralded +by white young women girt in tricolor. Let the world +consider it! This, O National Convention wonder of +the universe, is our New Divinity; <i>Goddess of Reason</i>, +worthy, and alone worthy of revering. Her henceforth +we adore. Nay were it too much to ask of an august +National Representation that it also went with us to +the <i>ci-devant</i> Cathedral called of Notre-Dame, and +executed a few strophes in worship of her?</p> + +<p>"President and Secretaries give Goddess Candeille, +borne at due height round their platform, successively +the Fraternal kiss; whereupon she, by decree, sails to +the right-hand of the President and there alights. And +now, after due pause and flourishes of oratory, the Convention, +gathering its limbs, does get under way in the +required procession towards Notre-Dame;—Reason, again +in her litter, sitting in the van of them, borne, as one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> +judges, by men in the Roman costume; escorted by wind-music, +red nightcaps, and the madness of the world....</p> + +<p>"'The corresponding Festival in the Church of Saint-Eustache,' +says Mercier, 'offered the spectacle of a +great tavern. The interior of the choir represented +a landscape decorated with cottages and boskets of +trees. Round the choir stood tables overloaded with +bottles, with sausages, pork-puddings, pastries and +other meats. The guests flowed in and out through +all doors: whosoever presented himself took part of the +good things: children of eight, girls as well as boys, +put hand to plate, in sign of Liberty; they drank also +of the bottles, and their prompt intoxication created +laughter. Reason sat in azure mantle aloft, in a serene +manner; Cannoneers, pipe in mouth, serving her as +acolytes. And out of doors,' continues the exaggerative +man, 'were mad multitudes dancing round the +bonfire of Chapel-balustrades, of Priests' and Canons' +stalls; and the dancers,—I exaggerate nothing,—the +dancers nigh bare of breeches, neck and breast naked, +stockings down, went whirling and spinning, like those +Dust-vortexes, forerunners of Tempest and Destruction.' +At Saint-Gervais Church, again, there was a terrible +'smell of herrings'; Section or Municipality having +provided no food, no condiment, but left it to chance. +Other mysteries, seemingly of a Cabiric or even Paphian +character, we leave under the Veil, which appropriately +stretches itself 'along the pillars of the aisles,'—not to +be lifted aside by the hand of History.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a name="ile" id="ile"></a> +<img src="images/i_066.jpg" width="650" height="362" alt="THE ILE DE LA CITÉ" /> +<p class="caption"><span class="flleft s2">TOUR ST. JACQUES</span> +<span class="center s2">CONCIERGERIE</span> +<span class="flright s2">STE. CHAPELLE NOTRE DAME</span><br /> +THE ILE DE LA CITÉ<br /> +FROM THE PONT DES ARTS</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> +"But there is one thing we should like almost better +to understand than any other: what Reason herself +thought of it, all the while. What articulate words +poor Mrs. Momoro, for example, uttered; when she +had become ungoddessed again, and the Bibliopolist +and she sat quiet at home, at supper? For he was an +earnest man, Bookseller Momoro; and had notions of +Agrarian Law. Mrs. Momoro, it is admitted, made +one of the best Goddesses of Reason; though her teeth +were a little defective.—And now if the Reader will +represent to himself that such visible Adoration of +Reason went on 'all over the Republic,' through these +November and December weeks, till the Church woodwork +was burnt out, and the business otherwise completed, +he will perhaps feel sufficiently what an adoring +Republic it was, and without reluctance quit this part +of the subject."</p> + +<p>I quote in the following pages freely from Carlyle, +because the Revolution is the most important event in +the history of Paris and so horribly recent (you may +still see the traces of Bonaparte's whiff of grape-shot +on the façade of St. Roch), and also because when +there is such an historian to borrow from direct, paraphrase +becomes a crime. None the less, I feel it my +duty to say that the attitude of this self-protective +contemptuous superior Scotchman towards the excitable +French and their hot-headed efforts for freedom +often enrages me as much as his vivid narrative fascinates +and moves. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span></p> + +<p>In 1794, when the New Religion had died down, the +Church became a store for wine confiscated from the +Royalists. In the year following, after the whiff of +grape-shot, the old religion was re-established. A +strange interregnum! How long ago was this?—only +one hundred and fifteen years—not four generations. +Could it happen again? Will it?...</p> + +<p>These revolutionaries, it may be remarked, were not +the only licentious rioters that Notre Dame had known, +for in its early days it was the scene every year of the +Fête des Fous, an orgy of gluttony and conviviality, in +which, however, one who was a true believer on all other +days might partake.</p> + +<p>After these lurid saturnalia it is pleasant again to dip +into the gentle pages of Louise de Grandpré, where, +among other legends of Notre Dame, is the pretty story +of a statue of the Virgin—now known as the Virgin with +the bird. In the Rue Chanoinesse there lived a young +woman, very devout, who came every day to pray. +She brought with her her son, a little fellow, very +wide-awake and full of spirits: his mother had +taught him to say his prayers. Cyril would close his +little hands to say his "Ave Maria," and he would throw +a kiss to the little Jesus, his dear friend, complaining +sometimes to his mother that the little Jesus would not +play with him. "You are not good enough yet," said +his mother; "Jesus plays only with the little children +in Paradise."</p> + +<p>A very severe winter fell and the young mother +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> +fell ill and no longer came to church. Cyril never saw +the little Jesus now, but he often thought of him as he +played at the foot of his mother's bed. On one of those +days when the sky was dull and leaden and the air +heavy and depressing, and the poor woman was rather +worse and more hopeless than usual, she became so weak +they thought each moment would be her last.</p> + +<p>Cyril could not understand why his mother no longer +smiled at him or stroked his hair or called him to her. +With his little heart almost bursting and his eyes full +of tears, he said, "I will go and tell the little Jesus of +my trouble."</p> + +<p>While they were attending to the poor mother the +child disappeared. He ran as fast as his little legs +would carry him and entered the cathedral by the +cloister door, crossed the transept, and was soon at the +foot of the statue of the Virgin Mary, where he was +accustomed to say his prayers with his mother. "Little +Jesus," said he, "Thou art very happy, Thou hast Thy +Mother; mine, who was so good, is always asleep now +and I am alone. Little Jesus, wake my mother up, and +I will give you my best toys, morning and evening I +will send you the sweetest kiss and say my best prayer. +And look, to begin with, I have brought you my +favourite bird: he is tame and will eat the golden +crumbs of Paradise out of your hand." At the same +time he stretched out his little closed hand towards +Jesus.</p> + +<p>The divine child stretched out His hand and Cyril let +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> +his beloved little bird escape. The bird, who had a +lovely coloured plumage, flew straight to the hand of +the Infant Christ and has remained there to this day. +The Virgin smiled on the child, and her white stone +robe at that moment became the same colour as the +bird's plumage.</p> + +<p>Cyril, with his heart very full, got up to go out, but +before leaving the church turned round to have one +more look at his little bird he loved so dearly: he was +struck with delight and astonishment when he heard +the favoured bird singing one of its sweetest songs in +honour of the Virgin and her Child.</p> + +<p>When Cyril returned to his home he went into his +mother's room without making the least noise to see if +she was still asleep. The young mother was sitting upright +in her bed, her head, still very bad, resting on a +pillow, but her wide-open eyes were looking for her +little one.</p> + +<p>"I was quite sure the little Jesus would wake you +up," said Cyril, climbing on to her bed. "I took Him +my bird this morning to take care of for me in the +Garden of Paradise."</p> + +<p>Life once more returned to the poor woman and she +kissed her boy.</p> + +<p>When you next go to Notre Dame, Louise de +Grandpré adds, be sure to visit the Vierge à l'oiseau, +who always hears the prayers of the little ones.</p> + +<p>It was in 1804 that Notre Dame enjoyed one of +its most magnificent moments—at the coronation of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> +Napoleon and Josephine Beauharnais. The Duchess +d'Abrantès wrote an account of the ceremony which, in +French, is both picturesque and rapturous. "The pope +was the first to arrive. At the moment of his entering +the cathedral, the clergy intoned Tu es Petrus, and +this solemn chant made a deep impression on all. Pius +the VII. advanced to the end of the cathedral with a +majestic yet humble grace.... The moment when all +eyes were most drawn to the Altar steps was when +Josephine received the crown from the Emperor and +was solemnly consecrated by him Empress of the French. +When it was time for her to take an active part in the +great ceremony, the Empress descended from the throne +and advanced towards the altar, where the Emperor +awaited her....</p> + +<p>"I saw," the Duchess continues, "all that I have just +told you, with the eyes of Napoleon. He was radiant +with joy as he watched the Empress advancing towards +him; and when she knelt ... and the tears she could +not restrain fell upon her clasped hands, raised more towards +him than towards God: at this moment, when +Napoleon, or rather Bonaparte, was for her her true +providence, at this instant there was between these two +beings one of those fleeting moments of life, unique, +which fill up the void of years.</p> + +<p>"The Emperor invested with perfect grace every +action of the ceremony he had to perform: above all, +at the moment of crowning the Empress. This was to +be done by the Emperor himself, who after receiving +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> +the little closed crown surmounted by a cross, had to +place it on his own head first, and then place it on the +Empress's head. He did this in such a slow, gracious +and courtly manner that it was noticed by all. But at +the supreme moment of crowning her who was to him +his lucky star, he was almost coquettish, if I may use +the term. He placed the little crown, which surmounted +the diadem of brilliants, on her head, first putting it on, +then taking it off and putting it on again, as if assuring +himself that it should rest lightly and softly on her.</p> + +<p>"But Napoleon," the Duchess concludes, "when it +came to his own crown, hastily took it from the Pope's +hands and placed it haughtily on his own head—a proceeding +which doubtless startled his Holiness."</p> + +<p>Ten years pass and we find Louis XVIII. and his +family attending Mass at the same altar. Twenty-six +years later, in 1840, a service was held to commemorate +the restoration of the ashes of the Emperor to French +soil, and in 1853 Napoleon III. and Eugénie de Montijo +were married here, under circumstances of extraordinary +splendour. And then we come to plunder and lawlessness +again. On Good Friday, 1871, while Père Olivier +was preaching, a company of Communards entered and +from thenceforward for a while the cathedral was occupied +by the soldiers. For some labyrinthine reason +the destruction of Notre Dame by fire was decided upon, +and a huge pile of chairs and other material soaked in +petrol was erected (this was only thirty-eight years ago), +and no doubt the building would have been seriously +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> +injured, if not destroyed, had not the medical students +from the Hôtel Dieu, close by, rushed in and saved it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="pensee" id="pensee"></a> +<img src="images/i_074.jpg" width="447" height="650" alt="LA PENSÉE" /> +<p class="caption">LA PENSÉE<br /> +<span class="s2">RODIN</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Luxembourg)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>Among the preachers of Notre Dame was St. Dominic, +to whom in the pulpit the Virgin appeared, bringing +with her his sermon all to his hand in an effulgent +volume; here also preached Père Hyacinthe, but with +less direct assistance.</p> + +<p>That the Treasury is an object of interest to English-speaking +visitors is proved by the notice at the door: +"The Persons who desire to visit the Trésor are kindly +requested to wait the guide here for a few minutes, +himself charged of the visit"; but I see no good reason +why any one should enter it. Those, however, that do +will see vessels of gold, much paraphernalia of ecclesiastical +pride and pomp, and certain holy relics. The +crown of thorns is here, given to St. Louis by the King +of Constantinople and carried to Notre Dame, on the +18th of August, 1239, by the barefoot king. Here +also are pieces of the Cross, for the protection of which +St. Louis built Sainte Chapelle, the relics afterwards +being transferred to Notre Dame; and here is a nail +from the Cross—one of the nails of which even an +otherwise sceptical Catholic can be sure, because it was +given to Charlemagne by Constantine. Charlemagne +gave it to Aix la Chapelle, Charles the Bold brought +it from Aix to St. Denis, and from St. Denis it came +to Notre Dame, where it is enclosed in a crystal case.</p> + +<p>The menace of 397 spiral steps in a narrow, dark and +almost airless turret, is no light matter, but it is essential +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> +to see Paris from the summit of Notre Dame. That +view is the key to the city, and the traveller who means +to study this city as it deserves, penetrating into the +past as industriously and joyously as into the present, +must begin here. He will see it all beneath him and +around him in its varying ages, and he will be able to +proceed methodically and intelligently. Immediately +below is the Parvis, the scene of the interrupted execution +of Esmeralda, and it was from one of the galleries +below that Quasimodo slung himself down to her rescue. +Here, where we are now standing, she must often have +stood, looking for her faithless Phœbus. Only one of +the bells that Quasimodo rang is still in the tower.</p> + +<p>Hugo draws attention to the shape of the island, like +that of a ship moored to the mainland by various +bridges, and he suggests that the ship on the Paris +scutcheon (the ship that is to be seen in the design of +the lamps around the Opera) is derived from this resemblance. +It may be so. On each side of us, north +and south, are the oldest parts of Paris that still stand; +in the north the Marais, behind the Tour Saint-Jacques, +and in the south the district between the Rue de Bièvre +and the Boulevard St. Michel. On the south side of +the river lived the students, clerics and professors—Dante +himself among them, in this very Rue de Bièvre, as +we shall see; while in the Marais, as we shall also see, +dwelt the nobility. West of St. Eustache in the Middle +Ages was nothing but waste ground and woodland, a +kind of Bois, at the edge of which, where the Louvre +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> +now spreads itself, was a royal hunting lodge, the germ +of the present vast palace.</p> + +<p>When the Marais passed out of favour, the aristocracy +crossed the river to the St. Germain quarter, which +clusters around the twin spires of St. Clotilde that now +rise in the south-west. And then the Rue Saint-Honoré +and the Grands Boulevards were built, and so the city +grew and changed until the two culminating touches +were put to it: by M. Eiffel, who built the tower, +and M. Abadie, architect of the beautiful and unreal +Basilique du Sacré-Coeur that crowns the heights of +Montmartre.</p> + +<p>The chief eminences that one sees are, near at hand, +the needle-spire of Sainte Chapelle, in the north the +grey mass of St. Eustache, the Châtelet Theatre (advertising +at this moment "Les Pilules du Diable" in +enormous letters), the long roofs of the Halles, and the +outline of the medieval Tour Saint-Jacques. Farther +west the bulky Opera; then, right in front, the Trocadéro's +twin towers, with Mont Valérien looming up +immediately between them; and so round to the south—to +the Invalides and St. Clotilde, the Panthéon and +the heights of Geneviève. A wonderful panorama.</p> + +<p>Of all the views of Paris I think that from Notre +Dame is the most interesting, because the point is most +central; but the views from Montmartre, from the +Tour Saint-Jacques, the Panthéon and the Arc de +Triomphe should be studied too. The Eiffel Tower has +dwarfed all those eminences; they lie far below it, mere +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> +ant-hills in the landscape, although they seem high +enough when one essays their steps; yet, although it +makes them so lowly, these older coigns of vantage +should not for a moment be considered as superseded, +for each does for its immediate vicinage what the +Eiffel giant can never do. From the Arc de Triomphe, +for example, you command all the luxurious activity +of the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne and the wonderful +prospect of the Champs Elysées, ending with the Louvre; +and from the Panthéon you may examine the roofs of +the Latin Quarter and see the children at play in the +gardens of the Luxembourg.</p> + +<p>The merit of the Eiffel Tower is that he shows you +not only Paris to the ultimate edges in every direction +save on the northern slopes of Montmartre, but he shows +you (almost) France too. How long the Eiffel Tower +is to stand I cannot say, but I for one shall feel sorry +and bereft when he ceases to straddle over Paris. For +though he is vulgar he is great, and he has come to be +a symbol. When he goes, he will make a strange rent +in the sky. This year (1909) is his twentieth: he and +I first came to Paris at the same time; but his life is +serene to-day compared with what it was in his infancy. +At that time his platforms were congested from morn +to dusk; but few visitors now ascend even to the first +stage and hardly any to the top. No visitor, however, +who wants to synthesise Paris should omit this adventure. +Only in a balloon can one get a better view, but +in no balloon adrift from this green earth would I, for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> +one, ever trust myself, although I must confess that the +procession of those aerial monsters that floated serenely +past the Eiffel Tower on the last occasion that I climbed +it, suggested nothing but content and security. They +rose one by one from the bosky depths of the Bois, +five miles away, gradually disentangled themselves from +the surrounding verdure, assumed their independent +buoyant rotundity and came straight to my waiting +eye. In an hour I counted fifteen, and by the +time the last was free of the earth the first was +away over Vincennes, with the afternoon sun turning +its mud-coloured silk to burnished gold. Paris has +always one balloon floating above her, but fifteen is +exceptional.</p> + +<p>Notre Dame remains, however, the most important +height to scale, for Notre Dame is interesting in every +particular, it is soaked in history and mystery. Notre +Dame is alone in the possession of its devils—those +strange stone fantasies that Méryon discovered. Although +every effort is made to familiarise us with them—although +they sit docilely as paper-weights on our +tables—nothing can lessen the monstrous diablerie +of these figures, which look down on Paris with such +greed and cruelty, cunning and cynicism. The best +known, the most saturnine, of all, who leans on the +parapet exactly by the door at the head of the steps, +fixes his inhuman gaze on the dome of the Invalides. +Is it to be wondered at that he wears that expression? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span></p> + +<p>A small family dwells in a room just behind this +chimera, subsisting by the sale of picture-postcards. It +is a strange abode, and an imaginative child would have +a good start in life there. To him at any rate the +demons no doubt would soon lose their terrors and +become as friendly as the heavenly host that are posed +so radiantly and confidently on the ascent to the flèche—perhaps +even more so. But to the stranger they +must remain cruel and horrible, creating a sense of +disquietude and alarm that it is surely the business of +a cathedral to allay. Curious anomaly! Let us descend.</p> + +<p>Before leaving the Ile de la Cité, the Rue Chanoinesse, +to the north of Notre Dame, leading out of the Rue +d'Arcole (near a blackguard pottery shop), should be +looked at. The cloisters of Notre Dame once extended +to this street and covered the ground between it and the +cathedral. The canons, or chanoines, lived here, and +there are still a few attractive old houses; but the +rebuilder is very busy just now. At No. 10, Fulbert, +the uncle of Héloïse, is said to have lived; at No. 18 +was the Tour Dagobert, a fifteenth-century building, +by climbing which one had an excellent view of Notre +Dame, but in the past year it has been demolished and +business premises cover its site. At No. 26 are (or +were) the ruins of the twelfth-century chapel of St. +Aignan, where the faithful, evicted from Notre Dame +by the Reign of Reason, celebrated Mass in secret. +Saint Bernard has preached here. The adjacent streets—the +Rue de Colombe, Rue Massillon, Rue des Ursins +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> +and Rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame—have also very old +houses.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="balthasar" id="balthasar"></a> +<img src="images/i_082.jpg" width="504" height="650" alt="BALTHASAR CASTIGLIONE" /> +<p class="caption">BALTHASAR CASTIGLIONE<br /> +<span class="s2">RAPHAEL</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>For the best view of the exterior of Notre Dame one +must take the Quai de l'Archevêché, from which all +its intricacies of masonry may be studied—its buttresses +solid and flying, its dependences, its massive bulk, its +grace and strength.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_iv" id="chapter_iv"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> +ST. LOUIS AND HIS ISLAND</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Morgue—The Ile St. Louis—Old Residents—St. Louis, the +King—The Golden Legend—Religious Intolerance—Posthumous +Miracles—Statue of Barye—The Quai des Célestins. +</p> + +<p>On the way from Notre Dame to the Ile St. Louis +we pass a small official-looking building at the +extreme east end of the Ile de la Cité. It is the +Morgue.</p> + +<p>But the Morgue is now closed to idle gazers, and you +win your way to a sight of that melancholy slab with +the weary bodies on it and the little jet of water playing +on each, only by the extreme course of having missed +a relation whom you suspected of designs upon his own +life or whom you imagine has been the victim of foul +play. No doubt the authorities were well advised (as +French municipal authorities nearly always are) in closing +the Morgue; but I think I regret it. The impulse +to drift into that low and sinister building behind Notre +Dame was partly morbid, no doubt; but the ordinary +man sees not only too little death, but is too seldom in +the presence of such failure as for the most part governs +here: so that the opportunity it gave was good. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span></p> + +<p>I still recall very vividly, in spite of all the millions +of living faces that should, one feels, have blurred one's +prosperous vision, several of the dead faces that lay behind +the glass of this forlorn side-show of the great +entertainment which we call Paris. An old man with a +white imperial; more than one woman of that dreadful +middle-age which the Seine has so often terminated; a +young man who had been stabbed.... Well, the +Morgue is closed to the public now, and very likely no +one who reads this book will ever enter it.</p> + +<p>The Ile St. Louis, to put it bluntly, is just as commonplace +as the Ile de la Cité is imposing. It has a monotony +very rare in the older parts of Paris: it is all white +houses that have become dingy: houses that once were +attractive and wealthy and are now squalid. One of the +largest of the old palaces is to-day a garage; there is +not a single house now occupied by the kind of tenant +for which it was intended. Such declensions are always +rather melancholy, even when—as, for example, at Villeneuve, +near Avignon—there is the beauty of decay too. +But on the Ile St. Louis there is no beauty: it belongs +to a dull period of architecture and is now duller for its +dirt. Standing on the Quai d'Orléans, however, one +catches Notre Dame against the evening sky, across the +river, as nowhere else, and it is necessary to seek the Ile +if only to appreciate the fitness of the Morgue's position.</p> + +<p>The island was first called L'Ile Notre Dame, and was +uninhabited until 1614. It was then developed and +joined to the Ile de la Cité and the mainland by bridges. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> +The chief street is the Rue St. Louis, at No. 3 in which +lived Fénélon. The church of St. Louis is interesting +for a relic of the unfortunate Louise de la Vallière. At +No. 17 on the Quai d'Anjou is the Hôtel Lauzun, which +the city of Paris has now acquired, and in which once +lived together for a while the authors of <i>Mademoiselle de +Maupin</i> and <i>Les Fleurs de Mal</i>.</p> + +<p>Of Saint Louis, or Louis IX., who gives his name to +this island, and whose hand is so visible in the Ile de la +Cité, it is right to know something, for he was the father +of Paris. Louis was born in 1215, the year of Magna +Charta, and succeeded to the throne while still a boy. +The early years of his reign were restless by reason of +civil strife and war with England, in which he was victor +(at Tailleburg, at Saintes and at Blaize), and then came +his departure for the Holy Land, with 40,000 men, in +fulfilment of a vow made rashly on a sick-bed. The +King was blessed at Notre Dame, as we have seen, and +departed in 1248, leaving his mother Blanche de Castile +as regent. But the Crusade was a failure, and he was +glad to return (with only the ghost of his army) and to +settle down for the first time seriously to the cares of +his throne.</p> + +<p>He was a good if prejudiced king: he built wisely +and well, not only Sainte Chapelle, as we have seen, but +the Sorbonne; he devised useful statutes; he established +police in Paris; and, more perhaps than all, he made +Frenchmen very proud of France. So much for his administrative +virtues. When we come to his saintliness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> +I would stand aside, for is he not in <i>The Golden Legend</i>? +Listen to William Caxton: "He forced himself to +serve his spirit by diverse castigation or chastising, he +used the hair many times next his flesh, and when he +left it for cause of over feebleness of his body, at the +instance of his own confessor, he ordained the said confessor +to give to the poor folk, as for recompensation of +every day that he failed of it, forty shillings. He fasted +always the Friday, and namely in time of lent and advent +he abstained him in those days from all manner of +fish and from fruits, and continually travailed and pained +his body by watchings, orisons, and other secret abstinences +and disciplines. Humility, beauty of all virtues, +replenished so strong in him, that the more better he +waxed, so, as David, the more he showed himself meek +and humble, and more foul he reputed him before God.</p> + +<p>"For he was accustomed on every Saturday to wash +with his own hands, in a secret place, the feet of some +poor folk, and after dried them with a fair towel, and +kissed much humbly and semblably their hands, distributing +or dealing to every one of them a certain sum of +silver, also to seven score poor men which daily came to +his court, he administered meat and drink with his own +hands, and were fed abundantly on the vigils solemn. +And on some certain days in the year to two hundred +poor, before that he ate or drank, he with his own hands +administered and served them both of meat and drink. +He ever had, both at his dinner and supper, three ancient +poor, which ate nigh to him, to whom he charitably +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> +sent of such meats as were brought before him, and +sometimes the dishes and meats that the poor of our +Lord had touched with their hands, and special the sops +of which he fain ate, made their remnant or relief to be +brought before him, to the end that he should eat it; +and yet again to honour and worship the name of our +Lord on the poor folk, he was not ashamed to eat their +relief."</p> + +<p>Qualities have their defects, and such a frame of mind +as that can lead, for all the good motive, to injustice +and even cruelty. Christ's lesson of the Roman coin +is forgotten as quickly as any. Louis' passion for +holiness, which became a kind of self-indulgence, led +him into a hard and ugly intolerance and acts of severe +oppression against those whom he styled heretics. His +short way with the Jews recalled indeed those of our +own King John, who was very nearly his contemporary. +I know not if he pulled out their teeth, but he once +did what must have been as bad, if not worse, for he +published an ordinance "for the good of his soul," remitting +to his Christian subjects the third of their +debts to the Jews; and he also expressed it as his +opinion that "a layman ought not to dispute with an +unbeliever, but strike him with a good sword across the +body," the most practical expression of muscular sectarianism +that I know. Louis' religious fanaticism was, +however, his end; for he was so ill-advised as to undertake +a new Crusade against the unbelievers of Morocco, +and there, while laying siege to Tunis, he died of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> +plague. That was in 1270, when he was only fifty-five.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a name="notre" id="notre"></a> +<img src="images/i_090.jpg" width="650" height="509" alt="NOTRE DAME" /> +<p class="caption"><span class="fl20 s2">STE. CHAPELLE</span><br /> +NOTRE DAME: SOUTH FAÇADE<br /> +<span class="s2">(FROM THE QUAI DE MONTEBELLO)</span></p></div> + +<p>Twenty-seven years later Pope Boniface the Eighth +raised him to the Calendar of Saints, his day being +August 25th. But according to <i>The Golden Legend</i>, +which I for one implicitly believe (how can one help it, +written as it is?), the posthumous miracles of Louis did +not wait for Rome. They began at once. "On that +day that S. Louis was buried," we there read, "a woman +of the diocese of Sens recovered her sight, which she had +lost and saw nothing, by the merits and prayers of the +said debonair and meedful king. Not long after, a young +child of Burgundy both dumb and deaf of kind, coming +with others to the sepulchre or grave of the saint, +beseeching him of help, kneeling as he saw that the +others did, and after a little while that he thus kneeled +were his ears opened and heard, and his tongue redressed +and spake well. In the same year a woman blind was +led to the said sepulchre, and by the merits of the saint +recovered her sight. Also that same year two men and +five women, beseeching S. Louis of help, recovered the +use of going, which they had lost by divers sickness and +languors.</p> + +<p>"In the year that S. Louis was put or written in the +catalogue of the holy confessors, many miracles worthy +to be prized befell in divers parts of the world at the +invocation of him, by his merits and by his prayers. +Another time at Evreux a child fell under the wheel of +a water-mill. Great multitude of people came thither, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> +and supposing to have kept him from drowning, invoked +God, our Lady and his saints to help the said child, but +our Lord willing his saint to be enhanced among so +great multitude of people, was there heard a voice saying +that the said child, named John, should be vowed +unto S. Louis. He then, taken out of the water, was +by his mother borne to the grave of the saint, and after +her prayer done to S. Louis, her son began to sigh and +was raised on life."</p> + +<p>We leave the island by the Pont Sully, first looking +at the statue of Barye, the sculptor of Barbizon, many +of whose best small bronzes are in the Louvre (to say +nothing of the shops of the dealers in the Rue Laffitte) +and several of his large groups in the public gardens of +Paris, one, for example, being near the Orangery in the +Tuileries. Barye's monument standing here at the east +end of the Ile St. Louis balances Henri IV. at the west +end of the Ile de la Cité.</p> + +<p>Crossing to the mainland we ought to look at the +old houses on the Quai des Célestins, particularly the +old Hôtel de la Valette, now the Collège Massillon, into +whose courtyard one should boldly peep. At No. 32 +we touch very interesting history, for here stood, two +and a half centuries ago, Molière's Illustre Théâtre, +the stage entrance to which may be seen at 15 Rue de +l'Ave Marie.</p> + +<p>And now for the Marais.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_v" id="chapter_v"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +THE MARAIS</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +A £32,000,000 Rebuilding Scheme—Romance and Intrigue—The +Temple—The Archives—Illustrious Handwriting—The "Uncle" +of Paris—The Wall of Philip Augustus—Old Palaces now +Rookeries—The Carnavalet—The Perfect Museum—Latude—Napoleon—Madame +de Sévigné—Chained Streets—John Law—The +Rue St. Martin. +</p> + +<p>The Marais is that district of old streets and palaces +which is bounded on the south by the Rue +St. Antoine, on the east by the Rue du Turenne, on +the west by the Rue du Temple, and fades away in the +north somewhere below the Rue de Bretagne. The +Rue des Francs Bourgeois is its central highway east +and west.</p> + +<p>It was my original intention to devote a large proportion +of this book to this fascinating area—to describe +it minutely street by street—and I have notes for that +purpose which would fill half the volume alone. But +the publication of the £32,000,000 scheme for renovating +this and other of the older parts of Paris (one of +the principal points in which is the isolation of the +Musée Carnavalet, which is the heart of the Marais), +coming just at that time, acted like a douche of iced +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> +water, and I abandoned the project. Instead therefore +I merely say enough (I hope) to impress on every reader +the desirability, the necessity, of hastening to the Rue +des Francs Bourgeois and its dependencies, and refer +them to the two French writers whom I have found +most useful in my own researches—the Marquis de +Rochegude, author of a <i>Guide Pratique à travers le +Vieux Paris</i> (Hachette) and the Vicomte de Villebresme, +author of <i>Ce que reste du Vieux Paris</i> (Flammarion). +To these I would add M. Georges Cain, the director of +the Carnavalet, to whom I refer later.</p> + +<p>No matter where one enters the Marais, it offers the +same alluring prospect of narrow streets and high and +ancient houses, once the abode of the nobility and +aristocracy, but now rookeries and factories—and, over +all, that sense of thorough insanitation which so often +accompanies architectural charm in France and Italy, +and which seems to matter so little to Latin people. +Hence the additional wickedness of destroying this +district. The Municipality, however, having acquired +superfine foreign notions as to public health, will doubtless +have its way.</p> + +<p>Wherever one enters the Marais one finds the traces +of splendour, intrigue and romance; howsoever modern +conditions may have robbed them of their glory, to walk +in these streets is, for any one with any imagination, to +recreate Dumas. For the most part one must make +one's own researches, but here and there a tablet may +be found, such as that over the entrance to a narrow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> +and sinister passage at No. 38 Rue des Francs Bourgeois, +which reads thus: "Dans ce passage en sortant de +l'hôtel Barbette le Duc Louis d'Orléans frère du Roi +Charles VI. fut assassiné par Jean Sans Peur, Duc de +Bourgogne, dans la nuit du 23 ou 24 Novembre, 1407". +Five hundred years ago! That gives an idea of the +antiseptic properties of the air of Paris. The Duke of +Orléans, I might remark here, was symmetrically avenged, +for his son assassinated Jean Sans Peur on the bridge +of Montereau all in due course.</p> + +<p>The Marais was at its prime from the middle of the +fifteenth century to the beginning of the eighteenth; +at which period the Faubourg St. Antoine was abandoned +by fashion for the Faubourg St. Germain, as we shall +see when the time comes to wander in the Rue de +Varenne and the Rue de Grenelle on the other side of +the river.</p> + +<p>Let us enter the Marais by the Rue du Temple at +the Square du Temple, a little south of the Place de la +République. One must make a beginning somewhere. +The Temple, which has now disappeared, was the head-quarters +of the Knight Templars of France before their +suppression in 1307: it then became the property of +the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, who held it until +the Revolution, when all property seems to have changed +hands. Rousseau found sanctuary here in 1765; and +here Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were imprisoned +for a while in 1792. More tragic by far, it was here +that the little Dauphin died. Napoleon pulled down +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> +the Tower: Louis XVIII. on his accession awarded the +property to the Princesse de Condé, and Louis-Philippe, +on his, took it back again.</p> + +<p>The Rue du Temple has many interesting old houses +and associations. Just north of the Square is the +church of Elizabeth of Hungary, the first stone of +which was laid in 1628 by a less sainted monarch, +Marie de Médicis. It is worth entering to see its +carved wood scenes from Scripture history. At 193 +once lived Madame du Barry; at 153 was, in the reign +of Louis XV., the barreau des vinaigrettes—the vinaigrette +being the forerunner of the cab, a kind of sedan +chair and jinrickshaw; at 62 died Anne de Montmorency, +Constable of France, in the Hôtel de Montmorency.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="homme" id="homme"></a> +<img src="images/i_098.jpg" width="510" height="650" alt="L'HOMME AU GANT" /> +<p class="caption">L'HOMME AU GANT<br /> +<span class="s2">TITIAN</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>From the Square du Temple we may also walk down +the Rue des Archives, parallel with the Rue du Temple +on the east. This street now extends to the Rue de +Rivoli. It is rich in old palaces, some with very beautiful +relics of their grandeur still in existence, such as the +staircase at No. 78. The fountain at the corner of the +Rue des Haudriettes dates only from 1705. At No. +58 is the gateway, restored, of the old palace of the +Constable de Clisson, built in 1371. Later it belonged +to the Guise family and then to the Soubise. The +Revolution made it the property of the State, and +Napoleon directed that the Archives should be preserved +here. The entrance is in the Rue des Francs +Bourgeois, across the green court; but do not go on a +cold day, because there is no heating process, owing to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> +the age of the building and the extraordinary value of +the collections. The rooms in themselves are of some +interest for their Louis XV. decoration and mural +paintings, but one goes of course primarily to see the +handwriting of the great. Here is the Edict of Nantes +signed by Henri IV.; a quittance signed by Diana +de Poictiers, very boldly; a letter to Parliament from +Louis XI., in his atrocious hand; a codicil added by +Saint Louis to his will on board a vessel on the coast +of Sardinia, exquisitely written. The scriveners have +rather gone off than improved since those days; look at +the "Registre des enquêteurs royaux en Normandie," +1248, for a work of delicate minuteness. Marie +Thérèse, wife of Louis XIV., wrote an attractive hand, +but Louis XIV.'s own signature is dull. Voltaire is +discovered to have written very like Swinburne.</p> + +<p>Relics of the Revolution abound. Here is Marie +Antoinette's last letter to the Princess Elizabeth, +written the night before she was executed; a letter +of Pétion, bidding his wife farewell, and of Barbaroux +to his mother, both stained with tears. Here also is +the journal of Louis XVI., 1766-1792, and the order +for his inhumation (as Louis Capet), 21st January, 1793. +His will is here too; and so is Napoleon's. I say no +more because the collection is so vast, and also because +a franc buys a most admirable catalogue, with facsimiles, +beginning with the monogram of Charlemagne +himself.</p> + +<p>On leaving the Archives we may take an easterly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> +course along the Rue des Francs Bourgeois, with the +idea of making eventually for the Carnavalet; but it is +well to loiter, for this is the very heart of the Marais. +One's feet will always be straying down byways that +call for closer notice, and it is very likely that the +Carnavalet will not be reached till to-morrow after all. +Indeed, let "Hasta mañana" be your Marais motto.</p> + +<p>One of the first buildings that one notices is the +Mont de Piété, the chief of the Paris pawnbroking +establishments. I am told that the system is an admirable +one; but my own experience is against this +opinion, for I was unable on a day of unexpected stress +at the end of 1907 to effect an entrance at the very +reasonable hour of a quarter past five. The closing of +the English pawnbrokers at seven—the very moment +at which the ordinary man's financial troubles begin—is +sufficiently uncivilised; but to cease to lend money +on excellent gold watches at five o'clock in the afternoon +(with the bank closed on the morrow, too, being +New Year's Day) is a scandal. My adventures in search +of relief among French tradesmen who had been at my +feet as recently as yesterday, before supplies had broken +down, I shall never forget, nor shall I relate them here. +This aims at being an agreeable book.</p> + +<p>It is interesting to note that one of the entrances to +the Mont de Piété is reserved for clients who wish to +raise money on deeds, and I have seen cabmen very busy +in bringing to it people who quite shamelessly hold their +papers in their hands. And why on earth not? And +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> +yet your English pawner seldom reaches the Three +Brass Balls with such publicity or by any other medium +than his poor feet. Our Mont de Piété for the respectable +is the solicitor's office. A trace of the wall, and one +of its towers, built around Paris by Philip Augustus +in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, may be seen in +the courtyard of the Mont de Piété; but the wall is +better observed in the Rue des Guillemites, at No. 14.</p> + +<p>All about here once stood a large convent of the +Blancs-Manteaux, or Servants of the Virgin Mary, +an order which came into being in Florence in the +thirteenth century and of whom the doctor Benazzi +was the general. After the Blancs-Manteaux came +the Hermits of St. Guillaume, or Guillemites, and +later the Benedictines took it over. Next the Mont de +Piété at the back is the church of the Blancs-Manteaux +in its modern form. It is plain and unattractive, but +it wears an air of some purpose, and one feels that it +is much used in this very popular and not too happy +quarter. Just opposite, in a doorway, I watched an +old chiffonnière playing with a grey rabbit. Every inch +of this neighbourhood offers priceless material to the +hand of Mr. Muirhead Bone.</p> + +<p>One of the old tavern signs of Paris is to be seen +close by, at the corner of the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux +and the Rue des Archives: a soldier standing by a +cannon, representing l'homme armé. It is a comfortable +little retreat and should be encouraged for such +antiquarian piety. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span></p> + +<p>The pretty turret at the corner of the Rue des +Francs Bourgeois and the Rue Vieille du Temple +marks the site of the hôtel of Jean de la Balue. Turning +to the left up the Rue Vieille du Temple we come +at No. 87 to a very beautiful ancient mansion, with a +spacious courtyard, built in 1712 for the Cardinal de +Rohan. It is now the national printing works: hence +the statue of Gutenberg in the midst. Visitors are +allowed to see the house itself once a week, but I have +not done so. You will probably not be interfered with +if you just step to the inside of the second courtyard to +see the bas-relief of the steeds of Apollo. Nos. 102 to +108 in the same street mark the remains of another +fine eighteenth-century hôtel. There is also a house +which one should see in the lower part of the street, +on the south side of the Francs Bourgeois—No. 47, +where by penetrating boldly one comes to a perfect +little courtyard with some beautiful carvings in it, and, +above, a green garden, tended, when I was there, by a +Little Sister of the Poor. The principal courtyard has +a very interesting bas-relief of Romulus and Remus at +their usual meal, and also an old sundial. This palace +was built in 1638.</p> + +<p>Returning to the Rue des Francs Bourgeois, we find +at No. 38 the little impasse already referred to, where +the Duc d'Orléans was assassinated. At No. 30 is a +very impressive red-brick palace with a courtyard, now +a nest of offices and factories, once the hôtel of Jean de +Fourcy. A bust of Henri IV. has a place there. At +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> +No. 25 on the other side (seen better from the Rue +Pavée) is an even more splendid abode—now also cut +up into a rookery—the Hôtel de Lamoignon, once +Hôtel d'Angoulême, built for Diane, Duchess of Angoulême, +daughter of Henri II.: hence the symbols of +the chase in the ornamentation. The hotel passed to +President de Lamoignon in 1655.</p> + +<p>And here is the Carnavalet—the spacious building, +with a garden and modern additions, on the left—once +the Hôtel des Ligneries, afterwards the Hôtel de Kernevenoy, +afterwards the Hôtel de Sévigné, and now the +museum of the city of Paris. The only way to understand +Paris is to make repeated visits to this treasure-house. +You will find new entertainment and instruction +every time, because every time you will carry thither +impressions of new objects of interest whose past you +will want to explore. For in the Carnavalet every +phase of the life of the city, from the days of the +Romans and the Merovingians to our own, is illustrated +in one way or another. The pictures of streets alone +are inexhaustible: the streets that one knows to-day +as they were yesterday and the day before yesterday +and hundreds of years ago; the streets one has just +walked through on the way here, in their stages of +evolution: such, for example, as the picture of the +wooden Pont des Meuniers in 1380 with the Tour Saint-Jacques +behind it; the streets with dramas of the +Revolution in progress, such as the picture of the emblems +of Royalty being burned before the statue of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> +Liberty (where the Luxor column now stands) in the +Place de la Concorde on August 10th, 1793; such as +the picture of the famous "serment" being taken in +the court of the Jeu de Paume on June 20th, 1789; +such as the picture of the funeral of Marat. For the +perfection of topographical drawing look at the series +by F. Hoffbauer. But it is impossible and needless to +particularise. The visitor with a topographical or +historical bent will find himself in a paradise and will +return and return. One visit is ridiculous.</p> + +<p>The catalogue, I may say, is not good, therein falling +into line with the sculpture catalogue at the Louvre. +Everything may be in it, but the arrangement is poor. +In such a museum every article and every picture should +of course have a description attached, if only for the +benefit of the poor visitor, the humblest citizen of Paris +whose museum it is.</p> + +<p>There are a few works of art here too, as well as +topographical drawings. Georges Michel, for example, +who looked on landscape much as Méryon looked on +architecture and preferred a threatening sky to a sunny +one, has a prospect from the Plaine St. Denis. Vollon +paints the Moulin de la Galette on Montmartre as it +was in 1865; Troyon spreads out St. Cloud. Here +also are a charming portrait by Chardin of his second +wife; the well-known picture of David's Life School; +drawings by Watteau; an adorable unsigned "Marchand +de Lingerie"; an enchanting leg on a blue +pillow by Boucher; a portrait by Prud'hon of an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> +unknown man, very striking; and some exquisite work +by Louis Boilly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="portrait" id="portrait"></a> +<img src="images/i_106.jpg" width="518" height="650" alt="PORTRAIT DE JEUNE HOMME" /> +<p class="caption">PORTRAIT DE JEUNE HOMME<br /> +<span class="s2">ATTRIBUTED TO BIGIO</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>The Musée is strong in Henri IV. and the later Louis, +but it is of course in relics of the Revolution and +Napoleon that the interest centres. A casquette of +Liberty; the handle of Marat's bathroom; a portrait +of "La Veuve Capet" in the Conciergerie, in the room +that we have seen; a painted life-mask of Voltaire, +very horrible, and the armchair in which he died; a +copy of the constitution of 1793 bound in the skin +of a man; Marat's snuff-box; Madame Roland as +a sweet and happy child,—these I remember in particular.</p> + +<p>Latude is, however, the popular figure—Latude the +prisoner of the Bastille who escaped by means of implements +which he made secretly and which are now +preserved here, near a portrait of the enfranchised +gentleman, robust, portly and triumphant, pointing +with one hand to his late prison while the other grasps +the rope ladder. Latude's history is an odd one. He +was born in 1725, the natural son of a poor girl: after +accompanying the army in Languedoc as a surgeon, or +surgeon's assistant, he reached Paris in 1748 and proceeded +to starve. In despair he hit upon an ingenious +trick, which wanted nothing but success to have made +him. He prepared an infernal machine of infinitesimal +aptitude—a contrivance of practically harmless but +perhaps somewhat alarming explosives—and this he +sent anonymously to the Marquise de Pompadour, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> +then immediately after waited upon her in person at Versailles +to say that he had overheard some men plotting +to destroy her by means of this kind of a bomb, and he +had come post-haste to warn her and save her life. It +was a good story, but Latude seems to have lacked some +necessary gifts as an impostor, for his own share was +detected and he was thrown into the Bastille on the 1st +of May, 1749. A few weeks later he was transferred to +the prison at Vincennes, from which he escaped in 1750. +A month later he was retaken and again placed in the +Bastille, from which he escaped six years later. He got +away to Holland, but was quickly recaptured; and +then again he escaped, after nine more years. He was +then treated as a lunatic and put into confinement at +Charenton, but was discharged in 1777. His liberty, +however, seems to have been of little use to him, and he +rapidly qualified for gaol again by breaking into a +house and threatening its owner, a woman, with a +pistol, and he was imprisoned once more. Altogether +he was under lock and key for the greater part of +thirty-five years; but once he was free in 1784 he kept +his head, and not only remained free but became a +popular hero, and did not a little, by reason of a +heightened account of his sufferings under despotic +prison rule, to inflame the revolutionaries. These +memoirs, by the way, in the preparation of which he +was assisted by an advocate named Thiery, were for the +most part untruthful, and not least so in those passages +in which Latude described his own innocence and ideals. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> +Our own canonised prison-breaker, Jack Sheppard, was +a better hero than this man.</p> + +<p>The little room devoted to Napoleon is filled with an +intimate melancholy. Many personal relics are here—even +to a toothbrush dipped in a red powder. His +nécessaires de campagne so compactly arranged illustrate +the minute orderliness of his mind, and the workmanship +of the travelling cases that hold them proves once again +his thoroughness and taste. Everything had to be +right. One of his maps of la campagne de Prusse +is here; others we shall see at the Invalides.</p> + +<p>The relics of Madame de Sévigné, who once lived in +this beautiful house, are not very numerous; but they +exercise their spell. Her salon is very much as she left +it, except that the private staircase has disappeared and +a china closet takes its place. Within these walls have +La Rochefoucauld and Bossuet conversed; here she sat, +pen in hand, writing her immortal letters. "Lisons +tout Madame de Sévigné" was the advice of Sainte-Beuve, +while her most illustrious English admirer, +Edward FitzGerald, often quotes her. He came to her +late, not till 1875, but she never loosened her hold. "I +have this Summer," he wrote to Mrs. W. H. Thompson, +"made the Acquaintance of a great Lady, with whom +I have become perfectly intimate, through her Letters, +Madame de Sévigné. I had hitherto kept aloof from +her, because of that eternal Daughter of hers; but 'it's +all Truth and Daylight,' as Kitty Clive said of Mrs. +Siddons. Her Letters from Brittany are best of all, not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> +those from Paris, for she loved the Country, dear +Creature; and now I want to go and visit her 'Rochers,' +but never shall." "I sometimes lament," he says (to +Mrs. Cowell), "I did not know her before; but perhaps +such an acquaintance comes in best to cheer one toward +the end." With these pleasant praises in our ears let +us leave the Carnavalet.</p> + +<p>The Rue de Sévigné itself has many interesting houses, +notably on the south side of the Rue des Francs Bourgeois; +No. 11, for example, was once a theatre, built by +Beaumarchais in 1790. That is nothing; the interesting +thing is that he built it of material from the destroyed +Bastille and the destroyed church of St. Paul. +The fire station close by was once the Hôtel de Perron +de Quincy. It was in this street, on the day of the Fête +Dieu in 1392, that the Constable de Clisson, whose house +we saw in the Rue des Archives, was attacked by Pierre +de Craon.</p> + +<p>The Rue des Francs Bourgeois is the highway of the +Marais, and the Carnavalet is its greatest possession; +but, as I have said, the Marais is inexhaustible in architectural +and historical riches. We may work our way +through it, back to the Rue du Temple by any of these +ancient streets; all will repay. The Rue du Temple +extends to the Rue de Rivoli, striking it just by the +Hôtel de Ville, but the lower portion, south of the Rue +Rambuteau, is not so interesting as the upper. There +is, however, to the west of it, just north of the Rue de +Rivoli, a system of old streets hardly less picturesque +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> +(and sometimes even more so) than the Marais proper, +in the centre of which is the church of St. Merry, with +one of the most wonderful west fronts anywhere—a +mass of rich and eccentric decoration. The Saint himself +was Abbot of Autun. He came to Paris in the +seventh century to visit the shrines of St. Denis and St. +Germain. At that time the district which we are now +traversing was chiefly forest, in which the kings of +France would hunt, leaving their palace in the Ile de la +Cité and crossing the river to this wild district—wild +though so near. St. Merry established himself in his +simple way near a little chapel in the woods, dedicated +to St. Peter, that stood on this spot, and there he died. +After his death his tomb in the chapel performed such +miracles that St. Peter was forgotten and St. Merry was +exalted, and when the time came to rebuild, St. Merry +ousted St. Peter altogether.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="etoile" id="etoile"></a> +<img src="images/i_112.jpg" width="537" height="650" alt="THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE DE L'ETOILE" /> +<p class="caption">THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE DE L'ETOILE<br /> +<span class="s2">(APPROACHING FROM THE AVENUE DU BOIS DE BOULOGNE)</span></p> +</div> +<p>St. Merry's florid west front is in the Rue St. Martin, +once the Roman road from Paris to the north and to +England, and by the Rue St. Martin we may leave this +district; but between it and the Rue du Temple there +is much to see—such as, for example, the Rue Verrerie, +south of St. Merry's, the head-quarters of the ancient +glassworkers; the Rue Brisemiche, quite one of the best +of the old narrow Paris streets, with iron staples and +hooks still in the walls at Nos. 20, 23, 26 and 29, to +which chains could be fastened so as to turn a street into +an impasse during times of stress and thus be sure of +your man; the Rue Taillepin, also leading out of the Rue +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> +du Cloître St. Merry into the Rue St. Merri, which has +some fine old houses of its own, notably No. 36 and the +quaint Impasse du Bœuf at No. 10.</p> + +<p>Parallel with the Rue St. Merry farther north is +the Rue de Venise, which the Vicomte de Villebresme +boldly calls the most picturesque in old Paris. Now a +very low quarter, it was once literally the Lombard +Street of Paris, the chief abode of Lombardy moneylenders, +while the long and beautiful Rue Quincampoix, +into which it runs on the west, was also a financial +centre, containing no less an establishment than the +famous Banque of John Law, the Scotchman who for +a while early in the eighteenth century controlled French +finance. When Law had matured his Mississippi scheme, +he made the Rue Quincampoix his head-quarters, and +houses in it, we read, that had been let for £40 a year +now yielded £800 a month. In the winter of 1719-20 +Paris was filled with speculators besieging Law's offices +for shares. But by May the crash had come and Law +had to fly. Many a house in the Rue Quincampoix, +which is now sufficiently innocent of high finance, dates +from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. There is a +fine doorway at No. 34.</p> + +<p>We may regain the Rue St. Martin, just to the east, +by the Rue des Lombards, which brings us to the flamboyant +front of St. Merry's once more. The Rue St. +Martin, which confesses its Roman origin in its straightness, +is still busy with traffic, but neither itself nor the +Rue St. Denis, two or three hundred yards to the west, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> +is one-tenth as busy as it was before the Boulevard +Sebastopol was cut between them to do all the real work. +It is a fine thoroughfare and no doubt of the highest +use, but what beautiful narrow streets of old houses it +must have destroyed! We may note in the Rue St. +Martin the pretty fountain at No. 122, and the curious +old house at No. 164, and leave it at the church of St. +Nicholas-des-Champs, no longer in the fields any more +than London's St. Martin's is.</p> + +<p>And now after so many houses let us see some +pictures!</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_vi" id="chapter_vi"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> +THE LOUVRE: I. THE OLD MASTERS</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Winged Victory of Samothrace—Botticelli's Fresco—Luini—Ingres—The +Salon Carré—La Joconde—Leonardo da Vinci—Pater, +Lowell and Vasari—Early Collectors—Paul Veronese—Copyists—The +Salle des Primitifs—The Grande Galerie—Landor's +Pictorial Creed—The Great Schools—Rembrandt—Van Dyck +and Rubens—Amazing Abundance—The Dutch Masters—The +Drawings.</p> + +<p>It is on the first landing of the Escalier Daru, at the +end of the Galerie Denon, that one of the most +priceless treasures of the Louvre—one of the most +splendid things in the world—is to be found: it has +been before us all the way along the Galerie Denon, +that avenue of noble bronzes, the first thing that caught +the eye: I mean the "Winged Victory of Samothrace". +Every one has seen photographs or models of this +majestic and exquisite figure, but it must be studied +here if one is to form a true estimate of the magical +mastery of the sculptor. The Victory is headless and +armless and much mutilated; but that matters little. +She stands on the prow of a trireme, and for every one +who sees her with any imagination must for all time be +the symbol of triumphant and splendid onset. The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> +figure no doubt weighs more than a ton—and is as light +as air. The "Meteor" in a strong breeze with all her +sails set and her prow foaming through the waves does +not convey a more exciting idea of commanding and +buoyant progress. But that comparison wholly omits +the element of conquest—for this is essential Victory as +well.</p> + +<p>The statue dates from the fourth century <span class="smcap">b.c.</span> It +was not discovered until 1863, in Samothrace. Paris is +fortunate indeed to possess not only the Venus of Milo +but this wonder of art—both in the same building.</p> + +<p>Before entering the picture galleries proper, let us +look at two other exceedingly beautiful things also on +this staircase—the two frescoes from the Villa Lemmi, +but particularly No. 1297 on the left of the entrance +to Gallery XVI., which represents Giovanna Tornabuoni +and the Cardinal Virtues, and is by Sandro Filipepi, whom +we call Botticelli. For this exquisite work alone would +I willingly cross the Channel even in a gale, such is its +charm. A reproduction of it will be found <a href="#giovanna">opposite +page 20</a>, but it gives no impression of the soft delicacy +of colouring: its gentle pinks and greens and purples, +its kindly reds and chestnut browns. One should make +a point of looking at these frescoes whenever one is on +the staircase, which will be often.</p> + +<p>The ordinary entrance to the picture galleries of the +Louvre is through the photographic vestibule on the +right of the Winged Victory as you face it, leading to +the Salle Duchâtel, notable for such differing works as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> +frescoes by Luini and two pictures by Ingres—representing +the beginning and end of his long and austere +career. The Luinis are delightful—very gay and, as +always with this tender master, sweet—especially "The +Nativity," which is reproduced <a href="#nativity">opposite page 16</a>. The +Ingres' (which were bequeathed by the Comtesse Duchâtel +after whom the room is named) are the "Œdipus solving +the riddle of the Sphinx," dated 1808, when the +painter was twenty-eight, and the "Spring," which +some consider his masterpiece, painted in 1856. He +lived to be eighty-six. English people have so few +opportunities of seeing the work of this master (we have +in oils only a little doubtful portrait of Malibran, +very recently acquired, which hangs in the National +Gallery) that he comes as a totally new craftsman to +most of us; and his severity may not always please. +But as a draughtsman he almost takes the breath +away, and no one should miss the pencil heads, particularly +a little saucy lady, from his hand in the His +de la Salle collection of drawings in another part of +the Louvre.</p> + +<p>In the Salle Duchâtel is also a screen of drawings +with a very beautiful head by Botticelli in it—No. 48. +From the rooms we then pass to the Salon Carré (so +called because it is square, and not, as I heard one +American explaining to another, after the celebrated +collector Carré who had left these pictures to the nation), +and this is, I suppose, for its size, the most valuable +gallery in the world. It is doubtful if any other combination +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> +of collections, each contributing of its choicest, +could compile as remarkable a room, for the "Monna +Lisa," or "La Joconde," Leonardo da Vinci's portrait of +the wife of his friend Francesco del Giocondo, which is +its greatest glory and perhaps the greatest glory of all +Paris too, would necessarily be missing.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="winged" id="winged"></a> +<img src="images/i_120.jpg" width="474" height="650" alt="THE WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE" /> +<p class="caption">THE WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE<br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>Paris without this picture would not be the Paris +that we know, or the Paris that has been since 1793 +when "La Joconde" first became the nation's property—ever +more to smile her inscrutable smile and exert her +quiet mysterious sway, not only for kings and courtiers +but for all. When all is said, it is Leonardo who gives +the Louvre its special distinction as a picture gallery. +Without him it would still be magnificent: with him +it is priceless and sublime. For not only are there the +"Monna Lisa" and (also in the Salon Carré) the sweet +and beautiful "Madonna and Saint Anne," but in the +next, the Grande Galerie, are his "Virgin of the Rocks," +a variant of the only Leonardo in our National Gallery, +and the "Bacchus" (so like the "John the Baptist") and +the "John the Baptist" (so like the "Bacchus") and the +portrait of the demure yet mischievous Italian lady who +is supposed to be Lucrezia Crivelli, and who (in spite of +the yellowing ravages of time) once seen is never forgotten.</p> + +<p>The Louvre has all these (together with many +drawings), but above all it has the Monna Lisa, of which +what shall I say? I feel that I can say nothing. But +here are two descriptions of the picture, or rather two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> +descriptions of the emotions produced by the picture +on two very different minds. These I may quote as +expressing, between them, all. I will begin with that +of Walter Pater: "As we have seen him using incidents +of sacred story, not for their own sake, or as mere subjects +for pictorial realisation, but as a cryptic language +for fancies all his own, so now he found a vent for his +thought in taking one of these languid women, and raising +her, as Leda or Pomona, as Modesty or Vanity, to +the seventh heaven of symbolical expression.</p> + +<p>"<i>La Gioconda</i> is, in the truest sense, Leonardo's +masterpiece, the revealing instance of his mode of +thought and work. In suggestiveness, only the <i>Melancholia</i> +of Dürer is comparable to it; and no crude +symbolism disturbs the effect of its subdued and graceful +mystery. We all know the face and hands of the +figure, set in its marble chair, in that circle of fantastic +rocks, as in some faint light under sea. Perhaps of all +ancient pictures time has chilled it least.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> As often +happens with works in which invention seems to reach +its limit, there is an element in it given to, not invented +by, the master. In that inestimable folio of drawings, +once in the possession of Vasari, were certain designs by +Verrocchio, faces of such impressive beauty that Leonardo +in his boyhood copied them many times. It is hard not +to connect with these designs of the elder, by-past +master, as with its germinal principle, the unfathomable +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> +smile, always with a touch of something sinister on it, +which plays over all Leonardo's work. Besides, the +picture is a portrait. From childhood we see this image +defining itself on the fabric of his dreams; and but for +express historical testimony, we might fancy that this +was but his ideal lady, embodied and beheld at last. +What was the relationship of a living Florentine to this +creature of his thought? By what strange affinities +had the dream and the person grown up thus apart, +and yet so closely together? Present from the first +incorporeally in Leonardo's brain, dimly traced in the +designs of Verrocchio, she is found present at last in <i>Il +Giocondo's</i> house. That there is much of mere portraiture +in the picture is attested by the legend that +by artificial means, the presence of mimes and flute-players, +that subtle expression was protracted on the +face. Again, was it in four years and by renewed labour +never really completed, or in four months and as by +stroke of magic, that the image was projected?</p> + +<p>"The presence that rose thus so strangely beside the +waters, is expressive of what in the ways of a thousand +years men had come to desire. Hers is the head upon +which all 'the ends of the world are come,' and the +eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out +from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by +cell, of strange thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite +passions. Set it for a moment beside one of +those white Greek Goddesses or beautiful women of +antiquity, and how would they be troubled by this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> +beauty, into which the soul with all its maladies has +passed! All the thoughts and experience of the world +have etched and moulded there, in that which they have +of power to refine and make expressive the outward +form, the animalism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the +mysticism of the middle age with its spiritual ambition +and imaginative loves, the return of the Pagan world, +the sins of the Borgias. She is older than the rocks +among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been +dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; +and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen +day about her; and trafficked for strange webs with +Eastern merchants; and, as Leda, was the mother of +Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; +and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres +and flutes, and lives only in the delicacy with which it +has moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged the +eyelids and the hands. The fancy of a perpetual life, +sweeping together ten thousand experiences, is an old +one; and modern philosophy has conceived the idea +of humanity as wrought upon by, and summing up in +itself, all modes of thought and life. Certainly Lady +Lisa might stand as the embodiment of the old fancy, +the symbol of the modern idea."</p> + +<p>This was what the picture meant for Pater; whether +too much, is beside the mark. Pater thought it and +Pater wrote it, and that is enough. To others, who +are not as Pater, it says less, and possibly more. This, +for example, is what "Monna Lisa" suggested to one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> +of the most distinguished and civilised minds of our +time—James Russell Lowell:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p class="stanza">She gave me all that woman can,<br /> +Nor her soul's nunnery forego,<br /> +A confidence that man to man<br /> +Without remorse can never show.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Rare art, that can the sense refine<br /> +Till not a pulse rebellious stirs,<br /> +And, since she never can be mine,<br /> +Makes it seem sweeter to be hers!</p></div> + +<p>Finally, since we cannot (I believe) spend too much +time upon this picture, let me quote Vasari's account of +it. "For Francesco del Giocondo, Leonardo undertook +to paint the portrait of Monna Lisa, his wife, but, after +loitering over it for four years, he finally left it unfinished. +This work is now in the possession of the +King Francis of France, and is at Fontainebleau. +Whoever shall desire to see how far art can imitate +nature may do so to perfection in this head, wherein +every peculiarity that could be depicted by the utmost +subtlety of the pencil has been faithfully reproduced. +The eyes have the lustrous brightness and moisture +which is seen in life, and around them are those pale, +red, and slightly livid circles, also proper to nature, +with the lashes, which can only be copied, as these are, +with the greatest difficulty; the eyebrows also are represented +with the closest exactitude, where fuller and +where more thinly set, with the separate hairs delineated +as they issue from the skin, every turn being followed, +and all the pores exhibited in a manner that could not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> +be more natural than it is: the nose, with its beautiful +and delicately roseate nostrils, might be easily believed +to be alive; the mouth, admirable in its outline, has the +lips uniting the rose-tints of their colour with that of +the face, in the utmost perfection, and the carnation of +the cheek does not appear to be painted, but truly of +flesh and blood; he who looks earnestly at the pit of +the throat cannot but believe that he sees the beating +of the pulses, and it may be truly said that this work is +painted in a manner well calculated to make the boldest +master tremble, and astonishes all who behold it, however +well accustomed to the marvels of art.</p> + +<p>"Monna Lisa was exceedingly beautiful, and while +Leonardo was painting her portrait, he took the precaution +of keeping some one constantly near her, to sing +or play on instruments, or to jest and otherwise amuse +her, to the end that she might continue cheerful, and +so that her face might not exhibit the melancholy expression +often imparted by painters to the likenesses +they take. In this portrait of Leonardo's, on the +contrary, there is so pleasing an expression, and a smile +so sweet, that while looking at it one thinks it rather +divine than human, and it has ever been esteemed a +wonderful work, since life itself could exhibit no other +appearance."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="joconde" id="joconde"></a> +<img src="images/i_128.jpg" width="434" height="650" alt="LA JOCONDE: MONNA LISA" /> +<p class="caption">LA JOCONDE: MONNA LISA<br /> +<span class="s2">LEONARDO DA VINCI</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>King Francis I. (who met our Henry VIII. on the +Field of the Cloth of Gold) bought the picture of +Monna Lisa from the artist for a sum of money equal +now to £20,000. It was on a visit to Francis that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> +Leonardo died. "Monna Lisa" was the most valuable +picture in the cabinet of Francis I. and was first hung +there in 1545. It is very interesting to think that +this work, the peculiar glory of the Gallery, should also +be its nucleus, so to speak. The Venus of Milo and the +Winged Victory, which I have grouped with "Monna +Lisa" as its chief treasures, were not added until the +last century.</p> + +<p>Among other pictures in the Louvre which date +from the inception of a royal collection in the brain of +Francis I. are the "Virgin of the Rocks" by Leonardo, +Raphael's "Sainte Famille" (No. 1498) and "Saint +Michael," Andrea del Sarto's "Charité" and Piombo's +"Visitation". Louis XIII. began his reign with about +fifty pictures and increased them to two hundred, while +under Louis XIV., the Louvre's most conspicuous friend, +the royal collection grew from these two hundred to +two thousand—assisted greatly by Colbert the financier, +who bought for the Crown not only much of the +collection of the banker Jabach of Cologne, the Pierpont +Morgan of his day, who had acquired the art +treasures of our own Charles I., but also the Mazarin +bibelots. Under Louis XIV. and succeeding monarchs +the pictures oscillated between the Louvre, the Luxembourg +and Versailles. The Revolution centralised them +in the Louvre, and on 8th November, 1793, the collection +was made over to the public. During the first +Republic one hundred thousand francs a year were set +aside for the purchase of pictures. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span></p> + +<p>But we are in the Salon Carré. Close beside "La +Joconde" is that Raphael which gives me personally +more pleasure than any of his pictures—the portrait, +beautiful in greys and blacks, of Count Baldassare +Castiglione, reproduced <a href="#balthasar">opposite page 52</a>; here is a +Correggio (No. 1117) bathed in a glory of light; here +is a golden Giorgione; here is an allegory by Titian +(No. 1589) not so miraculously coloured as the Correggio +but wonderfully rich and beautiful; here is a +little princess by Velasquez; and near it a haunting +portrait of a young man (No. 1644) which has been +attributed to many hands, but rests now as the work of +Francia Bigio. I reproduce it <a href="#portrait">opposite page 70</a>. And +that is but a fraction of the treasures of the Salon Carré. +For there are other Titians, notably the portrait (No. +1592) of a young man with a glove (reproduced <a href="#homme">opposite +page 64</a>) marked by a beautiful gravity; other Raphaels, +more characteristic, including "La Belle Jardinière" +(No. 1496), filled with a rich deep calm; the sweetest +Luini that I remember (No. 1354), and the immense +"Marriage at Cana" by Paolo Veronese, which when +I saw it recently was being laboriously engraved on +copper by a gentleman in the middle of the room. It +was odd to watch so careful a piece of translation in +the actual making—to see Veronese's vast scene with +its rich colouring and tremendous energy coming down +into spider-like scratches on two square feet of hard +metal. I did not know that such patience was any +longer exercised. This picture, by the way, has a double +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> +interest—the general and the particular. As Whistler +said of Switzerland, you may both admire the mountain +and recognise the tourist on the top. It is full of +portraits. The bride at the end of the table is Eleanor +of Austria; at her side is Francis I. (who found his +way into as many pictures as most men); next to him, +in yellow, is Mary of England. The Sultan Suliman I. +and the Emperor Charles V. are not absent. The +musicians are the artist and his friends—Paul himself +playing the 'cello, Tintoretto the piccolo, Titian the +bass viol, and Bassano the flute. The lady with a +toothpick is (alas!) Vittoria Colonna.</p> + +<p>It is, by the way, always student-day at the Louvre—at +least I never remember to have been there, except +on Sundays, when copyists were not at work. Many of +the copies are being made to order as altar pieces in +new churches and for other definite purposes. Not all, +however! A newspaper paragraph lying before me +states that the authorities of the Louvre have five +hundred unfinished copies on their hands, abandoned by +their authors so thoroughly as never to be inquired for +again. I am not surprised.</p> + +<p>From the Salle Carré we enter the Grande Galerie, +which begins with the Florentine School, and ends, a +vast distance away, with Rembrandt. But first it is +well to turn into the little Salle des Primitifs Italiens, +a few steps on the right, for here are very rare +and beautiful things: Botticelli's "Madonna with a +child and John the Baptist" (No. 1296); Domenico +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> +Ghirlandaio's "Portrait of an old man and a boy" +(No. 1322), which I reproduce <a href="#vieux">opposite page 136</a>, that +triumph of early realism, and his "Visitation" (No. +1321), with its joyful colouring, culminating in a glorious +orange gown; Benedetto Ghirlandaio's "Christ on +the way to Golgotha" (No. 1323, on the opposite wall), +a fine hard red picture; two little Piero di Cosimos (on +each side of the door), very mellow and gay—representing +scenes in the marriage of Thetis and Peleus; Fra +Filippo Lippi's "Madonna and Child with two sainted +abbots" (No. 1344), and the "Nativity" next it (No. +1343); a sweet and lovely "Virgin and Child" (No. +1345) of the Fra Filippo Lippi school; another, also +very beautiful, by Mainardi (No. 1367); a canvas of portraits, +including Giotto and the painter himself, by Paolo +Uccello (No. 1272), the very picture described by Vasari +in the <i>Lives</i>; and Giotto's scenes in the life of St. +Francis, in the frame of which, as we shall see, I once, +for historical comparison, slipped the photograph of M. +Henri Pol, charmeur des oiseaux. These I name; but +much remains that will appeal even more to others.</p> + +<p>To walk along the Grande Galerie is practically to +traverse the history of art: Italian, Spanish, British, +German, Flemish and Dutch paintings all hang here. +Nothing is missing but the French, which, however, are +very near at hand. Some lines of Landor which always +come to my mind in a picture gallery I may quote +hereabouts with peculiar fitness, and also with a desire +to transfer the haunting—a very good one even if one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> +does not agree with the reference to Rembrandt, which +I do not:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +First bring me Raphael, who alone hath seen<br /> +In all her purity Heaven's Virgin Queen,<br /> +Alone hath felt true beauty; bring me then<br /> +Titian, ennobler of the noblest men;<br /> +And next the sweet Correggio, nor chastise<br /> +His little Cupids for those wicked eyes.<br /> +I want not Rubens's pink puffy bloom,<br /> +Nor Rembrandt's glimmer in a dirty room<br /> +With these, nor Poussin's nymph-frequented woods<br /> +His templed heights and long-drawn solitudes.<br /> +I am content, yet fain would look abroad<br /> +On one warm sunset of Ausonian Claude.</p> + +<p>It is no province of this book to take the place of +a catalogue; but I must mention a few pictures. The +left wall is throughout, I may say, except in the case +of the British pictures, the better. Here, very early, +is the lovely "Holy Family" of Andrea del Sarto (No. +1515); here hang the four Leonardos which I have +mentioned and certain of his derivatives; a beautiful +Andrea Solario (No. 1530); a Lotto, very modern in +feeling (No. 1350); a very striking "Salome" by Luini +(1355), and the same painter's "Holy Family" (No. +1353); Mantegna; a fine Palma; Bellini; Antonello +da Messina; more Titians, including "The Madonna +with the rabbit" (No. 1578) and "Jupiter and Antiope" +(No. 1587); a new portrait of a man in armour by +Tintoretto, lately lent to the Louvre, one of his gravest +and greatest; and so on to the sweet Umbrians—to +Perugino and to Raphael, among whose pictures are two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> +or three examples of his gay romantic manner, the most +pleasing of which (No. 1509), "Apollo and Marsyas," is +only conjecturally attributed to him.</p> + +<p>We pass then to Spain—to Murillo, who is represented +here both in his rapturous saccharine and his realistic +moods, "La Naissance de la Vierge" (No. 1710) and +"Le Jeune Mendicant" (No. 1717); to Velasquez, who, +however, is no longer credited with the lively sketch of +Spanish gentlemen (No. 1734); and to Zurbaran, the +strong and merciless.</p> + +<p>The British pictures are few but choice, including a +very fine Raeburn, and landscapes by Constable and +Bonington, two painters whom the French elevated to +the rank of master and influence while we were still debating +their merits. Such a landscape as "Le Cottage" +(No. 1806) by Constable, with its rich English simplicity, +brings one up with a kind of start in the midst of so +much grandiosity and pomp. It is out of place here, +and yet one is very happy to see it. From Britain we +pass to the Flemish and Germans—to perfect Holbeins, +including an Erasmus and Dürer; to Rubens, who, however, +comes later in his full force, and to the gross and +juicy Jordaens.</p> + +<p>Then sublimity again; for here is Rembrandt of the +Rhine. After Leonardo, Rembrandt is to me the glory +of the Louvre, and especially the glory of the Grande +Galerie, the last section of which is now hung with +twenty-two of his works. Not one of them is perhaps +superlative Rembrandt: there is nothing quite so fine +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> +as the portrait of Elizabeth Bas at the Ryks, or the +"School of Anatomy" at the Mauritshuis, or the "Unjust +Steward" at Hertford House; but how wonderful +they are! Look at the miracle of the flying angel in +the picture of Tobias—how real it is and how light! +Look closely at the two little pictures of the philosopher +in meditation. I have chosen the beautiful "Venus et +L'Amour" and the "Pèlerins d'Emmaus" for reproduction; +but I might equally have taken others. They +will be found opposite <a href="#venus">pages 146</a> and <a href="#pelerins">154</a>.</p> + +<p>On the other wall are a few pictures by Rembrandt's +pupils and colleagues, such as Ferdinand Bol and Govaert +Flinck, who were always on the track of the master; +and more particularly Gerard Dou: note the old woman +in his "Lecture de la Bible," for it is Rembrandt's +mother, and also look carefully at "La Femme Hydropique," +one of his most miraculously finished works—a +Rembrandt through the small end of a telescope.</p> + +<p>From these we pass to the sumptuous Salle Van Dyck, +which in its turn leads to the Salle Rubens, and one is +again filled with wonder at the productivity of the twain—pupil +and master. Did he never tire, this Peter Paul +Rubens? Did a new canvas never deter or abash him? +It seems not. No sooner was it set up in his studio than +at it he must have gone like a charge of cavalry, magnificent +in his courage, in his skill and in his brio. What +a record! Has Rubens' square mileage ever been worked +out, I wonder. He was very like a Frenchman: it is +the vigour and spirit of Dumas at work with the brush. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> +In the Louvre there are fifty-four attested works, besides +many drawings; and it seems to me that I must have +seen as many in Vienna, and as many in Dresden, and +as many in Berlin, and as many in Antwerp, and as +many in Brussels, to say nothing of the glorious landscape +in Trafalgar Square. He is always overpowering; +but for me the quieter, gentler brushes. None the less +the portrait of Helène Fourment and their two children, +in the Grande Galerie, although far from approaching +that exquisite picture in the Liechtenstein Gallery in +Vienna, when the boys were a little older, is a beautiful +and living thing which one would not willingly miss.</p> + +<p>Van Dyck was, of course, more austere, less boisterous +and abundant, but his record is hardly less amazing, +and he seems to have faced life-size equestrian groups, +such as the Charles the First here, without a tremor. +The Charles is superb in his distinction and disdain; +but for me, however, Van Dyck is the painter of single +portraits, of which, no matter where I go, none seems +more noble and satisfying than our own Cornelius Van +Voorst in Trafalgar Square. But the "Dame et sa Fille," +which is reproduced on the opposite page, is very +beautiful.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="vandyck" id="vandyck"></a> +<img src="images/i_138.jpg" width="425" height="650" alt="UNE DAME ET SA FILLE" /> +<p class="caption">UNE DAME ET SA FILLE<br /> +<span class="s2">VAN DYCK</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>All round the Salle Rubens are arranged the little +cabinets in which the small Dutch pictures hang—the +Jan Steens and the Terburgs, the Hals' and the Metsus, +the Ruisdaels and the Karel du Jardins, the Ostades +and the golden Poelenburghs. Of these what can I say? +There they are, in their hundreds, the least of them +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> +worth many minutes' scrutiny. But a few may be picked +out: the Jan van Eyck (No. 1986) "La Vierge au +Donateur," reproduced <a href="#donateur">opposite page 166</a>, in which the +Chancellor Rollin reveres the Virgin on the roof of a +tower, and small wild animals happily play around, and +we see in the distance one of those little fairy cities so +dear to the Flemish painter's imagination; David's +"Noce de Cana"; Metsu's "Vierge et Enfant" the +Memling and the Rogier van der Weyden, close by; +Franz Hals' "Bohémienne," reproduced <a href="#hals">opposite page +186</a>; Van der Heyden's lovely "Plaine de Haarlem" (No. +2382); Paul Potter's "Bois de La Haye" (No. 2529), +almost like a Diaz, and his little masterpiece No. 2526; +the Terburgs: the "Music Lesson" (No. 2588) and the +charming "Reading Lesson" (No. 2591) with the little +touzled fair-haired boy in it, reproduced <a href="#lecon">opposite page +206</a>; Ruisdael's "Paysage dit le Coup de Soleil" (No. +2560); Hobbema's "Moulin à eau" (No. 2404); and, +to my eyes, almost first of all, Vermeer of Delft's "Lacemaker" +(No. 2456), reproduced <a href="#dentelliere">opposite page 216</a>. +These are all I name.</p> + +<p>So much for the paintings by the masters of the +world. The Louvre also has drawings from the same +hands, which hang in their thousands in a series of +rooms on the first floor, overlooking the Rue de Rivoli. +Here, as I have said, are other Leonardos (look particularly +at No. 389), and here, too, are drawings by Raphael +and Rembrandt, Correggio and Rubens (a child's head +in particular), Domenico Ghirlandaio and Chardin, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> +Mantegna and Watteau, Dürer and Ingres. I reproduce +only one, a study attributed to the school of +Fabriano, <a href="#head">opposite page 228</a>. Here one may spend +a month in daily visits and wish never to break the +habit. We have in England hardly less valuable and +interesting drawings, but they are not to be seen in this +way. One must visit the Print Room of the British +Museum and ask for them one by one in portfolios. +The Louvre, I think, manages it better.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_vii" id="chapter_vii"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /> +THE LOUVRE: II. MODERN PICTURES</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Early French Painters—Richard Parkes +Bonington—Chardin—Historical +Paintings—Bonington again—The Moreau Collection—The +Thomy-Thierret Collection—The Chauchard Collection.</p> + +<p>French pictures early and late now await us. On +our way down the Grande Galerie we passed on +the right two entrances to other rooms. Taking that +one which is nearer the British School, we find ourselves +in Salle IX., leading to Salle X. and so on to Galerie +XVI., which completes the series. In Salle X. the +beginnings of French art may be studied, and in +particular the curious Japanese effects of the Ecole +d'Avignon. Here also is very interesting work by Le +Maître de Moulins and a remarkable series of drawings +in the case in the middle, representing the Siege of Troy. +Salle XI. is notable for its portraits by Clouet and +others; in Salle XII. we find Le Sueur, and in Salle XIII. +the curious brothers Le Nain, of whom there are very +interesting examples at the Ionides collection at South +Kensington, but nothing better than the haymaking +scene here, No. 542.</p> + +<p>French painting of the seventeenth century bursts +upon us in the great Salle XIV. or Galerie Mollien, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> +of which Nicolas Poussin and Ausonian Claude are the +giants, thus completing Landor's pleasant list with +which we entered the Grande Galerie in the last chapter. +There are wonderful things here, but so crowded are +they that I always feel lost and confused. There is, +however, compensation and relief, for the room also +contains one minute masterpiece which perhaps not +more than five out of every thousand visitors have seen, +and yet which can be studied with perfect quietness +and leisure. This is a tiny water-colour in the revolving +screen in the middle. There is much delicate work in +this screen, dainty aquatint effects by the Dutchmen +Ostade and Van der Heyden, Weenix and Borssom, and +so forth; but finest of all (as so often happens) is a +little richly-coloured drawing of Nottingham by Bonington, +who, as we shall see, has a way of cropping +up unsuspectedly and graciously in this great collection—and +very rightly, since he owed so much to that +Gallery. He was one of the youngest students ever +admitted, being allowed to copy there at the age of +fifteen, while at the Beaux Arts. That was in the year +after Waterloo. There may in the history of the +Gallery have been copyists equally young, but there can +never have been one more distinguished or who had +deeper influence on French art. Paris not only made +Bonington's career but ended it, for it was while sketching +in its streets ten years or more later that he met +with the sunstroke which brought about his death +when he was only twenty-seven, and stilled the marvellous +hand for ever. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span></p> + +<p>Salle XV. is given up to portraits, among them—and +shall I say chief of them, certainly chief of them in +point of popularity—the adorable portrait of Madame +Elizabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun and her daughter, +painted by herself, which is perhaps the best-known +French picture, and of which I give a reproduction +<a href="#madame">opposite page 246</a>. On a screen in this room are placed +the latest acquisitions. When last I was there the more +noticeable pictures were a portrait by Romney of himself, +rich and melancholy, recalling to the mind Tennyson's +monologue, and a sweet and ancient religieuse by Memling. +There were also some Corot drawings, not perhaps +so good as those in the Moreau collection, but very +beautiful, and a charming old-world lady by Fragonard. +These probably are by this time distributed over the +galleries, and other new arrivals have taken their place. +I hope so.</p> + +<p>Galerie XVI., which leads out of the Salle des Portraits, +brings us to French art of the eighteenth century—to +Greuze and David, to Fragonard and Watteau, +to Lancret and Boucher, and, to my mind, most charming, +most pleasure-giving of all, to Jean Baptiste Siméon +Chardin, who is to be seen in perfection here and in the +distant room which contains the Collection La Caze. +It is probable that no painter ever had quite so much +charm as this kindly Frenchman, whose loving task it +was to sweeten and refine homely Dutch art. Chardin +is the most winsome of all painters: his brush laid a +bloom on domestic life. The Louvre has twenty-eight +of his canvases, mostly still-life, distributed between the +Salle La Caze and Salle No. XVI., where we now are. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> +The most charming of all, which is to be seen in the +Salle La Caze, is reproduced <a href="#benedicite">opposite page 234</a>.</p> + +<p>Having walked down the left wall of the Salle, it is +well to slip out at the door at the end for a moment +and refresh oneself with another view of Botticelli's +fresco, which is just outside, before returning by the +other wall, as we have to go back through the Salle +des Portraits in order to examine Salle VIII., a vast +room wholly filled with French paintings of the first +half of the nineteenth century, bringing the nation's +art to the period more or less at which the Luxembourg +takes it up, though there is a certain amount of overlapping. +No room in the Louvre so wants weeding +and re-hanging as this, for it is a sad jumble. Search, +however, for the magnificent examples by the great <i>plein-airistes</i>. +They are lost in this wilderness; but there they +are for those that seek—the two vast Troyons; Corot's +magic "Souvenir de Castel-Gondolfon"; a great Daubigny, +"Les Vendances de Bourgogne," very hard and fine, +and the same gigantic painter's large and lovely harvest +scene, "Le Moisson"; Rousseau's "Sortie de Forêt," not +unlike the Rousseau in the Wallace Collection in London, +with its natural archway of branches and rich +tenderness of colour; the sublime "La Vague," by +Courbet; lastly Millet's "Les Glaneuses," the three +stooping women in the cornfield who come to the inward +eye almost as readily as the figures in the +"Angelus". The red, blue and yellow of their head-kerchiefs +alone would make this picture worth a millionaire's +ransom.</p> + +<p>We leave the room by the door opposite that through +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> +which we came and find ourselves again in the Grande +Galerie. The way now is to the left, through the +Italian Schools, through the Salon Carré (why not stay +there and let French art go hang?) through the +Galerie d'Apollon (of which more anon), through the +Rotunda and the Salle des Bijoux (whither we shall +return), to another crowded late eighteenth and early +nineteenth century French room chiefly notable for +David's Madame Récamier on her joyless little sofa. +(Why didn't we stay in the Salon Carré?) In this +room also are two large Napoleonic pictures—one by +Gros representing General Bonaparte visiting the +plague victims at Jaffa in 1799; the other, by David, +of the consecration service in Notre Dame, described in +an earlier chapter. To see this kind of picture, at +which the French have for many years been extremely +apt, one must of course go to Versailles, where the +history of France is spread lavishly over many square +miles of canvas.</p> + +<p>From this room—La Salle des Sept Cheminées—we +pass through a little vestibule, with Courbet's great +village funeral in it, to the very pleasant Salle La Caze, +containing the greater part of the collection of the late +Dr. La Caze, and notable chiefly for the Chardins of +which I have already spoken, and also, by the further +door, for a haunting "Buste de femme" attributed to +the Milanese School. But there are other admirable +pictures here, including a Velasquez, and it repays +study.</p> + +<p>Leaving by the further door and walking for some +distance, we come to the His de la Salle collection of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> +drawings, from which we gain the Collection Thiers, +which should perhaps be referred to here, although there +is not the slightest necessity to see it at all. The +Thiers collection, which occupies two rooms, is remarkable +chiefly for its water-colour copies of great paintings. +The first President of the Republic employed +patient artists to make copies suitable for hanging +upon his walls of such inaccessible works as the "Last +Judgment" of Michael Angelo and Raphael's Dresden +Madonna. The results are certainly extraordinary, +even if they are not precisely la guerre. The Arundel +Society perhaps found its inspiration in this collection. +Among the originals there is a fine Terburg.</p> + +<p>On leaving the Thiers collection, one comes to a +narrow passage with a little huddle of water-colours, +very badly treated as to light and space, and well worth +more consideration. These pictures should not be +missed, for among them are two Boningtons, a windmill +in a sombre landscape, which I reproduce <a href="#windmill">opposite page +274</a>, and next to it a masterly drawing of the statue +of Bartolommé Colleoni at Venice, which Ruskin called +the finest equestrian group in the world. Bonington, +who had the special gift of painting great pictures in +small compass (just as there are men who can use a +whole wall to paint a little picture on), has made a +drawing in which the original sculptor would have +rejoiced. It would do the Louvre authorities good if +these Boningtons, which they treat so carelessly, were +stolen. Nothing could be easier; I worked out the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> +felony as I stood there. All that one would need would +be a few friends equally concerned to teach the Louvre +a lesson, behind whose broad backs one could ply the +diamond and the knife. Were I a company promoter +this is how I should spend my leisure hours. Such +theft is very nigh virtue.</p> + +<p>Among other pictures in these bad little rooms—Nos. +XVII. and XVIII.—are some Millets and Decamps.</p> + +<p>Three more collections—and these really more interesting +than anything we saw in Galeries XIV. or XVI., or +the Salle des Sept Cheminées—await us; but two of them +need considerable powers of perambulation. Chronology +having got us under his thumb we must make the +longer journey first—to the Collection Moreau. The +Collection Moreau is to be found at the top of the +Musée des Arts Décoratifs, the entrance to which is in +the Rue de Rivoli. In the lower part of this building +are held periodical exhibitions; but the upper parts are +likely at any rate for a long time to remain unchanged, +and here are wonderful collections of furniture, and here +hang the few but select canvases brought together by +Adolphe Moreau and his son, and presented to the nation +by M. Etienne Moreau-Nelaton.</p> + +<p>In the Thomy-Thierret collection in another top +storey of the same inexhaustible palace (to which our +fainting feet are bound) are Corots of the late period; +M. Moreau bought the earlier. Here, among nearly +forty others, you may see that portrait of Corot painted +in 1825, just before he left for Rome, which his parents +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> +exacted from him in return for their consent to his new +career and the abandonment of their rosy dreams of his +success as a draper. Here you may see "Un Moine," +one of the first pictures he was able to sell—for five +hundred francs (twenty pounds). Here is the charming +marine "La Rochelle" painted in 1851 and given by +Corot to Desbarolles and by Desbarolles to the younger +Dumas. Here is the very beautiful Pont de Mantes, +reproduced <a href="#pont">opposite page 252</a>, belonging to his later +manner, and here also is an exceptionally merry little +sketch, "Bateau de pêche à marée basse". I mention +these only, since selection is necessary; but everything +that Corot painted becomes in time satisfying to the +student and indispensable to its owner. Among the +pencil drawings we find this exquisite lover of nature +once more, with fifteen studies of his Mistress.</p> + +<p>One of the most interesting of the Moreau pictures +is Fantin-Latour's "Hommage à Delacroix," with its +figures of certain of the great and more daring writers +and painters of the day, 1864, the year after Delacroix's +death. They are grouped about his framed portrait—Manet, +red haired and red bearded, a little like Mr. +Meredith in feature; Whistler, with his white feather +black and vigorous, and his hand on the historical cane; +Legros (the only member of the group who is still living, +and long may he live!) and Baudelaire, for all the world +like an innocent professor. Manet himself is represented +here by his famous "Déjeuner sur l'herbe," which the +scandalised Salon of 1863 refused to hang, and three +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> +smaller canvases. Among the remaining pictures which +gave me most pleasure are Couture's portrait of Adolphe +Moreau the younger; Daumier's "La République"; +Carrière's "L'enfant à la soupière" (notice the white +bowl); Decamps' "La Battue," curiously like a Koninck; +and Troyon's "Le Passage du Gué," so rich and sweet.</p> + +<p>From the Collection Moreau, with its early Barbizon +pictures, one ought to pass to the Chauchard +with its middle period, and then to the Collection +Thomy-Thierret; but let us go to the Thomy-Thierret +now. It needs courage and endurance, for the +room which contains these exquisite pictures is only to +be reached on foot after climbing many stairs and walking +for what seem to be many miles among models of +ships and other neglected curiosities on the Louvre's topmost +floor. But once the room is reached one is perfectly +happy, for every picture is a gem and there is no +one there. M. Thomy-Thierret, who died quite recently, +was a collector who liked pictures to be small, to be rich +in colour, and to be painted by the Barbizon and +Romantic Schools. Here you may see twelve Corots, +all of a much later period than those bequeathed by M. +Moreau, among them such masterpieces as "Le Vallon" +(No. 2801), reproduced <a href="#vallon">opposite the next page</a>, "Le +Chemin de Sèvres" (No. 2803), "Entrée de Village" (No. +2808), "Les Chaumières" (No. 2809), and "La Route +d'Arras" (No. 2810). Here are thirteen Daubignys, including +"Les Graves de Villerville" (No. 28,177), and one +sombre and haunting English scene—"La Tamise à +Erith" (No. 2821). Here are ten Diazes, most beautiful +of which to my eyes is "L'Éplorée" (No. 2863). Here are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> +ten Rousseaus, among them "Le Printemps" (No. 2903), +with its rapturous freshness, which I reproduce <a href="#printemps">opposite +page 120</a>, and "Les Chênes" (No. 2900), such a group +of trees as Rousseau alone could paint. Here are six +Millets, my favourite being the "Précaution Maternelle" +(No. 2894), with its lovely blues, which again reappear +in "Le Vanneur" (No. 2893). Here are eleven Troyons, +of which "La Provende des poules" (No. 2907), with its +bustle of turkeys and chickens around the gay peasant +girl beneath a burning sky, reproduced <a href="#provende">opposite page +266</a>, is one of the first pictures to which my feet carry +me on my visits to Paris. Here are twelve Duprés, +most memorable of which is "Les Landes" (No. 2871). +And here also are Delacroix', Isabeys and Meissoniers.</p> + +<p>The Chauchard pictures—140 in number—which are +now hanging in five rooms leading from the Salle Rubens, +were bequeathed to the nation by M. Alfred Chauchard, +proprietor of the Magasins du Louvre (which some +visitors to Paris have considered the only Louvre). +Among the pictures are twenty-six by Corot, twenty-six +by Meissonier, eight by Millet (including "L'Angelus") +and eight by Daubigny.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="vallon" id="vallon"></a> +<img src="images/i_152.jpg" width="650" height="387" alt="LE VALLON" /> +<p class="caption">LE VALLON<br /> +<span class="s2">COROT</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre: Thomy-Thierret Collection)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>I may say at once that the Chauchard Collection does +not compare with the Thomy-Thierret in courage. M. +Thomy-Thierret liked his pictures to be small and exquisite +and happy. Within the limits imposed the +Barbizon painters never did anything more delightful +or indeed better. The whole collection—and it is +beyond price—is homogeneous: it embodies the taste +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> +of one man. M. Moreau and his son had a robuster +taste, a bolder eye. They wanted strength as well as +sweetness, or strength alone. Their collection has not +quite the homogeneity of the Thomy-Thierret, but one +feels here also that personality has honestly been at +work bringing together things of beauty and power that +pleased it, and nothing else. But M. Chauchard....</p> + +<p>It is perfectly evident in a moment that M. Chauchard +had neither knowledge nor taste. He merely had +acumen. At a certain moment in his successful life, one +feels, M. Chauchard extended himself before the fire-place, +stroked his spreading <i>favoris</i> (so like those of our own +Whiteley), and announced "I must have some pictures". +Other prosperous men saying the same thing have forthwith +taken their courage in their hands and bought +pictures; but M. Chauchard as I see him (both in his +dazzling marble bust and in the portrait by Benjamin Constant), +was not like that. "I must have some pictures," +he announced, and then quickly reverted to type and +cast about as to the best means of discovering whose +pictures were most worth buying. That is how the +Chauchard Collection came about, if I am not mistaken: +it was the venture of an essentially commercial man—an +investor-in-grain—who also desired a reputation of virtuosity +but did not want to lose money over it.</p> + +<p>As it happens M. Chauchard was well advised. But +wonderful as they are, beautiful as they are, valuable as +they are, there is not a picture here which suggests to +the visitor that it ever brought a real gladness to the +eyes of its owner in his own home. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span></p> + +<p>But I can convince you only too easily that M. Chauchard +had no taste. Do you remember when driving out +to Longchamp, through the Bois, either to the Races or +to Suresnes, just after you pass the Cascade, you come +on the left to a windmill overlooking the course, and on +the right to a white villa, all alone and unreal? A club +house, one naturally thinks it, for the French Jockey +Club, or something of that kind. You may have forgotten +the villa, but you will recall it when I say that +on the very trim vivid lawn in front of it, scattered +about, supposed to be counterfeiting life, are various +animals in stone—a stag, a doe, some dogs, all white and +motionless, in the best mortuary manner, and all, to +you and me, outrageous. Well, that was one of M. +Chauchard's homes. M. Chauchard was the owner of +that lawn and its occupants. The man who looking out +of his window could feast his eye on these triumphs of +the monumental mason was the same man who bought +for his walls sheep by Jacque and Millet, and cattle and +dogs by Troyon....</p> + +<p>No matter. M. Chauchard acquired pictures and left +them to the French Nation, and they are now on view +for ever (always excepting the fatal Continental Mondays) +for all to rejoice in. The first really compellingly +beautiful work as one enters—the first picture to touch +the emotions—is Rousseau's "La Charrette". It was +painted in 1862, five years before the painter's death, +which left the villagers of Barbizon the richer by a +studio-chapel. It is a mere trifle and it is as wonderful +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> +as a summer day: a forest glade, in the midst of which +a tiny wagon and white horse with blue trappings are +seen beneath a burning sky, such a picture as ought to +have a wall if not a room to itself: such a picture as I +should like to see placed above an altar. It is the same +subject—a forest wagon—that provided what in some +ways is the best or most attractive Corot here. His +"La Charrette" is a large easy landscape lit by the +gracious light of which he alone had the secret. In the +foreground is a deep sandy road with the charrette +labouring through it. But before we came to this we +had stood before one of the finest of the seven Daubignys, +"La Seine à Bezons," a river scene of almost terrible +calm, with Mont Valerien in the distance and geese +and boats on the near shore, and implicit in it the +sincerity, strength and humility of this great man.</p> + +<p>At the end of the room hang two large and busy +Troyons, one on each side of M. Chauchard himself, the +donor of the feast, whose bust in the whitest Carrara, +with the whiskers in full fig and the <i>croix de grand +officier du Legion d'honneur</i> meticulously carved upon +it, stands here, as stipulated in the will. These two +Troyons, of which there are eighteen in all, are I think +the largest. One represents cows sauntering lazily down +to drink; the other the return from the market of a +mixed herd of cattle and sheep, with a donkey in +panniers, being driven by a man on a white horse. As +was his wont, Troyon chose a road on the edge of a +cliff with a very green border of turf and an exquisite +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> +glimpse of sea to the left. None of the new Troyons +perhaps is as fine as those in Salle VIII. of the Louvre +proper, but this is a superb thing. The "Boeufs se +rendant au labour" and the "Le Retour à la ferme" in +Salle VIII. should be visited after the Chauchards.</p> + +<p>And so we leave the first and largest room, in the +midst of which are two cases of Barye's bronzes—lions +and tigers, bears and deer, snakes and birds—and enter +the first room on the left as we came in; and here we +begin to see for the first time pictures with special knots +of people before them. For the Meissoniers begin here. +And of Meissonier what am I to say? For Meissonier +leaves me cold. He is marvellous; but he leaves me +cold. He painted with a fidelity and spirit that border +on the magical; but those qualities that I want in +a picture, those callings of deep to deep, one seeks +in vain. Hence I say nothing of Meissonier, except +that he was a master, that there are twenty-six of his +masterpieces here, and that the crowd opposite his +"1814" extends to the opposite side. How can one +spend time over "Le cheval de l'ordonnance" and the +"Petit Poste de Grand'-Garde" when Daubigny's "Les +Laveuses (effet de soleil couchant)" hangs so near—this +great placid green picture, so profoundly true as to +be almost an act of God? Corot's "Etang de Ville +d'Avray" is here too, liquid and tender.</p> + +<p>The little room that leads out of this is usually +almost unenterable by reason of the press before Meissonier's +"1814". This undoubtedly is one of the little +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> +great pictures of the world, and I can understand the +enthusiasm of the French sightseer, whose blood is still +stirrable by the enduring personality of the saturnine +man on the white horse. Neighbouring pictures are a +rich cattle piece by Diaz, immediately over "1814"; +Rousseau's "La Mare," which is not a little like the +Koninck in the Ionides Collection at South Kensington, +and the same painter's "La Mare au pied du coteau" +with its lovely middle distance. Here too is one of +Corot's many <i>pêcheurs</i>, who little knew as they fished +on so quietly in the still gentle light that they were +being rendered immortal by the quaint little bourgeois +with the long pipe, sketching on the bank. One of the +finest of the Duprés is also here—"La Vanne," a deep +green scene of water.</p> + +<p>In the last room we come at last to that painter +whose work, next perhaps to Meissonier's, is the magnet +which draws such a steady stream of worshippers to +this new shrine of art—to Jean François Millet. M. +Chauchard had eight Millets, including the "Angelus," +but though it is the "Angelus" which is considered of +many to be the very core of this collection, I find more +pleasure in "La Bergère gardant ses moutons" (reproduced +<a href="#bergere">opposite page 308</a>), which I would call, I think, +the best picture of all. It has been remarked that no +picture containing sheep can ever be a bad picture; but +when Millet paints them, and when they are grazing +beneath such a sky, and when one of those grave sweet +peasant women—a monument of patient acceptance and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> +the humility that comes from the soil—is their shepherdess, +why then it is almost too much; and the brave +ardent Jacque, whose "Moutons au Pâturage" hangs +close by, is half suspected of theatricalism. Millet is so +great, so full of large elemental simplicity and truth +that one regrets that his eight pictures have not a room +to themselves. That they should be elbowed by the +neat dancing-master <i>chefs d'œuvre</i> of Meissonier is something +of a catastrophe.</p> + +<p>Thinking over the collection, I have very strongly the +feeling already expressed that it was wrongly assembled. +The investor rather than the enthusiast is too apparent. +M. Chauchard, it is true, refrained from making money +by his acquisitions, since he gave them to the nation, +and this is eternally to his credit. None the less I find +it difficult to esteem him as perhaps one should even in +the light of a generous testator. One so wants pictures +to be loved. And of all pictures that are lovable and +that long to pass into their owner's being—to engentle +his eyes and enrich his experience and deepen his nature—none +equal those that were painted by the little +group of friends who in the middle of the last century +made the white-walled village of Barbizon their head-quarters +and the Forest of Fontainebleau their happy +hunting-ground and a Wordsworthian passion for nature +their creed.</p> + +<p>Such pictures deserve the most faithful owners and +the most thoughtful hospitality....</p> + +<p>But if we cannot get all as we wish it, at least we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> +must be grateful for the next best thing, and to M. +Chauchard and the Louvre authorities we must all be +supremely grateful.</p> + +<p>The Louvre is to-day the most wonderful museum in +the world; but what would one not give to be able to +visit it as it was in 1814, when it was in some respects +more wonderful still. For then it was filled with the +spoils of Napoleon's armies, who had instructions always +to bring back from the conquered cities what they could +see that was likely to beautify and enrich France. It +is a reason for war in itself. I would support any war +with Austria, for example, that would bring to London +Count Czernin's Vermeer and the Parmigianino in the +Vienna National Gallery; any war with Germany that +would put the Berlin National Gallery at our disposal. +Napoleon had other things to fight for, but that comprehensive +brain forgot nothing, and as he deposed a +king he remembered a blank space in the Louvre that +lacked a Raphael, an empty niche waiting for its +Phidias. The Revolution decreed the Museum, but it +was Napoleon who made it priceless and glorious. After +the fall of this man a trumpery era of restitution set in. +Many of his noble patriotic thefts were cancelled out. +The world readjusted itself and shrank into its old +pettiness. Priceless pictures and statues were carried +again to Italy and Austria, Napoleon to St. Helena.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_viii" id="chapter_viii"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +THE TUILERIES</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +A Vanished Palace—The Most Magnificent Vista—Enter Louis XVI. +and Marie Antoinette—The Massacre of the Swiss Guards—The +Blood of Paris—A Series of Disasters—The Growth of Paris—The +Napoleonic Rebuilders—The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel—The +Irony of History—A Frock Coat Rampant—The Statuary of +Paris—The Gardens of the Tuileries—Monsieur Pol, Charmer of +Birds—The Parisian Sparrow—Hyde Park—The Drum.</p> + +<p>Had we turned our back only thirty-eight years +ago on Frémiet's statue of Joan of Arc (which +was not there then) in the Place de Rivoli, and walked +down what is now the Rue de Tuileries towards the +Seine, we should have had on our left hand a beautiful +and imposing building—the Palace of the Tuileries, +which united the two wings of the Louvre that now +terminate in the Pavillon de Marsan just by the Place +de Rivoli and the Pavillon de Flore on the Quai des +Tuileries. The palace stretched right across this interval, +thus interrupting the wonderful vista of to-day +from the old Louvre right away to the Arc de Triomphe—probably +the most extraordinary and beautiful civilised, +or artificial, vista in the world. The palace had, +however, a sufficiently fine if curtailed share of it from +its own windows. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span></p> + +<p>All Parisians upwards of forty-five must remember +the Palace perfectly, for it was not destroyed until 1871, +during the Commune, and it was some years after that +incendiary period before all traces were removed and +the gardens spread uninterruptedly from the Carrousel +to the Concorde.</p> + +<p>The Palace of the Tuileries (so called because it +occupied a site previously covered by tile kilns) was +begun in 1564 and had therefore lived for three centuries. +Catherine de Médicis planned it, but, as we +shall read later, she lost interest in it very quickly +owing to one of those inconvenient prophecies which +were wont in earlier times so to embarrass rulers, but +which to-day in civilised countries have entirely gone +out. The Tuileries was a happy enough palace, as +palaces go, until the Revolution: it then became for +a while the very centre of rebellion and carnage; for +Louis XVI. and the Royal Family were conveyed +thither after the fatal oath had been sworn in the +Versailles tennis-court. Then came the critical 10th of +August, when the King consented to attend the conference +in the Manège (now no more, but a tablet opposite +the Rue Castiglione marks the spot) and thus lost +everything.</p> + +<p>The massacre of the Swiss Guards followed: but here +it is impossible, or at least absurd, not to hear Carlyle. +Mandal, Commander of the National Guard, I would +premise, has been assassinated by the crowd; the Constitutional +Assembly sits in the Manège, and the King, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> +a prisoner in the Tuileries, but still a hesitant and an +optimist, is ordered to attend it. At last he consents. +"King Louis sits, his hands leant on his knees, body +bent forward; gazes for a space fixedly on Syndic +Rœderer; then answers, looking over his shoulder to +the Queen: <i>Marchons!</i> They march; King Louis, +Queen, Sister Elizabeth, the two royal children and +governess: these, with Syndic Rœderer, and Officials of +the Department; amid a double rank of National +Guards. The men with blunderbusses, the steady red +Swiss gaze mournfully, reproachfully; but hear only +these words from Syndic Rœderer: 'The King is going +to the Assembly; make way'. It has struck eight, on +all clocks, some minutes ago: the King has left the +Tuileries—forever.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="parc" id="parc"></a> +<img src="images/i_164.jpg" width="650" height="487" alt="THE PARC MONCEAU" /> +<p class="caption">THE PARC MONCEAU</p></div> + +<p>"O ye stanch Swiss, ye gallant gentlemen in black, +for what a cause are ye to spend and be spent! Look +out from the western windows, ye may see King Louis +placidly hold on his way; the poor little Prince Royal +'sportfully kicking the fallen leaves'. Fremescent +multitude on the Terrace of the Feuillants whirls +parallel to him; one man in it, very noisy, with a long +pole: will they not obstruct the outer Staircase, and +back-entrance of the Salle, when it comes to that? +King's Guards can go no farther than the bottom step +there. Lo, Deputation of Legislators come out; he of +the long pole is stilled by oratory; Assembly's Guards +join themselves to King's Guards, and all may mount +in this case of necessity; the outer Staircase is free, or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> +passable. See, Royalty ascends; a blue Grenadier lifts +the poor little Prince Royal from the press; Royalty +has entered in. Royalty has vanished for ever from +your eyes.—And ye? Left standing there, amid the +yawning abysses, and earthquake of Insurrection; without +course; without command: if ye perish, it must +be as more than martyrs, as martyrs who are now without +a cause! The black Courtiers disappear mostly; +through such issues as they can. The poor Swiss know +not how to act: one duty only is clear to them, that of +standing by their post; and they will perform that.</p> + +<p>"But the glittering steel tide has arrived; it beats +now against the Château barriers and eastern Courts; +irresistible, loud-surging far and wide;—breaks in, fills +the Court of the Carrousel, blackbrowed Marseillese +in the van. King Louis gone, say you; over to the +Assembly! Well and good: but till the Assembly +pronounce Forfeiture of him, what boots it? Our +post is in that Château or stronghold of his; there +till then must we continue. Think, ye stanch Swiss, +whether it were good that grim murder began, and +brothers blasted one another in pieces for a stone +edifice?—Poor Swiss! they know not how to act: from +the southern windows, some fling cartridges, in sign of +brotherhood; on the eastern outer staircase, and within +through long stairs and corridors, they stand firm-ranked, +peaceable and yet refusing to stir. Westermann +speaks to them in Alsatian German; Marseillese plead, +in hot Provençal speech and pantomime; stunning hubbub +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> +pleads and threatens, infinite, around. The Swiss +stand fast, peaceable and yet immovable; red granite +pier in that waste-flashing sea of steel.</p> + +<p>"Who can help the inevitable issue; Marseillese and +all France on this side; granite Swiss on that? The +pantomime grows hotter and hotter; Marseillese sabres +flourishing by way of action; the Swiss brow also clouding +itself, the Swiss thumb bringing its firelock to the +cock. And hark! high thundering above all the din, +three Marseillese cannon from the Carrousel, pointed by +a gunner of bad aim, come rattling over the roofs! Ye +Swiss, therefore: <i>Fire!</i> The Swiss fire; by volley, by +platoon, in rolling fire: Marseillese men not a few, and +'a tall man that was louder than any,' lie silent, smashed +upon the pavement;—not a few Marseillese, after the +long dusty march, have made halt <i>here</i>. The Carrousel +is void; the black tide recoiling; 'fugitives rushing as +far as Saint-Antoine before they stop'. The Cannoneers +without linstock have squatted invisible, and left +their cannon; which the Swiss seize....</p> + +<p>"Behold, the fire slackens not; nor does the Swiss +rolling-fire slacken from within. Nay they clutched +cannon, as we saw; and now, from the other side, they +clutch three pieces more; alas, cannon without linstock; +nor will the steel-and-flint answer, though they try it. +Had it chanced to answer! Patriot onlookers have +their misgivings; one strangest Patriot onlooker thinks +that the Swiss, had they a commander, would beat. +He is a man not unqualified to judge; the name of him +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> +Napoleon Buonaparte. And onlookers, and women, +stand gazing, and the witty Dr. Moore of Glasgow +among them, on the other side of the River: cannon +rush rumbling past them; pause on the Pont Royal; +belch out their iron entrails there, against the Tuileries; +and at every new belch, the women and onlookers 'shout +and clap hands'. City of all the Devils! In remote +streets, men are drinking breakfast-coffee; following +their affairs; with a start now and then, as some dull +echo reverberates a note louder. And here? Marseillese +fall wounded; but Barbaroux has surgeons; Barbaroux +is close by, managing, though underhand and under +cover. Marseillese fall death-struck; bequeath their +firelock, specify in which pocket are the cartridges; and +die murmuring, 'Revenge me, Revenge thy country!' +Brest Fédéré Officers, galloping in red coats, are shot as +Swiss. Lo you, the Carrousel has burst into flame!—Paris +Pandemonium! Nay the poor City, as we said, +is in fever-fit and convulsion: such crisis has lasted for +the space of some half hour.</p> + +<p>"But what is this that, with Legislative Insignia, +ventures through the hubbub and death-hail, from the +back-entrance of the Manège? Towards the Tuileries +and Swiss: written Order from his Majesty to cease +firing! O ye hapless Swiss, why was there no order not +to begin it? Gladly would the Swiss cease firing: but +who will bid mad Insurrection cease firing? To Insurrection +you cannot speak; neither can it, hydra-headed, +hear. The dead and dying, by the hundred, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> +lie all around; are borne bleeding through the streets, +towards help; the sight of them, like a torch of the +Furies, kindling Madness. Patriot Paris roars; as the +bear bereaved of her whelps. On, ye Patriots: Vengeance! +Victory or death! There are men seen, who +rush on, armed only with walking-sticks. Terror and +Fury rule the hour.</p> + +<p>"The Swiss, pressed on from without, paralysed from +within, have ceased to shoot; but not to be shot. +What shall they do? Desperate is the moment. +Shelter or instant death: yet How, Where? One +party flies out by the Rue de l'Echelle; is destroyed +utterly, '<i>en entier</i>'. A second, by the other side, throws +itself into the Garden; 'hurrying across a keen fusillade'; +rushes suppliant into the National Assembly; +finds pity and refuge in the back benches there. The +third, and largest, darts out in column, three hundred +strong, towards the Champs Elysées: 'Ah, could we +but reach Courbevoye, where other Swiss are!' Wo! +see, in such fusillade the column 'soon breaks itself by +diversity of opinion,' into distracted segments, this way +and that;—to escape in holes, to die fighting from street +to street. The firing and murdering will not cease; +not yet for long. The red Porters of Hôtels are shot +at, be they <i>Suisse</i> by nature, or <i>Suisse</i> only in name....</p> + +<p>"Surely few things in the history of carnage are painfuller. +What ineffaceable red streak, flickering so sad +in the memory, is that, of this poor column of red Swiss +'breaking itself in the confusion of opinions'; dispersing, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> +into blackness and death! Honour to you, brave +men; honourable pity, through long times! Not +martyrs were ye; and yet almost more. He was no +King of yours, this Louis; and he forsook you like a +King of shreds and patches: ye were but sold to him +for some poor sixpence a-day; yet would ye work for +your wages, keep your plighted word. The work now +was to die; and ye did it. Honour to you, O Kinsmen."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="printemps" id="printemps"></a> +<img src="images/i_170.jpg" width="650" height="430" alt="LE PRINTEMPS" /> +<p class="caption">LE PRINTEMPS<br /> +<span class="s2">ROUSSEAU</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre: Thomy-Thierret Collection)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>Is that too dreadful an association for this spot? It +is terrible; but to visit Paris without any historical interest +is too materialistic a proceeding, and to have the +historical interest in Paris and be afraid of a little blood +is an untenable position. Paris is steeped in blood.</p> + +<p>The Tuileries had not seen all its riot yet; July 29th, +1830, was to come, when, after another taste of monarchy, +revived in 1814 after its murder on that appalling +10th of August (which was virtually its death day, although +the date of the birth of the First Republic stands +as September 21st, 1793), the mob attacked the Palace, +the last Bourbon king, Charles X., fled from it and from +France, and Louis-Philippe of Orléans mounted the +throne in his stead. But that was not all. Another +seventeen and a half years and revengeful time saw +Louis-Philippe, last of the Orléans kings, escaping in +his turn from another besieging crowd, and the establishment +of the Second Republic.</p> + +<p>During the Second Empire some of the old splendour +returned, and it was here, at the Tuileries, that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> +Napoleon III. drew up many of his plans for the modern +Paris that we now know; and then came the Prussian war +and the Third Republic, and then the terrible Communard +insurrection in the spring of 1871, in which the +Tuileries disappeared for ever. Napoleon III., as I have +said, assisted by Baron Haussmann, toiled in the great +pacific task of renovating Paris, not with the imaginative +genius of his uncle, but with an undeniable largeness +and sagacity. He it was who added so greatly to the +Louvre—all that part in fact opposite the Place du +Palais Royal and the Magasins du Louvre as far west +as the Rue de Rohan. A large portion of the corresponding +wing on the river side was his too. But here +is a list, since we are on the subject of modern Paris—which +began with the great Napoleon's reconstruction +of the ravages (beneficial for the most part) of the +Revolutionaries—of +the efforts made by each ruler since +that epoch. I borrow the table from the Marquis de +Rochegude.</p> + +<p>"Napoleon I.—Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, Vendôme +Column, Façade du Corps Legislatif, Commencement +of the Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile, La Bourse, +the Bridges d'Austerlitz, d'Iéna, des Arts, de la Cité, +several Markets, Quais d'Orsay, de Billy, du Louvre, +Montebello, de la Tournelle; the Eastern and Northern +Cemeteries; numbering the houses in 1806, begun without +success in 1728; pavements in the streets and +doing away with the streams or flowing gutters in the +middle of the streets." (How like Napoleon to get the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> +houses numbered on a clear system! Throughout Paris +the odd numbers occupy one side of the street and the +even the other. All are numbered from the Seine outwards.)</p> + +<p>"The Restoration.—Chapel Expiatoire, N.D. de +Bonne-Nouvelle, N.D. de Lorette, St. Vincent de Paul; +Bridges of the Invalides, of the Archbishopric, d'Arcole; +Canals of St. Denis and St. Martin; fifty-five new streets; +lighting by gas." (It was about 1828 that cabs came +in. They were called fiacres from the circumstance that +their originator carried on his business at the sign of +the Grand St. Fiacre.)</p> + +<p>"Louis-Philippe, 1830-1848.—Finished the Madeleine, +Arc de Triomphe, erected the Obelisk (Place de la Concorde), +Column of July; Bridges: Louis-Philippe, Carrousel; +Palace of the Quai d'Orsay; enlarged the Palais +de Justice; restored Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle; +Fountains: Louvois, Cuvier, St. Sulpice, Gaillon, +Molière; opened the Museums of Cluny and the +Thermes. In 1843—1,100 streets.</p> + +<p>"Napoleon III., 1852-1870.—Embellished Paris—execution +of Haussmann's plans, twenty-two new boulevards; +Streets Lafayette, Quatre-Septembre, de Turbigo; Bvd. +St. Germain; Rues des Ecoles, de Rivoli, the Champs +Elysées Quarter, the Avenues Friedland, Hoche, Kléber, +the Marceau, de L'Impératrice, many squares; a part of +new Louvre; Churches of St. Augustine, The Trinity, +St. Ambroise, Ste. Clotilde (finishing of); Theatres, +Châtelet, Lyrique, du Vaudeville; Tribunal of Commerce, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> +Hôtel Dieu, Barracks, Central Markets (also the +ceinture railway); finishing of the Laribosière hospital, +the Fountain of St. Michel, the Bridges of Solferino, +L'Alma, the Pont au Change. In 1861, 1,667,841 inhabitants.</p> + +<p>"The Commune.—Burning of the Tuileries, the +Ministry of Finance, the Louvre Library, the Hôtel de +Ville, the Palace of the Legion of Honour, the Palace +of the Quai d'Orsay, the Lyric, the Châtelet and the +Porte St. Martin theatres, etc.</p> + +<p>"The Republic.—Reconstruction of the buildings +burnt by the Commune; Avenue de l'Opéra, the Opera +House; Streets: Etienne Marcel, Réaumur, Avenue de la +République, etc. In 1892, 4,090 streets, in 1902 there +were 4,261 streets. The Exhibition 1878 left the Trocadero, +and that of 1889 the Eiffel Tower, and that of +1900 the two Palaces of the Champs-Elysées and the +bridge Alexander III." (To this one should add the +Métro, still uncompleted, which has the advantage over +London's Tubes of being only just below the surface, +so that no lift is needed.)</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="carrousel" id="carrousel"></a> +<img src="images/i_176.jpg" width="650" height="443" alt="THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE DU CARROUSEL" /> +<p class="caption">THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE DU CARROUSEL (WEST FAÇADE)</p></div> + +<p>The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, at the east end +of the gardens, is a mere child compared with the Arc +de Triomphe de l'Etoile, which stands there, so serenely +and magnificently, at the end of the vista in the west, +nearly two amazing miles away; it could be placed +easily, with many feet to spare, under that greater +monument's arch (as Victor Hugo's coffin was); but it +is more beautiful. Both were the work of Napoleon, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> +both celebrate the victories of 1805-06. The Carrousel +is surmounted by a triumphal car and four horses; but +here again, as in the case of the statue of Henri IV. +on the Pont Neuf, there have been ironical changes. +Napoleon, when he ordained the arch, which was intended +largely to reproduce that of Severus at Rome, +ravished for its crowning the quadriga from St. Mark's +at Venice: those glorious gleaming horses over the +door. That was as it should be: he was a conqueror +and entitled to the spoils of conquest. But after his +fall came, as we have seen, a pedantic disgorgement of +such treasure; the golden team trotted back to the +Adriatic, and a new decoration had to be provided for +the Carrousel. Hence the present one, which represents—what? +It is almost inconceivable; but, Louis XVIII. +having commissioned it, it represents the triumph no +longer of Napoleon but of the Restoration! Amusing +to remember this under the Third Republic, as one +looks up at it and then at the bas-reliefs of the battle of +Austerlitz, the peace of Tilsit, the capitulation of Ulm, +the entry into Munich, the entry into Vienna and the +peace of Pressburg. Time's revenges indeed.</p> + +<p>Standing under the Arc du Carrousel one makes the +interesting but disappointing discovery that the Arc de +Triomphe, the column of Luxor in the Place de la +Concorde, the fountain, the Arc du Carrousel, the +Gambetta monument and the Pavillon Sully of the +Louvre do not form a straight line, as by all the laws of +French architectural symmetry they should—especially +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> +here, where compasses and rulers seem to have been +at work on every inch of the ground, and, as I have +ascertained, general opinion considers them to do. All +is well, from the west, until the Arc du Carrousel; it is +the Gambetta and the Pavilion Sully that throw it out.</p> + +<p>The Gambetta! This monument fascinates me, not +by its beauty nor because I have any especial reverence +for the statesman; but simply by the vigour of his +clothes, the frock coat and the light overcoat of the +flamboyant orator, holding forth for evermore (or until +his hour strikes), urgent and impetuous and French. +To the frock coat in sculpture we in London are no +strangers, for have we not Parliament Square? but +our frock coats are quiescent, dead even, things of +stone. Gambetta's, on the contrary, is tempestuous—surely +the most heroic frock coat that ever emerged +from the quarries of Carrara. It might have been cut +by the Great Mel himself.</p> + +<p>I have never seen a computation of the stone and +bronze population of Paris, but the statues must be +thousands strong. A Pied Piper leading them out of +the city would be worth seeing, although I for one +would regret their loss. Paris, I suppose, was Paris no +less than now in the days before Gambetta masqueraded +as a Frock Coated Victory almost within hail of the +Winged Victory of Samothrace; but Paris certainly +would not be Paris any more were some new turn of +the wheel to whisk him away and leave the Place du +Carrousel forlorn and tepid. The loss even of the smug +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> +figure of Jules Simon, just outside Durand's, would be +something like a bereavement. I once, by the way, +saw this statue wearing, after a snowstorm, a white fur +cap and cape that gave him a character—something +almost Siberian—beyond anything dreamed of by the +sculptor.</p> + +<p>It is not until one has walked through the gardens +of the Tuileries that the wealth of statuary in Paris +begins to impress the mind. For there must be almost +as many statues as flowers. They shine or glimmer +everywhere, as in the Athenian groves—allegorical, +symbolical, mythological, naked. The Luxembourg +Gardens, as we shall see, are hardly less rich, but there +one finds the statues of real persons. Here, as becomes +a formal garden projected by a king, realism is excluded. +Formal it is in the extreme; the trees are sternly +pollarded, the beds are mathematically laid out, the +paths are straight and not to be deviated from. None +the less on a hot summer's day there are few more delightful +spots, with the placid bonnes sitting so solidly, +as only French women can sit, over their needlework, +and their charges flitting like discreet butterflies all +around them; and here are two old philosophers—another +Bouvard and Pécuchet—discussing some problem +of conduct or science, and there a family party lunching +heartily, without shame. Pleasant groves, pleasant +people!</p> + +<p>But the best thing in the Tuileries is M. Pol. Who +is M. Pol? Well, he may not be the most famous man +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> +in Paris, but he is certainly the most engaging. M. Pol +is the charmer of birds—"Le Charmeur d'oiseaux au +Jardin des Tuileries," to give him his full title. There +may be other charmers too at their pretty labours; but +M. Pol comes easily first: his personality is so attractive, +his terms of intercourse with the birds so intimate. +His oiseaux are chiefly sparrows, whom he knows by +name—La Princesse, Le Loustic, Garibaldi, La Baronne, +l'Anglais, and so forth. They come one by one at his +call, and he pets them and praises them; talks pretty +ironical talk; uses them (particularly the little brown +l'Anglais) for sly satirical purposes, for there are +usually a few English spectators; affects to admonish +and even chastise them, shuffling minatory feet with all +the noise but none of the illusion of seriousness; and +never ceases the while to scatter his crumbs or seeds of +comfort. It is a very charming little drama, and although +carried on every day, and for some hours every +day, it has no suggestion of routine; one feels that the +springs of it are sweetness and benevolence.</p> + +<p>He is a typical elderly Latin, this M. Pol, a little +unmindful as to his dress, a little inclined to shamble: +humorous, careless, gentle. When I first saw him, years +ago, he fed his birds and went his way: but he now +makes a little money by it too, now and then offering, +very reluctantly, postcards bearing pictures of himself +with all his birds about him and a distich or so from +his pen. For M. Pol is a poet in words as well as +deeds: "De nos petits oiseaux," he writes on one card:— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem"> +"De nos petits oiseaux, je suis le bienfaiteur,<br /> +Et je vais tous les jours leur donner la pâture,<br /> +Mais suivant un contrat dicté par la nature<br /> +Quand je donne mon pain, ils me donnent leur cœur."<br /></p> + +<p>I think this true. It is a little more than cupboard +love that inspires these tiny creatures, or they would +never settle on M. Pol's hands and shoulders as they do. +He has charmed the pigeons also; but here he admits +to a lower motive:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"Ils savent, les malins, que leur couvert est mis,<br /> +C'est en faisant du bien qu'on se fait des amis."</p> + +<p>It amused me one day at the Louvre to fix one of +these photographs in the frame of Giotto's picture of +St. Francis (in Salle VII.), one of the scenes of which +shows him preaching to the birds, thus bridging the +gulf between the centuries and making for the moment +the Assisi of the Saint and the Paris of M. Briand one.</p> + +<p>London has its noticeable lovers of animals too—you +may see in St. Paul's churchyard in the dinner hour +isolated figures surrounded and covered by pigeons: the +British Museum courtyard also knows one or two, and +the Guildhall: quite like Venice, both of them, save +that no one is excited about it; while in St. James's +Square may be seen at all hours of every day the +mysterious cat woman with her pensioners all about +her on their little mats. Every city has these humorists—shall +I say? using the word as it was wont to be +used long ago. But M. Pol—M. Pol stands alone. It +is not merely that he charms the birds but that he is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> +so charming with them. The pigeon feeders of London +whom I have watched bring their maize, distribute it and +go. M. Pol is more of a St. Francis than that: as I +have shown, he converses, jokes and exchanges moods +with his friends.</p> + +<p>Although he is acquainted with pigeons, his real friends +are the gamins of the air, the sparrows, true Parisians, +who have the best news. Pigeons, one can conceive, +pick up a fact here and there, but it would have a +foreign or provincial flavour. Now if there is one thing +which bores a true Parisian it is talk of what is happening +outside Paris. The Parisian's horizons do not extend +beyond his city. The sun for him rises out of the Bois +de Vincennes, and evening comes because it has sunk into +the Bois de Boulogne. Hence M. Pol's wisdom in choosing +the sparrow for his companion, his oiseau intime.</p> + +<p>So far had I written when I chanced to walk into +London by way of Hyde Park, and there, just by the +Achilles statue, was a charming gentleman in a tall +white hat whistling a low whistle to a little band of +sparrows who followed him and surrounded him and +fluttered up, one by one, to his hand. We talked a +little together, and he told me that the birds never forget +him, though he is absent for eight months each year. +His whistle brings them at once. So London is all right +after all. And I have been told delightful things about +the friends of the grey squirrels in Central Park; so +New York perhaps is all right too.</p> + +<p>The Round Pond of Paris is at the Tuileries—not so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> +vast as the <i>mare clausum</i> of Kensington Gardens, but +capable of accommodating many argosies. Leaving this +Pond behind us and making for the Place de la Concorde, +we have on the right the remains of a monastery of the +Cistercians, one of the many religious houses which stood +all about the north of the Gardens at the time of the +Revolution and were first discredited and emptied by +the votaries of Reason and then swept away by Napoleon +when he made the Rue de Rivoli. The building on +the left is the Orangery. It is in this part that the +temporary pavilions are erected for the banquets to provincial +mayors and such pleasant ceremonies, while in +the summer some little exhibition is usually in progress.</p> + +<p>But what is that sound? The beating of a drum. +We must hasten to the gates, for that means closing +time.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_ix" id="chapter_ix"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> +THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE—THE CHAMPS-ELYSÉES +AND THE INVALIDES</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +A Dangerous Crossing—An Ill-omened Place—Louis the XVI. in +Prosperity and Adversity—January 21st, 1793—The End of +Robespierre—The Luxor Column—The Congress of Wheels—England +and France—The Champs Elysées—The Parc Monceau—A Terrestrial +Paradise—Oriental Museums—The Etoile's Tributaries—The +Arc de Triomphe—The Avenue du Bois de Boulogne—A +Vast Pleasure-ground—Happy Sundays—Longchamp—The +Pari-mutuel—Spotting a Winner—Two Crowded Corners—The +Rival Salons—The Palais des Beaux-Arts—Dutch Masters—Modern +French Painters—Superb Drawing—Fairies among the +Statues—The Pont Alexandre III.—The Fairs of Paris—A +Vast Alms-house—A Model Museum—Relics of Napoleon—The +Second Funeral of Napoleon—The Tomb of Napoleon.</p> + +<p>The Place de la Concorde by day is vast rather +than beautiful, and by night it is a congress +of lamps. By both it is dangerous, and in bad weather +as exposed as the open sea. But it is sacred ground +and Paris is unthinkable without it. The interest of the +Place is summed up in the Luxor column, which may +perhaps be said to mark what is perhaps the most +critical site in modern history; for where the obelisk +now stands stood not so very long ago the guillotine.</p> + +<p>The Place's name has been Concorde only since 1830 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> +It began in 1763, when a bronze statue of Louis XV. +on horseback was erected there, surrounded by emblematic +figures, from the chisel of Pigalle, of Prudence, +Justice, Force and Peace. Hence the characteristic +French epigram:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"O la belle statue, O le beau piédestal!<br /> +Les Vertus sont à pied, le Vice est à cheval." +</p> + +<p>Before this time the Place had been an open and uncultivated +space; it was now enclosed, surrounded with +fosses, made trim, and called La Place Louis Quinze. +In 1770, however, came tragedy; for on the occasion of +the marriage of the Dauphin, afterwards the luckless +Louis XVI., with the equally luckless Marie Antoinette, +a display of fireworks was given, during which one of +the rockets (as one always dreads at every display) +declined the sky and rushed horizontally into the crowd, +and in the resulting stampede thousands of persons fell +into the ditches, twelve hundred being killed outright +and two thousand injured.</p> + +<p>Twenty-two years later, kings having suddenly become +cheap, the National Convention ordered the statue +of Louis XV. to be melted down and recast into cannon, +a clay figure of Liberté to be set up in its stead, and +the name to be changed to the Place de la Révolution. +This was done, and a little later the guillotine was erected +a few yards west of the spot where the Luxor column +now stands, primarily for the removal of the head of +Louis XVI., in whose honour those unfortunate fireworks +had been ignited. The day was January 21st, 1793. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span></p> + +<p>"King Louis," says Carlyle, "slept sound, till five +in the morning, when Cléry, as he had been ordered, +awoke him. Cléry dressed his hair: while this went +forward, Louis took a ring from his watch, and kept +trying it on his finger; it was his wedding-ring, which +he is now to return to the Queen as a mute farewell. +At half-past six, he took the Sacrament; and continued +in devotion, and conference with Abbé Edgeworth. He +will not see his Family: it were too hard to bear.</p> + +<p>"At eight, the Municipals enter: the King gives +them his Will, and messages and effects; which they, +at first, brutally refuse to take charge of: he gives them +a roll of gold pieces, a hundred and twenty-five louis; +these are to be returned to Malesherbes, who had lent +them. At nine, Santerre says the hour is come. The +King begs yet to retire for three minutes. At the end +of three minutes, Santerre again says the hour is come. +'Stamping on the ground with his right-foot, Louis +answers: "<i>Partons</i>, Let us go."'—How the rolling +of those drums comes in, through the Temple bastions +and bulwarks, on the heart of a queenly wife; soon to +be a widow! He is gone, then, and has not seen us? +A Queen weeps bitterly; a King's Sister and Children. +Over all these Four does Death also hover: all shall +perish miserably save one; she, as Duchesse d'Angoulême, +will live,—not happily.</p> + +<p>"At the Temple Gate were some faint cries, perhaps +from voices of pitiful women: '<i>Grâce! Grâce!</i>' Through +the rest of the streets there is silence as of the grave. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> +No man not armed is allowed to be there: the armed, +did any even pity, dare not express it, each man overawed +by all his neighbours. All windows are down, +none seen looking through them. All shops are shut. +No wheel-carriage rolls, this morning, in these streets but +one only. Eighty thousand armed men stand ranked, +like armed statues of men; cannons bristle, cannoneers +with match burning, but no word or movement: it +is as a city enchanted into silence and stone: one carriage +with its escort, slowly rumbling, is the only sound. +Louis reads, in his Book of Devotion, the Prayers of +the Dying: clatter of this death-march falls sharp on +the ear, in the great silence; but the thought would fain +struggle heavenward, and forget the Earth.</p> + +<p>"As the clocks strike ten, behold the Place de la +Révolution, once Place de Louis Quinze: the Guillotine, +mounted near the old Pedestal where once stood the +Statue of that Louis! Far round, all bristles with +cannons and armed men: spectators crowding in the +rear; D'Orléans Egalité there in cabriolet. Swift messengers, +<i>hoquetons</i>, speed to the Townhall, every three +minutes: near by is the Convention sitting,—vengeful +for Lepelletier. Heedless of all, Louis reads his Prayers +of the Dying; not till five minutes yet has he finished; +then the Carriage opens. What temper he is in? Ten +different witnesses will give ten different accounts of it. +He is in the collision of all tempers; arrived now at the +black Maelstrom and descent of Death: in sorrow, in +indignation, in resignation struggling to be resigned. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> +'Take care of M. Edgeworth,' he straitly charges the +Lieutenant who is sitting with them: then they two +descend.</p> + +<p>"The drums are beating: '<i>Taisez-vous</i>, Silence!' +he cries 'in a terrible voice, <i>d'une voix terrible</i>'. He +mounts the scaffold, not without delay; he is in puce +coat, breeches of gray, white stockings. He strips off +the coat; stands disclosed in a sleeve-waistcoat of white +flannel. The Executioners approach to bind him: he +spurns, resists; Abbé Edgeworth has to remind him +how the Saviour, in whom men trust, submitted to be +bound. His hands are tied, his head bare, the fatal +moment is come. He advances to the edge of the +Scaffold, 'his face very red,' and says: 'Frenchmen, I +die innocent: it is from the Scaffold and near appearing +before God that I tell you so. I pardon my enemies: +I desire that France——' A General on horseback, +Santerre or another, prances out, with uplifted hand: +'<i>Tambours!</i>' The drums drown the voice. Executioners, +do your duty!' The Executioners, desperate +lest themselves be murdered (for Santerre and his Armed +Ranks will strike, if they do not), seize the hapless +Louis: six of them desperate, him singly desperate, +struggling there; and bind him to their plank. Abbé +Edgeworth, stooping, bespeaks him: 'Son of Saint +Louis, ascend to Heaven'. The Axe clanks down; a +King's Life is shorn away. It is Monday the 21st of +January, 1793. He was aged Thirty-eight years, four +months and twenty-eight days.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="vieux" id="vieux"></a> +<img src="images/i_190.jpg" width="465" height="650" alt="VIEUX HOMME ET ENFANT" /> +<p class="caption">VIEUX HOMME ET ENFANT<br /> +<span class="s2">GHIRLANDAIO</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span></p> + +<p>"Executioner Samson shows the Head: fierce shout +of <i>Vive la République</i> rises, and swells; caps raised on +bayonets, hats waving; students of the College of Four +Nations take it up, on the far Quais; fling it over Paris. +D'Orléans drives off in his cabriolet: the Townhall +Councillors rub their hands, saying, 'It is done, It is +done'. There is dipping of handkerchiefs, of pike-points +in the blood. Headsman Samson, though he +afterwards denied it, sells locks of the hair: fractions of +the puce coat are long after worn in rings.—And so, in +some half-hour it is done; and the multitude has all +departed. Pastry-cooks, coffee-sellers, milkmen sing out +their trivial quotidian cries: the world wags on, as if +this were a common day. In the coffee-houses that +evening, says Prudhomme, Patriot shook hands with +Patriot in a more cordial manner than usual. Not till +some days after, according to Mercier, did public men +see what a grave thing it was."</p> + +<p>The guillotine for more ordinary purposes worked in +the Place du Carrousel, not far from Gambetta's statue +to-day; but from May, 1793, until June, 1794, it was +back in the Place de la Concorde (then Place de la +Révolution) again, accounting during that time for no +fewer than 1,235 offenders, including Charlotte Corday, +Madame Roland and Marie Antoinette. The blood +flowed daily, while the tricoteuses looked on over their +knitting and the mob howled.</p> + +<p>Another removal, to the Place de la Bastille, and then +on 28th July, 1794, the engine of justice or vengeance +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> +was back again to end a life and the Reign of Terror +in one blow. What life? But listen: "Robespierre," +lay in an anteroom of the Convention Hall, while his +Prison-escort was getting ready; the mangled jaw bound +up rudely with bloody linen: a spectacle to men. He +lies stretched on a table, a deal-box his pillow; the +sheath of the pistol is still clenched convulsively in his +hand. Men bully him, insult him: his eyes still indicate +intelligence; he speaks no word. 'He had on the sky-blue +coat he had got made for the Feast of the <i>Être +Suprême</i>'—O Reader, can thy hard heart hold out +against that? His trousers were nankeen; the stockings +had fallen down over the ankles. He spake no word +more in this world.</p> + +<p>"And so, at six in the morning, a victorious Convention +adjourns. Report flies over Paris as on golden wings; +penetrates the Prisons; irradiates the faces of those +that were ready to perish: turnkeys and <i>moutons</i>, fallen +from their high estate, look mute and blue. It is the +28th day of July, called 10th of Thermidor, year 1794.</p> + +<p>"Fouquier had but to identify; his Prisoners being +already Out of Law. At four in the afternoon, never +before were the streets of Paris seen so crowded. From +the Palais de Justice to the Place de la Révolution, +for <i>thither</i> again go the Tumbrils this time, it is one +dense stirring mass; all windows crammed; the very +roofs and ridge-tiles budding forth human Curiosity, +in strange gladness. The Death-tumbrils, with their +motley Batch of Outlaws, some twenty-three or so, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> +from Maximilien to Mayor Fleuriot and Simon the +Cordwainer, roll on. All eyes are on Robespierre's +Tumbril, where he, his jaw bound in dirty linen, with his +half-dead Brother and half-dead Henriot, lie shattered; +their 'seventeen hours' of agony about to end. The +Gendarmes point their swords at him, to show the +people which is he. A woman springs on the Tumbril; +clutching the side of it with one hand, waving the other +Sibyl-like; and exclaims: 'The death of thee gladdens +my very heart, <i>m'enivre de joie</i>'; Robespierre opened +his eyes; '<i>Scélérat</i>, go down to Hell, with the curses +of all wives and mothers!'—At the foot of the scaffold, +they stretched him on the ground till his turn came. +Lifted aloft, his eyes again opened; caught the bloody +axe. Samson wrenched the coat off him; wrenched the +dirty linen from his jaw: the jaw fell powerless, there +burst from him a cry;—hideous to hear and see. Samson, +thou canst not be too quick!</p> + +<p>"Samson's work done, there bursts forth shout on +shout of applause. Shout, which prolongs itself not +only over Paris, but over France, but over Europe, and +down to this generation. Deservedly, and also undeservedly. +O unhappiest Advocate of Arras, wert thou +worse than other Advocates? Stricter man, according +to his Formula, to his Credo and his Cant, of probities, +benevolences, pleasures-of-virtue, and suchlike, lived not +in that age. A man fitted, in some luckier settled age, +to have become one of those incorruptible barren Pattern-Figures, +and have had marble-tablets and funeral-sermons. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> +His poor landlord, the Cabinet-maker in the +Rue Saint-Honoré, loved him; his Brother died for him. +May God be merciful to him and to us!</p> + +<p>"This is the end of the Reign of Terror."</p> + +<p>In 1799 the Place won its name Concorde. The +next untoward sight that it was to see was Prussian and +Russian soldiers encamping there in 1814 and 1815, and +in 1815 the British. By this time it had been renamed +Place Louis Quinze, which in 1826 was changed to Place +Louis Seize, and a project was afoot for raising a monument +to that monarch's memory on the spot where he +fell. But the Revolution of 1830 intervened, and "Concorde" +resumed its sway, and in 1836 Louis-Philippe, +the new king (whose father, Philippe Egalité, had +perished on the guillotine here), erected the Luxor +column, which had been given to him by Mohammed +Ali, and had once stood before the great temple of +Thebes commemorating on its sides the achievements +of Rameses II. Since then certain symbolic statues of +the great French cities (including unhappy Strassburg) +have been set up, and the Place is a model of symmetry; +and at the time that I write (1909) a great part of it +is enclosed within hoardings for I know not what purpose, +but I hope a subway for the saving of the lives of +pedestrians, for it must be the most perilous crossing in +the world. One has but to set foot in the roadway and +straightway motor-cars and cabs spring out of the earth +and converge upon one from every point of the compass, +in the amazing French way. Concorde, indeed!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a name="concorde" id="concorde"></a> +<img src="images/i_196.jpg" width="650" height="417" alt="THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE" /> +<p class="caption"><span class="flleft s2">AUTOMOBILE CLUB</span> +<span class="center s2">THE MADELEINE</span> +<span class="flright s2">MINISTÈRE DE LA MARINE</span><br /> +THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE<br /> +<span class="s2">(LOOKING NORTH)</span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> +If the Place de la Concorde may be called at night a +congress of lamps, the Champs-Elysées in the afternoon +may be said to be a congress of wheels. Wheels in such +numbers and revolving at such a pace are never seen in +England, not even on the Epsom road on Derby Day. +For there is no speed limit for the French motor-car. +Nor have we in England anything like this superb +roadway, so wide and open, climbing so confidently to +the Arc de Triomphe, with its groves on either side at +the foot, and the prosperous white mansions afterwards. +It is not our way. We English, with our ambition to +conquer and administer the world, have neglected our +own home; the French, with no ambition any longer +to wander beyond their own borders, have made their +home beautiful. The energy which we as a nation put +into greater Britain, they have put into buildings, into +statues, into roads. The result is that we have the +Transvaal, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and India, +but it is the French, foregoing such possessions and all +their anxieties, who have the Champs-Elysées.</p> + +<p>The Champs-Elysées were planned and laid out by +Marie de Médicis in 1616, and the Cours la Reine, her +triple avenue of trees, still exists; but Napoleon is the +father of the scheme which culminates so magnificently +in the Arc de Triomphe. The particular children's +paradise of Paris is in the gardens between the main +road and the Elysée, where they bowl their hoops and +spin their Diabolo spools, and ride on the horses of +minute round-abouts turned by hand, and watch the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> +marionettes, with the tired eyes of Alphonse Daudet, +who sits for ever, close by, in very white stone, watching +them. Here also are the open-air cafés, the Ambassadeurs +and the Alcazar, while on the other, the river, side +are the Jardin de Paris, a curiously Lutetian haunt, and +Ledoyen's, one of the pleasantest of restaurants in summer.</p> + +<p>Just above this point we ought to turn to the left to +visit the Petit Palais and cross the Pont Alexandre +III., but since we are on the way let us now climb to +the Etoile, and on to the Bois, first, however, just turning +off the Rond-Point for a moment to look at No. 3 +Avenue Matignon, where Heine (beside whose grave we +are to stand on Montmartre) suffered and died.</p> + +<p>The Place de l'Etoile might be called a kind of gilt-edged +Seven Dials, since so many roads lead from it. +Aristocratic Paris comes to a head here. On the right +runs from it the Avenue de Friedland, leading to the +Boulevard Haussmann, which meets with so inglorious an +end at the Rue Taitbout, but is perhaps to be cut +through to join the Boulevard Montmartre. Next on +the right is the Avenue Hoche, running directly into +the Parc Monceau, a terrestrial paradise to which good +mondaines certainly go when they die. A little appartement +overlooking the Parc Monceau—there is tangible +heaven, if you like!</p> + +<p>The Parc itself is small but perfect, elegant and expensive +and verdant. The children (one feels) are all +titled, the bonnes are visibly miracles of distinction and +the babies masses of point lace; the ladies on the chairs +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> +must be Comtesses or Baronnes, and the air is carefully +scented. That is the Parc Monceau. It needed but one +detail to make it complete, and that was supplied a few +years ago: a statue of Guy de Maupassant, consisting +of a block of the most radiant marble to be procured, +with the novelist as its apex, and at the base a Parisienne +reading one of his stories. Other statues there +are: of Ambroise Thomas the composer, to whom Mignon +offers a floral tribute; of Pailleron the dramatist, attended +by an actress; of Gounod surrounded by Marguerite, +Juliet, Sappho and a little Love; and of Chopin +seated at the piano, with the figures of Night and +Harmony to inspire him. These are only a few; but +they are typical. Every statue in the Parc has a +damsel or two, according to his desire. It is the mode. +There is also a minute lake, on the edge of which have +been set up a number of Corinthian columns; and before +you have been seated a minute, an old woman appears +from nowhere and demands twopence for what she +poetically calls an armchair, the extra penny being +added as a compliment to the two uncomfortable wires +at the side which you had been wishing you could break +off. Such is the Parc Monceau, the like of which exists +not in London: the ideal pleasaunce of the wealthy. +Through it, I might add, you may drive; but only at +a walking pace—<i>au pas</i>. If the horse were to trot he +might shake some petals off.</p> + +<p>At the western gate is the Musée Cernuschi, containing +a collection of oriental pottery and bronzes. I am +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> +no connoisseur of these beautiful things, but I advise +all readers of this book to visit both this museum and +the Guimet in the Place d'Iéna, which is a treasury of +Japanese and Chinese art.</p> + +<p>Returning to the Etoile, the next avenue is the Avenue +de Wagram, running north to the Porte d'Asnières, +while that which continues the Avenue des Champs-Elysées +in a straight line west by north is the Avenue +de la Grande Armée, running to the Porte Maillot and +Neuilly. On the left the first avenue is the Avenue +Marceau, which leads to the Place de l'Alma; the next +the Avenue d'Iéna, leading to the Place d'Iéna; the +next, the Avenue Kléber, running straight to the Trocadéro +(into which I have never penetrated) and Passy, +where the English live; the next, the Avenue Victor +Hugo, which never stops; and finally the Avenue du Bois +de Boulogne, the most beautiful roadway in new Paris, +along which we shall fare when we have examined the +Arc de Triomphe.</p> + +<p>This trophy of success was begun, as I have said, by +Napoleon to celebrate the victories of 1805 and 1806; +Louis-Philippe finished it in 1836. Why Louis XVIII. +did not destroy it or complete it as a further memorial +of the Restoration, I cannot say. Napoleon's original +idea was, however, tampered with by his successors, who +allowed a bas-relief representing the Blessings of Peace +in 1815 to be included. The sculptures are otherwise +wholly devoted to the glorification of war, Napoleon +and the French army; but they are not to be studied +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> +without serious inconvenience. My advice to the conscientious +student would be to buy photographs or +picture postcards, and examine them at home: the Arc +de Triomphe is too great and splendid for such detail. +From the top one can see all round Paris, and though +one cannot look down on it all as from the Eiffel Tower, +or see, beneath one, such an interesting district as from +Notre Dame, it is yet a wonderfully interesting view.</p> + +<p>The Avenue du Bois de Boulogne has the finest road +in what is, so to speak, the Marais of the present day; +that is to say, in the modern quarter of the aristocratic +and wealthy. We have seen riches and rank moving +from the Marais to the Faubourg St. Germain and from +the Faubourg St. Germain to the Faubourg St. Honoré, +and now we find them here, and here they seem likely +to remain. And indeed to move farther would be +foolish, for surely there never was, and could not be, a +more beautiful city site than this anywhere in the world—with +its wide cool lawns on either side, and its gay +colouring, and the Bois so near. Here too, on the heads +of the comfortable complacent bonnes, are the most +radiant caps you ever saw.</p> + +<p>The Bois de Boulogne, which takes its name from the +little town of Boulogne to the south of it, now a suburb +of Paris, began its life as a Paris park in the eighteen-fifties. +Before that it was a forest of great trees, which +indeed remained until the Franco-Prussian war, when +they were cut down in order that they might not give +cover to the enemy. That is why the present groves +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> +are all of a size. I cannot describe the Bois better than +by saying that it is as if Hyde Park, Sandown Park, +Kempton Park, and Epping Forest were all thrown +together between Shepherd's Bush, Acton and the river. +London would then have something like the Bois; and +yet it would not be like the Bois at all, because it would +rapidly become a desert of newspapers and empty bottles, +whereas, although in the summer populous with picnic +parties, the Bois is always clean and fresh.</p> + +<p>There are several gates to the Bois, but the principal +ones are the Porte Maillot at the end of the Avenue de +la Grande Armée, and the Porte Dauphine at the end +of the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and it is through +the latter that the thousands of vehicles pass on their +way to the races on happy Sundays in the spring and +autumn. Most English people visiting the Bois merely +drive to the races and back again; it is quite the exception +to find any one who really knows the Bois—who +has walked round the two lakes, Lac Inférieur, +which feeds the cascade under which one may walk (as +at Niagara), and Lac Supérieur; who has seen a play +in the Théâtre de Verdure, or an exhibition at Bagatelle, +the villa of the late Sir Richard Wallace, who gave the +Champs-Elysées its drinking fountains and London the +Wallace Collection. Bagatelle now belongs to Paris. +Every English visitor, however, remembers the stone +animals, dogs and deer, in the lawn of the Villa de +Longchamp on the right as one approaches the race-course, +and the windmill on the left, one of the several +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> +inoperative windmills of Paris, which marks the site of +the old Abbey of Longchamp, founded by Isabella, the +sister of Saint Louis.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="venus" id="venus"></a> +<img src="images/i_204.jpg" width="537" height="650" alt="VÉNUS ET L'AMOUR" /> +<p class="caption">VÉNUS ET L'AMOUR<br /> +<span class="s2">REMBRANDT</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>The Bois has two restaurants of the highest quality +and price—Armenonville, close to the Porte Maillot, a +favourite dining-place when the Fête de Neuilly is in +progress, in the summer, and the Pré Catelan, near Lac +Inférieur and close to the point where the Allée de la +Reine-Marguerite and the Allée de Longchamp cross. +In the summer it is quite the thing for the young +bloods who frequent the night cafés on Montmartre to +drive into the Bois in the early morning and drink a +glass of milk in the Pré Catelan's dairy, perhaps bringing +the milkmaids with them.</p> + +<p>The Bois has two race-courses, but it is at Longchamp +that the principal races are run—the Grand Prix and +the Conseil Municipal. Racing men tell me that the +defect of the pari-mutuel system is that one cannot arrange +one's book, since the odds are always more or +less of a surprise; but to one who does not bet on horses +anywhere but in Paris, and who views an English bookmaker +with alarm, if not positive terror, the pari-mutuel +seems perfect in its easy and silent workings and the +dramatic unfolding of its surprises. For first you have +the fun of picking out your horse; then quietly putting +your money on him, to win or for a place; and then, +after the race is run and your horse is a winner, you +have those five to ten delightfully anxious minutes while +the actuaries are working out the odds. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span></p> + +<p>An experience of my own will illustrate not only the +method of the system but the haphazard principles on +which a stranger's modest gambling can be done. On +the morning of the races I had visited the Louvre with +Mr. Dexter, the artist of this book. We had not much +time, and were therefore proposing to look only at the +Leonardos and the Rembrandts, which are separated +by a considerable stretch of gallery hung with other +pictures. On leaving the Leonardos we walked briskly +towards the Dutch end; Mr. Dexter, however, loitered +here and there, and I was some distance ahead when he +called me back to see a Holbein. It was worth going +back for. In the afternoon at Longchamp, when the +time came before the race to pick out the horses who +were to have the honour of carrying my money, I noticed +that one of them was named Holbein. Having already +that day been pleased with a Holbein, I accepted the +circumstance as a line of guidance, and placed a five-franc +piece on the brave animal. He came in first, and +being an outsider his price was 185.50.</p> + +<p>The Longchamp course is perfectly managed. There +are three places where one may go—to the pesage, +which costs twenty francs for a cavalier and ten francs +for a dame; to the pavillon, which is half that price; +or to the pelouse, where the people congregate, which +costs a franc. Perfect order reigns everywhere.</p> + +<p>For the wanderer who has no carriage awaiting him +and no appointments to hurry him there are two entertaining +things to do when the races are over on a fine +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> +Sunday afternoon. One is to cross the Seine to Suresnes +by the adjacent bridge and sitting at the café that faces +it, watch the crowd and the traffic, for this is on a main +road from Paris to the country; or walking the other +way, one may enjoy a similar spectacle at the Café du +Sport outside the Porte Maillot and study at one's ease +the happy French in holiday mood—the husbands with +their wives and their two children, and the Sunday +lovers arm in arm.</p> + +<p>And now we return to the Champs-Elysées in order +to look at some pictures and admire a beautiful bridge. +For the Avenue Alexandre III., as for the Pont Alexandre +III., Paris is indebted to the 1900 Exhibition. +These are her permanent gains, and very valuable they +are. Of the two white palaces on either side of this +green and spacious Avenue, that on the right, as we +face the golden dome of the Invalides, is the home of +the Salon and of various exhibitions. I say Salon, but +Paris now has many Salons, two of which, in more or +less amicable rivalry, occupy this building at the same +time. In one, the Salon proper, the Salon of the old +guard, the Royal Academicians of France, there are +miles of paint but few experiments; in the other, where +the more independent spirits—the New Englishers, so +to speak—hang their works in personal groups, there +are fewer miles but more outrages. For outrages, however, +pure and simple (or even impure and complex), I +recommend the Salon that is now held in the early +spring in some of the old Exhibition buildings on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> +banks of the river, close to the Pont d'Alexandre III. +I have seen pictures there—nudities, in the manner of +Aztec decorations, by the youngest French artists of +the moment—which made one want to scream. It was +said once that the French knew how to paint but not +what to paint, and the English what to paint but not +how to paint it. Since then there has been such a fusing +of nationalities, such increased and humble appreciation +on the part of the English painters of the best French +methods, that one can no longer talk in that kind of +cast-iron epigram; but it is impossible to see some of +the crude innovating work now being done without the +reflection that France is rapidly and successfully creating +a school of artists who not only know not what to paint +but how to paint too.</p> + +<p>The Palais des Beaux-Arts, which was built for the +collection of pictures at the Exhibition of 1900, is now +a permanent gallery for the preservation of the various +works of art acquired from time to time by the municipality +of Paris, thus differing from the Luxembourg collections, +which are national. The Palais has become a +kind of brother of the Carnavalet, the one being the +historical museum of Paris and the other—the Palais—the +artistic museum of Paris. The Palais undoubtedly +contains much that is not of the highest quality, but +no one who is interested in modern French painting +and drawing can afford to neglect it, while the recent +acquisition of the Collection Dutuit, consisting chiefly of +small but choice pictures of the Dutch masters, including +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> +a picture of Rembrandt with his dog, from his own +hand, has added a rather necessary touch of antiquity.</p> + +<p>One of the special rooms is devoted to pictures of the +opulent Félix Ziem, painter of Venetian sunsets and the +sky at its most golden, wherever it may be found, who +is still (1909) living in honourable state on those slopes +of the mountain of fame which are reserved for the few +rare spirits that become old masters before they die, +and who presented his pictures to Paris a few years ago; +another room is filled with the works of the late Jean +Jacques Henner, whose pallid nudities, emerging from +voluptuous gloom, still look yearningly at one from the +windows of so many Paris picture dealers. Henner, I +must confess, is not a painter whom I greatly esteem; +but few modern French artists were more popular in +their day. He died in 1905, and this gift of his work +was made by his son. Other French artists to have +rooms of their own in the Palais are Jean Carriès the +sculptor, who died in 1894 at the age of thirty-nine, +after an active career in the modelling of quaint and +grotesque and realistic figures, one of the best known +and most charming of his many works being "La Fillette +au Pantin" (No. 1338 in the collection); and +Jules Dalou (1838-1902), also a sculptor, a man of more +vigour although of less charm than his neighbour in +the Palais. That strange gift of untiring abundant +creativeness which the French have so notably, Dalou +also shared, his busy fingers having added thousands of +new figures to those that already congest life, while he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> +modelled also many a well-known head. I think that +I like best his "Esquisses de Travailleurs". Nothing +here, however, is so fascinating as Dalou's own head by +Rodin in the Luxembourg.</p> + +<p>Of the picture collection proper I am saying but +little, for it is in a fluid state, and even in the catalogue +before me, the latest edition, there is no mention of +several of its finest treasures: among them Manet's +portrait of Théodore Duret, a sketch of an old peasant +woman's hand by Madame David, a Rip Van Winkle +by that modern master of the grotesque and Rabelaisian, +Jean Véber, and one of Mr. Sargent's Venetian sketches—the +racing gondoliers. For the most part it is like +revisiting the past few Salons, except that the pictures +are more choice and less numerous; but one sees many +old friends, and all the expected painters are here. It +is of course the surprises that one remembers—the +three Daumiers, for example, particularly "L'Amateur +d'Estampes," reproduced <a href="#amateur">opposite page 286</a>, and "Les +Joueurs d'Echecs," and the fine collection of the drawings +of Puvis de Chavannes and Daniel Vierge. I was +also much taken with some topographical drawings by +Adrian Karbowski—No. 494 in the catalogue. Other +pictures and drawings which should be seen are those by +Cazin (a sunset), Pointelin, Steinlen (some work-girls), +Sisley, Lebourg, and Harpignies, who exhibits water-colours +separated in time by fifty-nine years, 1849 to 1908. +The drawings on a whole are far better than the paintings.</p> + +<p>In the collection Dutuit look at Ruisdael's "Environs +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> +de Haarlem," Terburg's "La Fiancée," Hobbema's "Les +Moulins" and a woodland scene, Pot's "Portrait of a +Man," Van de Velde's landscape sketches, and the Rembrandt. +The rooms downstairs are not worth visiting.</p> + +<p>Among the statuary, some of which is very good, +particularly a new unsigned and uncatalogued Joan of +Arc, is a naked Victor Hugo holding a MS. in his +hand; while Frémiet of course confronts the door, this +time with a really fine George and the Dragon, George +having a spear worthy of the occasion, and not the short +and useless broadsword which he brandishes on the +English sovereign.</p> + +<p>On my last visit to this thinly populated gallery +I was for some time one of three visitors, until suddenly +the vast spaces were humanised by the gracious +and winsome presence of a band of Isidora Duncan's +gay little dancers, with a kindly companion to tell them +about the pictures, and—what interested them more—the +statues. These tiny lissome creatures flitting +among the cold rigid marbles I shall not soon forget.</p> + +<p>And so we come to the Pont Alexandre III., the +bridge whose width and radiance are an ever fresh surprise +and joy, and make our way to the Invalides, at +the end of the prospect, across the great Esplanade des +Invalides, so quiet to-day, but for a month of every year, +so noisy and variegated with round-abouts and booths. +It is, by the way, well worth while, whenever one is +in Paris, to find out what fair is being held. For somewhere +or other a fair is always being held. You can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> +get the particulars from the invaluable <i>Bottin</i> or <i>Bottin +Mondain</i>, which every restaurant keeps, and which is +even exposed to public scrutiny on a table at the Gare +du Nord, and for all I know to the contrary, at the +other stations too. This is one of the lessons which +might be learned from Paris by London, where you ask +in vain for a <i>Post Office Directory</i> in all but the General +Post Office. <i>Bottin</i>, who knows all, will give you the +time and place of every fair. The best is the Fête de +Neuilly, which is held in the summer, just outside the +Porte Maillot, but all the arrondissements have their +own. They are crowded scenes of noisy life; but they +are amusing too, and their popularity shows you how +juvenile is the Frenchman's heart.</p> + +<p>One should enter the Invalides from the great Place +and round off the inspection of the Musée de l'Armée +by a visit to Napoleon's tomb; that, at least, is the +symmetrical order. The Hôtel des Invalides proper, +which set the fashion in military hospitals, was built by +Louis XIV., who may be seen on his horse in bas-relief +on the principal façade. The building once sheltered and +tended 7,000 wounded soldiers; but there are now only +fifty. From its original function as a military hospital +for any kind of disablement it has dwindled to a home +for a few incurables; while the greater portion of the +building is now given up to collections and to civic offices. +There could be no greater contrast than that between +the imposing architecture of the main structure and the +charming domestic façade in the Boulevard des Invalides, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> +which is one of the pleasantest of the old Paris buildings +and has some of the simplicity of an English almshouse.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="pelerins" id="pelerins"></a> +<img src="images/i_214.jpg" width="603" height="650" alt="LES PÈLERINS D'EMMAÜS" /> +<p class="caption">LES PÈLERINS D'EMMAÜS<br /> +<span class="s2">REMBRANDT</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>It is not until we enter the great Court of Honour +that we catch sight of Napoleon, whose figure dominates +the opposite wall. Thereafter one thinks of little else. +Louis XIV. disappears.</p> + +<p>Passing some dingy frescoes which the weather has +treated vilely, we enter the Musée Historique on the +left—unless one has an overwhelming passion for +artillery, armour and the weapons of savages, in which +case one turns to the right. I mention the alternative +because there is far too much to see on one visit, and it +is well to concentrate on the more interesting. For me +guns and armour and the weapons of savages are without +any magic while there are to be seen such human +relics as have been brought together in the Musée Historique +on the opposite side of the Court. The whole +place, by the way, is a model for the Carnavalet, in that +everything is precisely and clearly labelled. This, since +it is a favourite resort of simple folk—soldiers and their +parents and sweethearts—is a thoughtful provision.</p> + +<p>The Musée Historique has at every turn something +profoundly interesting, and incidentally it tells something +of the men from whom numbers of Paris streets +take their names; but the real and poignant interest is +Napoleon. The Longwood room is to me too painful. +The project of the admirable administrator has been to +illustrate the whole pageant of French arms; but the +Man of Destiny quickly becomes all-powerful, and one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> +finds oneself looking only for signs and tokens of his +personality. So it should be, under the shadow of the +Dome which covers his ashes. I would personally go +farther and collect at the Invalides all the Napoleonic +relics that one now must visit so many places to see—the +Carnavalet, Fontainebleau, the Musée Grévin, our +own United Service Museum in Whitehall (as if we had +the right to a single article from St. Helena!), Madame +Tussaud's, and Versailles. There is even a room at the +Arts Décoratifs devoted nominally to Napoleon, but it has +few articles of personal interest and none of any intimacy—merely +splendid costumes for occasions and ceremonials +of State, with a few of Josephine's lace caps among them. +Its purpose is to illustrate the Empire rather than the +Emperor, but the Invalides should have what there is.</p> + +<p>At the Invalides you may, I suppose, see in three or +four rooms more Napoleonic relics of a personal character +than anywhere else. In Whitehall is the chair he died +in; but here is his garden-seat from St. Helena, one bar +of which was removed to allow him as he sat to pass +his arm through and be more at his ease as he looked +out to the ocean that was to do nothing for him. At +Whitehall is the skeleton of his horse Marengo; here +is the saddle. Here are his grey redingote and more +than one of his hats. Among the relics in the special +Napoleonic rooms those of his triumph and his fall are +mixed. Here is the bullet that wounded him at Ratisbon; +here are his telescopes and his maps, his travelling +desks and his pistols; here are the toys of the little Duke +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> +of Reichstadt; here is the walking stick on which Napoleon +leaned at St. Helena, his dressing-gown, his bed, his +armchair and his death-mask. Here are the railings of +the tomb at St. Helena, and a case of leaves and stones +and pieces of wood and other natural surroundings of the +same spot. Here also is the pall that covered his coffin +on the way to its final burial under the Dome close by.</p> + +<p>It is a fitting end to the study of these storied corridors +to pass to the tomb of the protagonist of the drama +we have been contemplating. The Emperor's remains +were brought to Paris in 1840, nineteen years after his +death at St. Helena. Thackeray, in his <i>Second Funeral +of Napoleon</i>, wrote a vivid, although to my mind hateful, +description of the ceremonial: a piece of complacent +flippancy, marked by the worst kind of French irreverence, +which shows him in his least admirable mood, +particularly when he is pleased to be amusing over the +difference between the features of the Emperor dead +and living. None the less it is an absorbing narrative.</p> + +<p>One looks down upon the sarcophagus, which lies in +a marble well. It is simple, solemn and severe, and to +a few persons, not Titmarshes, inexpressibly melancholy. +The Emperor's words from his will, "Je désire que mes +cendres reposent sur les bords de la Seine, au milieu de +ce peuple français que j'ai tant aimé," are placed at the +entrance to the crypt. He had not the Invalides in +mind when he wrote them; but one feels that the +Invalides is as right a spot for him as any in this land +of short memories and light mockeries.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_x" id="chapter_x"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> +THE BOULEVARD ST. GERMAIN AND ITS TRIBUTARIES</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +An Aristocratic Quarter—Adrienne Lecouvreur—A Grisly Museum—A +Changeless City—The Pasteur Institute—The Golden Key—The +Stoppeur—Sterne—The Beaux Arts—A Wilderness of Copies—Voltaire +Clad and Naked—The Mint—An Inquisitive Visitor—Bad +Money.</p> + +<p>From the Invalides the Boulevard St. Germain, +the west to east highway of the Surrey side of +Paris, is easily gained; but it is not in itself very interesting. +The interesting streets either cross it or run +more or less parallel with it, such as the old and winding +Rue de Grenelle, which we come to at once, the +home of the Parisian aristocracy after its removal from +the Marais. The houses are little changed: merely +the tenants; and certain Embassies are now here. No. +18 was once the Hôtel de Beauharnais, the home of the +fair Joséphine; at the Russian Embassy, No. 79, the +Duchesse d'Estrées lived. In an outhouse at No. 115 +was buried in unconsecrated ground Adrienne Lecouvreur, +the tragedienne who made tragedy, the beloved of +Maréchal Saxe. Scribe's drama has made her story +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> +known—how her heart was too much for her, and how +Christian burial was refused her by a Christian priest.</p> + +<p>The Rue St. Dominique, parallel with the Rue de +Grenelle nearer the river, is equally old and august. +At No. 13 lived Madame de Genlis, the monitress of +French youth. Still nearer the river runs the long Rue +de l'Université, which also has an illustrious past and +a picturesque present, some great French noble having +built nearly every house.</p> + +<p>One of the first old streets to cross the Boulevard St. +Germain is the Rue du Bac, a roadway made when the +Palace of the Tuileries was building, to convey materials +from Vaugiraud to the <i>bac</i> (or ferry boat) which crossed +the Seine where the Pont Royal now stands. This +street also is full of ancient palaces and convents. +Chateaubriand died at 118-120. At 128 is the Séminaires +des Missions Etrangères, with a terrible little +museum called the Chambre des Martyrs, very French +in character, displaying instruments of torture which +have been used upon missionaries in China and other +countries inimical (like poor Adrienne's priest) to Christianity. +The Rue des Saints-Pères resembles the Rue du +Bac, but is more attractive to the loiterer because it has +perhaps the greatest number of old curiosity shops of +any street in Paris. They touch each other: perhaps +they take in each other's dusting. I never saw a +customer enter; but that of course means nothing. +One might be sure of finding a case made of peau de +chagrin here and be equally sure that Balzac had trodden +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> +this pavement before you. You will see, however, +nothing or very little that is beautiful, because Paris +does not care much for sheer beauty.</p> + +<p>The Rue des Saints-Pères runs upwards into the Rue +de Sèvres, where old convents cluster and the Bon +Marché raises its successful modern bulk. It was in the +Abbaye-aux-Bois, once at the corner of the Rue de +Sèvres and the Rue de la Chaise, but now buried beneath +a gigantic block of new flats, that Madame Récamier +lived from 1814 until her death in 1849, visited latterly +every day by the faithful Chateaubriand. M. Georges +Cain has a charming chapter on this friendship and its +scene in his <i>Promenades dans Paris</i>, of which an English +translation, entitled <i>Walks in Paris</i>, has recently +been published.</p> + +<p>Returning to the Boulevard St. Germain, which we +leave as often as we touch it, I remember that, on the +south side, between the Invalides end and the statue of +the inventor of the semaphore, used to be a little shop +devoted to the sale of trophies of Joan of Arc. And since +it used to be there, it follows that it is there still, for +nothing in Paris ever changes. One of the great charms +of Paris is that it is always the same. I can think of +hardly any shop that has changed in the last ten years. +This means, I suppose, that the French rarely die. +How can they, disliking as they do to leave Paris? It +is the English and the Scotch, born to forsake their +homes and live uncomfortably foreign lives, who die.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"><a name="alexandre" id="alexandre"></a> +<img src="images/i_222.jpg" width="650" height="493" alt="THE PONT ALEXANDRE III" /> +<p class="caption"><span class="fl20 s2">EIFFEL TOWER</span> +<span class="center s2">TROCADÉRO</span><br /> +THE PONT ALEXANDRE III<br /> +<span class="s2">(FROM THE EAST)</span></p></div> + +<p>If one is interested in seeing the Pasteur Institute, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> +now is the time, for it is not far from the Rue de Sèvres, +in the Rue Falguière, named after Falguière the sculptor +of the memorial to Pasteur in the Place Breteuil: one +of the best examples of recent Paris statuary, with a +charming shepherd boy playing his pipe to his flock on +one side of the pediment, and grimmer scenes of disease +on the others. This monument, however, is some distance +from the Institute, the Place Breteuil being the +first carrefour in that vast and endless avenue which +leads southwards from Napoleon's tomb. The Institute +itself has a spirited statue of Jupille the shepherd, one +of its first patients, in his struggle with the wolf that +bit him. Pasteur's tomb is here, but I have not seen +it, as I arrived on the wrong day.</p> + +<p>One of the most attractive of the Boulevard St. +Germain's byways is entered just round the corner of +the Rue de Rennes. This is the Cour du Dragon, +which is not only a relic of old Paris, but old Paris is +still visible hard at work in it. The Cour du Dragon +is a narrow court gained by an archway over which a +red dragon perches, holding up the balcony with his +vigorous pinions. It was the Hôtel Taranne in the +reigns of Charles VI. and VII. and Louis XI.; later +it became a famous riding and fencing school. It is +now a cheerful nest of artisans—coppersmiths, locksmiths, +coal merchants and the like, who fill it with brisk +hammerings, while at the windows above, with their +green shutters, the songs of caged birds mingle in the +symphony. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span></p> + +<p>As in all Parisian streets or courts where signs are +hung, the golden key is prominent. (There is one in +Mr. Dexter's picture of the Rue de l'Hôtel de Ville.) +What the proportion of locksmiths is to the population +of Paris I cannot say; but their pretty symbol is to be +seen everywhere. The reason of their numbers is not +very mysterious when we recollect that practically every +one that one meets in this city, and certainly all the +people of the middling and working classes, live in flats, +and all want keys. The streets and streets of the small +houses with which East London is covered are unknown +in Paris, where every façade is but the mask which hides +vast tenements packed with families. No wonder then +that the serrurier is so busy.</p> + +<p>Another sign which probably puzzles many English +people is that of the stoppeur. Bellows' dictionary does +not recognise the word. What is a stoppeur and what +does he stop? I discovered the answer in the most +practical way possible; for a Frenchman, in a crowd, +helped me to it by pushing his lighted cigar into my +back and burning a hole in it, right in the middle of +the coat, where a patch would necessarily show. I was in +despair until the femme de chambre reassured me. It was +nothing, she said: all that was needed was a stoppeur. +She would take the coat herself. It seems that the +stoppeur's craft is that of mending holes so deftly that +you would not know there had been any. He ascertains +the pattern by means of a magnifying glass, and then +extracts threads from some part of the garment that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> +does not show and weaves them in. I paid three francs +and have been looking for the injured spot ever since, +but cannot find it. It is a modern miracle.</p> + +<p>Diagonally opposite the Court of the Dragon is the +Church of St. Germain—not the St. Germain who owns +the church at the east end of the Louvre, but St. Germain +des Prés, a lesser luminary. It has no particular +beauty, but a number of frescoes by Flandrin, the pupil +of Ingres, give it a cachet. Flandrin's bust is to be observed +on the north wall. The frescoes cannot be seen +except under very favourable conditions, and therefore +for me the greatness of Flandrin has to be sought in his +drawings at the Luxembourg and the Louvre—sufficient +proof of his exquisite hand.</p> + +<p>Before descending the Rue Bonaparte to the river, +let us ascend it to see the great church of St. Sulpice +and its paintings by Delacroix in the Chapel of the +Holy Angels. Under the Convention St. Sulpice was +the Temple of Victory, and here General Bonaparte +was feasted in 1799. The church is famous for its +music and an organ second only to that of St. Eustache. +And now let us descend the Rue Bonaparte to the +quais, where several buildings await us, beginning with +the Beaux-Arts at the foot of the street; but first the +Rue Jacob, which bisects the Rue Bonaparte, should +be looked at, for it has had many illustrious inhabitants, +including our own Laurence Sterne, who lodged here, +at No. 46, in the Hôtel of his friend Madame Rambouillet +(of the easy manners) when he was studying the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> +French for <i>A Sentimental Journey</i>. It was here +perhaps that he penned the famous opening sentence: +"'They order,' said I, 'these things better in France'"—which +no other writer on Paris has succeeded in forgetting. +At No. 20 lived Adrienne Lecouvreur, and +hither Voltaire must often have come, for he greatly admired +her. At No. 7 is a fine old staircase and an old +well in the court.</p> + +<p>The Palais des Beaux-Arts, where the Royal Academy +Schools of Paris are situated, is an unexhilarating building +containing a great number of unexciting paintings. +Indeed, I think that no public edifice of Paris is so +dreary: within and without one has a sense not exactly +of decay but certainly of neglect. This is not the less +odd when one thinks of the purpose of the institution, +which is to foster the arts, and when one thinks also +of the spotless perfection in which the Petit Palais, the +latest of the Parisian picture galleries, is maintained. +The spirit, however, is willing, if the flesh is weak, for +in the first and second courts are examples of the best +French architecture, and a bust of Jean Goujon is let +into the wall of the Musée des Antiques. The building +contains a number of casts of the best sculptures and +an amphitheatre with Delaroche's pageant of painters +on the hemicycle and Ingres' Victory of Romulus over +the Sabines opposite it; but there is not always enough +light to see either well. For the best view of Delaroche's +great work one must go upstairs to the Gallery. The +library also is upstairs, with many thousand of valuable +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> +works on art and a collection of drawings by the masters, +access to which is made easy to genuine students.</p> + +<p>By returning to the first court we come to the Musée +de la Renaissance, which now occupies an old chapel of +the Couvent des Petits-Augustins, on the site of which +the Palais de Beaux-Arts was built. Here are more +casts and copies, and there are still more in the adjoining +Cour du Mûrier, where stands the memorial of +Henri Regnault, the painter, and the students who +died with him during the defence of Paris in 1870-71.</p> + +<p>We then enter the Salle de Melpomène, so called +from the dominating cast of the Melpomene at the +Louvre, and are straightway among what seem at the +first glance to be old friends from all the best galleries +of the world but too quickly are revealed as counterfeits. +Rembrandt's School of Anatomy and the Syndics, our +own National Gallery Correggio, the Dresden Raphael, +the Wallace Collection Velasquez (the Lady with a Fan), +one of Hals' groups of arquebusiers, and Paul Potter's +Bull: all are here, together with countless others, all the +work of Beaux-Arts students, and some exceedingly +good, but also (like most copies) exceedingly depressing.</p> + +<p>In other rooms almost pitch dark are modelled studies +of expression and paintings which have won the Grand +Prix of Rome during the past two hundred years. It +is odd to notice how few names one recognises: it is as +though, like the Newdigate, this prize were an end in +itself.</p> + +<p>Having contemplated the statue of Voltaire in his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> +robes outside the Institut, the next building of importance +after the Beaux Arts, you may, if you so desire, +gaze upon the same philosopher in a state of nature by +entering the Institut itself, and ascending to its Bibliothèque. +There he sits, the skinny cynic, among the +books which he wrote and the books which he read and +the books which would not have been written but for +him. I was glad to see him thus, for it showed me +where our own Arouet, Mr. Bernard Shaw, found his +inspiration when he too subjected recently his economical +frame to the maker of portraits. Mr. Shaw sat, however, +only to a photographer (although a very good +one, Mr. Coburn); when he visited Rodin it was for the +head, a replica of which may be seen at the Luxembourg. +Speaking of heads, the Institut is a wilderness of them: +heads line the stairs; heads line the walls not only of +its own Bibliothèque but of the Bibliothèque de Mazarin, +which also is here, a haven for every student that cares +to seek it: heads of the great Frenchmen of all time +and of the Cæsars too.</p> + +<p>The Pont des Arts, which leads direct from the old +Louvre to the Institut (a connection, if ever, no longer +of any importance), is for foot passengers only. One is +therefore more at ease there in observing the river than +on the noisy bridge of stone. But it is inexcusably ugly +and leaves one continually wondering what Napoleon +was about to allow it to be built—and of iron too—in +his day of good taste. Looking up stream, the Pont +Neuf is close by with the thin green end of the Cité's +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> +wedge protruding under it and, in winter, Henri IV. +riding proudly above. In summer, as Mr. Dexter's +drawing shows, he is hidden by leaves. A basin has +been constructed at this point from which the tide is +excluded, and here are washing houses and swimming +baths; for Parisians, having a river, use it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="donateur" id="donateur"></a> +<img src="images/i_230.jpg" width="608" height="650" alt="LA VIERGE AU DONATEUR" /> +<p class="caption">LA VIERGE AU DONATEUR<br /> +<span class="s2">J. VAN EYCK</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>The Hôtel des Monnaies, close by the Beaux Arts, is +another surprise. One would expect in such a country +as France, with its meticulously exact control of its +public offices, that its Mint, the institution in which its +money was made, would be a miracle of precision and +efficiency. Efficiency it may have; but its proceedings +are casual beyond belief: the workmen in the furnaces +loaf and smoke and stare at the visitors and exchange +comments on them; the floors are cluttered up with +lumber; the walls are dirty; the doors do not fit. A +very considerable amount of work seems to be accomplished—there +are machines constantly in movement +which turn out scores of coins a minute, not only for +France but for her few and dispiriting colonies and +for other countries; and yet the feeling which one +has is that France here is noticeably below herself.</p> + +<p>I was shown round by a very charming attendant, +who handled the new coins as though he loved them +and took precisely that pride in the place that the +Government seems to lack. The design on the French +franc, although it ought to be cut, I think, a little +deeper, a little more boldly, is very attractive, both +obverse and reverse, and it is a pleasant sight to see the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> +bright creatures tumbling out of the machine as fast as +one can count. Pleasanter still is it to the frail human +eye when the same process is repeated with golden +Louis'—baskets full of which stand negligently about +as though it were the cave of the Forty Thieves.</p> + +<p>An Englishman's perhaps indiscreet questions as to +what precautions were taken to prevent leakage amused +the guide beyond all reason. "It is impossible," he +said; "the coins are weighed. They must correspond +to the prescribed weight." "But who," my countryman +went on, in the relentless English way, "checks the +weigher?" "Another," said the guide. "But a time +must come," continued the Briton, who probably had a +business of his own and had suffered, "when there is no +one left to check—when the last man of all is officiating: +how then?" Our guide laughed very happily, and +repeated that there were no thieves there; and I daresay +he is right. "Perhaps," I said, to the English +inquisitor, "perhaps, like assistants in sweet shops, they +are allowed at first to help themselves so much that they +acquire a disgust for money." He looked at me with +eyes of stone. I think he had Scotch blood. "Perhaps," +he said at last.</p> + +<p>My own contribution to the guide's entertainment +was the production, before a machine that was shooting +five-franc pieces into a bowl at the rate of one a second, +of the four bad (démonétisé) coins of the same value +which had been forced upon me during the few days +I had then been in Paris. They gave immense delight. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> +Several mintners (or whatever they are called) stopped +working in order to join in the inspection. It was the +general opinion that I had been badly treated: although, +of course, I ought to have known. Three of the coins +were simply those of other nations no longer current in +France, and for them I could get from two to three +francs each at an exchange. Unless, of course, a man +of the world put in, I liked to sell them to a waiter, and +then I should get perhaps a slightly better price. "Be +careful, however," said he, "that he does not give them +back to you in the next change." The fourth coin +was frankly base metal and ought not to have taken in +a child. That, by the way, was given to me at a Post +Office, the one under the Bourse, and I find that Post +Offices are notorious for this habit with foreigners. +The mintners generally agreed that it was a scandal, +but they did so without heat—bearing indeed this misfortune +(not their own) very much as their countryman +La Rochefoucauld had observed men to do.</p> + +<p>After the coins we saw the medal-stampers at work, +each seated in a little hole in the ground before his +press. The French have a natural gift for the designing +of medals, and they are interested in them as souvenirs +not only of public but of private events—such as silver +weddings, birthdays and other anniversaries. Upstairs +there is a collection of medals by the best designers—such +as Roty, Patey, Carial, Chaplain, Dupuis, Dupré—many +of them charming. Here also are collections of +the world's coinage and of historical French medals.</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xi" id="chapter_xi"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> +THE LATIN QUARTER</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +Old Prints—Procope, Tortoni, and Le Père Lunette—The Luxembourg +Palace—Rodin—Modern Paintings—A Sinister Crypt—A +Garden of Sculpture—The Students of the Latin Quarter—The +Sorbonne—A Beautiful Museum—The Cluny's Treasures—Marat +and Danton—Old Streets and Dirty—The River Bièvre—Inspired +Topography—Dante in Paris.</p> + +<p>The high road from the centre of Paris to the +Latin Quarter is across the Pont du Carrousel +and up the narrow Rue Mazarine, which skirts the +Institut. We have seen on the Quai des Célestins the +site of one of Molière's theatres: here, at Nos. 12-14, is +the house in which he established his first theatre, on +the last day of 1643. The Rue Mazarin runs into the +Rue de l'Ancienne Comédie Française, at No. 14 in +which was that theatre, whose successor stands at the +foot of the Rue Richelieu. Parallel with the Rue +Mazarin is the Rue de Seine, interesting for its old +print shops, not the least interesting department of +which is the portfolios containing students' sketches, +some of them very good. (I might equally have said +some of them very bad.)</p> + +<p>Crossing the Boulevard St. Germain we climb what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> +is now the Rue de l'Odéon to the Place and theatre of +that name, with the statue of Augier the dramatist +before it. The Place de l'Odéon demands some attention, +for at No. 1, now the Café Voltaire, was once the +famous Café Procope, very significant in the eighteenth +century, the resort of Voltaire and the Encyclopædists, +and later of the Revolutionaries. Camille Desmoulins +indeed made it his home. You may see within portraits +of these old famous habitués. Procopio, a Sicilian +who founded his establishment for the shelter of poor +actors and students (whom Paris then loathed in private +life), was the father of all the Paris cafés.</p> + +<p>The Café Procope was to men of intellect what some +few years later Tortoni's was to men of fashion. The +Café Tortoni was in the Boulevard des Italiens. Let +Captain Gronow tell its history: "About the commencement +of the present [nineteenth] century, Tortoni's, the +centre of pleasure, gallantry, and entertainment, was +opened by a Neapolitan, who came to Paris to supply +the Parisians with good ice. The founder of this celebrated +café was by name Veloni, an Italian, whose father +lived with Napoleon from the period he invaded Italy, +when First Consul, down to his fall. Young Veloni +brought with him his friend Tortoni, an industrious and +intelligent man. Veloni died of an affection of the +lungs, shortly after the café was opened, and left the +business to Tortoni; who, by dint of care, economy, and +perseverance, made his café renowned all over Europe. +Towards the end of the first Empire, and during the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> +return of the Bourbons, and Louis Philippe's reign, this +establishment was so much in vogue that it was difficult +to get an ice there; after the opera and theatres were +over, the Boulevards were literally choked up by the +carriages of the great people of the court and the Faubourg +St. Germain bringing guests to Tortoni's.</p> + +<p>"In those days clubs did not exist in Paris, consequently +the gay world met there. The Duchess of +Berri, with her suite, came nearly every night incognito; +the most beautiful women Paris could boast of, old +maids, dowagers, and old and young men, pouring out +their sentimental twaddle, and holding up to scorn their +betters, congregated here. In fact, Tortoni's became +a sort of club for fashionable people; the saloons were +completely monopolised by them, and became the rendez-vous +of all that was gay, and I regret to add, immoral.</p> + +<p>"Gunter, the eldest son of the founder of the house +in Berkeley Square, arrived in Paris about this period, +to learn the art of making ice; for prior to the peace, +our London ices and creams were acknowledged, by the +English as well as foreigners, to be detestable. In the +early part of the day, Tortoni's became the rendez-vous +of duellists and retired officers, who congregated in +great numbers to breakfast; which consisted of cold +pâtés, game, fowl, fish, eggs, broiled kidneys, iced +champagne, and liqueurs from every part of the globe.</p> + +<p>"Though Tortoni succeeded in amassing a large +fortune, he suddenly became morose, and showed evident +signs of insanity: in fact, he was the most unhappy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> +man on earth. On going to bed one night, he said to +the lady who superintended the management of his café, +'It is time for me to have done with the world'. The +lady thought lightly of what he said, but upon quitting +her apartment on the following morning, she was told +by one of the waiters that Tortoni had hanged himself."</p> + +<p>Some one should write a book—but perhaps it has +been done—on the great restaurateurs. Paris would, of +course, provide the lion's share; but there would be +plenty of material to collect in other capitals. The life of +our own Nicol of the Café Royal, for example, would not +be without interest; and what of Sherry and Delmonico?</p> + +<p>While on the subject of meeting-places of remarkable +persons, I might say that a latter-day resort of +intellectuals who have allowed the world and its temptations +to be too much for them is not so very far away from +us at this point—the cabaret of Le Père Lunette at No. 4 +Rue des Anglais. I do not say that this is a modern +Procope, but it has some of the same characteristics: +men of genius have met here and illustrious portraits +are on the wall; but they are not frescoes such as +could be included in this book, for old Father Spectacles +puts satire before propriety.</p> + +<p>In the colonnade round the Odéon theatre are bookstalls, +chiefly offering new books at very low rates. We +emerge on the south side in the Rue Vaugiraud, with +the Médicis fountain of the Luxembourg just across the +road. The Luxembourg Palace was built by Marie de +Médicis, the widow of Henri IV., and it fulfilled the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> +functions of a palace until the Revolution, when, prisons +being more important than palaces, it became a prison. +Among those conveyed hither were the Vicomte de +Beauharnais and his wife Joséphine, who was destined +one day to be anything but a prisoner. After the +Revolution the Luxembourg became the Palace of the +Directoire and then the Palace of the First Consul. In +1800 Napoleon moved to the Tuileries, and a little while +afterwards he established the Senate here, and here it is +still. I cannot describe the Palace, for I have never +been in it, but the Musée I know well.</p> + +<p>The Luxembourg galleries are dedicated to modern +art. They have nothing earlier than the nineteenth +century, and may be said to carry on the history of +French painting from the point where it is left in Room +VIII. at the Louvre, while little is quite so modern as +the permanent portion of the Petit Palais. One plunges +from the street directly into a hall of very white sculpture, +which for the moment affects the sight almost like +the beating wings of gulls. The difference between +French and English sculpture, which is largely the difference +between nakedness and nudity, literally assaults +the eye for the moment; and then the more beautiful +work quietly begins to assert itself—Rodin's "Pensée," +on the left, holding the attention first and gently soothing +the bewildered vision. Rodin indeed dominates this +room, for here are not only his "Pensée" (the "Penseur" +is not so very far away, two hundred yards or so, at the +Panthéon), but his "John the Baptist," gaunt and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> +urgent in the wilderness (with Dubois' "John the +Baptist as a boy" near by, to show from what material +prophets are evolved) and the exquisite "Danaïdes" +and the "Age d'Airain," and the giant heads of Hugo +and Rochefort, and the little delicate sensitive Don +Quixotic head of Dalou the sculptor, which has just +been added, and the George Wyndham and the G.B.S. +and other recent portraits; while through the doorway +to the next room one sees the "Baiser," immense and +passionate. I reproduce both the "Baiser," <a href="#baiser">opposite +page 294</a>, and the "Pensée," <a href="#pensee">opposite page 46</a>.</p> + +<p>Other work here that one recalls is the charming +group by Frémiet, "Pan and the Bear Cubs," Dubois' +fascinating "Florentine Singing-boy of the Fifteenth +Century," a peasant by Dalou, a Great Dane and puppies +by Le Courtier, and the very beautiful head in the +doorway to Room I.—"Femme de Marin," by Cazin the +painter. But other visitors, other tastes, of course.</p> + +<p>Before entering Room I. there are two small rooms on +the right of the sculpture gallery which should be entered, +one given up to the more famous Impressionists and +one to foreign work. The chief Impressionists are +Degas, Renoir, Monet, Sisley and their companions, almost +all of whom seem to me to have painted better elsewhere +than here. Monet's "Yachts in the River" rise +before me, as I write, with the warm sun upon them, and +I still see in the mind's eye the torso of a young woman +by Legros: but this room always depresses me, the +effect largely I believe of the antipathetic Renoir. The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> +other room has a floating population. Recently the +painters have been Belgian: but at another time they +may be German or English, when the Belgians will +recede to the cellars or be lent to provincial galleries.</p> + +<p>The pictures in the Luxembourg are many, but the +arresting hand is too seldom extended. Cleverness, the +bane of French art, dominates. In the first room +Rodin's "Baiser" is greater than any painting; but +Harpignies' "Lever de Lune" is here, and here also is +one of Pointelin's sombre desolate moorlands. In a +glass case some delicate bowls by Dammouse are worth +attention; but I think his work at the Arts Décoratifs +at the Louvre is better. The second room is notable +for the Fantin-Latour drawings in the middle, with others +by Flandrin and Meissonier; the third for Carolus-Duran's +"Vieux Lithographe" and a case of drawings +by modern black and white masters, including Legros +and Steinlen; here also is another Pointelin. In Room +IV. is a coast scene—"Les Falaises de Sotteville," in a +lovely evening light, by Bouland, which falls short of +perfection but is very grateful to the eyes. In Room +V. is a portrait group by Fantin-Latour recalling the +"Hommage à Delacroix," which we saw in the Collection +Moreau, but less interesting. The studio is that of +Manet at Batignolles. Here also is a beautiful snow +scene by Cazin—an oasis indeed. In Room VI. we find +Cazin again with "Ishmael," and two sweet and misty +Carrières, a powerful if hard Legros, Carolus-Duran's +portrait of the ruddy Papa Français the painter, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> +Blanche's vivid group of the Thaulow family, with the +gigantic Fritz bringing the strength of a bull-fighter +to the execution of one of his tender landscapes, and +finally Whistler's portrait of his mother, which I reproduce +on the <a href="#mere">opposite page</a>—one of the most restful and +gentlest deeds of his restless, irritable life.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="mere" id="mere"></a> +<img src="images/i_242.jpg" width="650" height="577" alt="PORTRAIT DE SA MÈRE" /> +<p class="caption">PORTRAIT DE SA MÈRE<br /> +<span class="s2">WHISTLER</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Luxembourg)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>Room VII. is remarkable for Rodin's "Bellona" and +Tissot's curious exercises in the genre of W. P. Frith—the +story of the Prodigal Son. But the picture which +I remember most clearly and with most pleasure is +Victor Mottez's "Portrait of Madame M.," which has a +deep quiet beauty that is very rare in this gallery. In +the same room, placed opposite each other, although +probably not with any conscious ironical intention, are +a large scene in the Franco-Prussian War by De Neuville, +and Carrière's "Christ on the Cross". In Room VIII. are +a number of meretricious Moreaus, Caro-Delvalle's light +and, to me, oddly attractive, group, "Ma Femme et +ses Sœurs," and the portrait of Mlle. Moréno of the +Comédie Française by Granié, which is reproduced <a href="#bergere">opposite +page 308</a>, a picture with fascination rather than +genius.</p> + +<p>In the doorway between Room VIII. and Room IX. +hangs a small water-colour by Harpignies, but in Room +IX. itself is nothing that I can recollect. Room X. has +Picard's charming "Femme qui passe," Harpignies' +Coliseum, very like a Moreau Corot, and a Flandrin; +and in Room XI. are Bastien Lepage's "Portrait of M. +Franck," Le Sidaner's "Dessert," Vollon's "Port of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> +Antwerp," very beautiful, and Carolus-Duran's famous +portrait of "Madame G. F. and her children".</p> + +<p>On leaving the Musée it is worth while to take a few +steps more to the left, for they bring us to another +sinister souvenir of the Reign of Terror—to St. Joseph +des Carmes, the Chapel of the Carmelite monastery in +which, in September, 1792, the Abbé Sicard and other +priests who had refused to take the oath of the Constitution +were imprisoned and massacred, as described +by Carlyle in Book I., Chapters IV. and V. of "The +Guillotine," with the assistance of the narrative of one +of the survivors, <i>Mon Agonie de Trente-Huit Heures</i>, +by Jourgniac Saint-Méard. In the crypt one is shown +not only the tombs but traces of the massacre.</p> + +<p>A walk in the Luxembourg gardens would, if one +had been nowhere else, quickly satisfy the stranger as to +the interest of the French in the more remarkable +children of their country. In these gardens alone are +statues, among many others, in honour of Chopin, +Watteau, Delacroix, Sainte-Beuve, Le Play the economist, +Fabre the poet, George Sand, Henri Murger, the +novelist of the adjacent Latin Quarter, and Théodore +de Banville, the modern maker of ballades and prime +instigator of some of the most charming work in French +form by Mr. Lang and Mr. Dobson and W. E. Henley. +There are countless other statues of mythological and +allegorical figures, some of them very striking. One +of the most interesting of all is the "Marchand de +Masques" by Astruc, among the masks offered for sale +being those of Corot, Dumas, Berlioz and Balzac. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span></p> + +<p>The Luxembourg gardens lead to the Avenue de +l'Observatoire, a broad and verdant pleasaunce with a +noble fountain at the head, in the midst of which an +armillary sphere is held up by four undraped female +figures representing the four quarters of the globe, at +whom a circle of tortoises spout water from the surface of +the basin. Beneath the upholders of the sphere are eight +spirited sea horses by Frémiet, the sculptor who designed +"Pan and the Bear Cubs" in the Luxembourg.</p> + +<p>A few yards to the west of this fountain is one of +the simplest and most satisfying of Parisian sculptured +memorials, at the corner of the Rue d'Assas and the +Boulevard de l'Observatoire—the bas-relief on the Tarnier +maternity hospital, representing the benevolent +Tarnier in his merciful work.</p> + +<p>Let us now descend the Boulevard St. Michel to the +Sorbonne, which is the heart of the Latin Quarter (or +perhaps the brain would be the better word), disregarding +for the moment the Panthéon, and turning our backs on +the Observatoire and the Lion de Belfort, in the streets +around which, every September, the noisiest of the +Parisian fairs rages, and on the Bal Bullier, where the +shop assistants of this neighbourhood grasp each other +in the dance every Thursday and Sunday night. Not +that this high southern district of Paris is not interesting; +but it is far less interesting than certain parts +nearer the Seine, and this book may not be too long.</p> + +<p>The Sorbonne is not exciting, but it is not unamusing +to watch young France gaining knowledge. I have +called it the heart of the Latin Quarter, although when +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> +one thinks of the necessitous, irresponsible youthful populace +of these slopes, it is rather in a studio than in a +lecture centre that one would fix its cardiac energy. +That, however, is the fault of Du Maurier and Murger; +for I suppose that for every artist that the Latin Quarter +fosters it has scores of other students. But here I am +in unknown territory. This book, which describes (as +I warned you) Paris wholly from without, is never so +external as among the young bloods who are to be met +at night in the Café Harcourt, or who dance at the +annual ball of the Quatz'-Arts, or plunge themselves into +congenial riots when unpopular professors mount the +platform. I know them not; I merely rejoice in their +existence, admire their long hair and high spirits and +happy indigence, and wish I could join them among +Jullien's models, or in the disreputable cabaret of Le +Père Lunette, or at a solemn disputation, such as that +famous one in which the sophist Buridan, after being +thrown into the Seine in a sack and rescued, "maintained +for a whole day the thesis that it was lawful to slay a +Queen of France".</p> + +<p>The Sorbonne takes its name from Robert de Sorbon, +the confessor of St. Louis, who had suffered much as +a theological student and wished others to suffer less; +for students in his day existed absolutely on charity. +St. Louis threw himself into his confessor's scheme, and +the Sorbonne, richly endowed, was opened in 1253, in +its original form occupying a site in a street with the +depressing name of Coupe-Gueule. From a hostel it soon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> +became the Church's intellect, and for five and a half +centuries it thus existed, almost continually, I regret to +say, pursuing what Gibbon calls "the exquisite rancour +of theological hatred". Its hostility to Joan of Arc and +the Reformation were alike intense. Richelieu built +the second Sorbonne, on the site of the present one. +The Revolution in its short sharp way put an end to it +as a defender of the faith, and in 1808, under Napoleon, +it sprang to life again with a broader and humaner +programme as the Université de France.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="fontaine" id="fontaine"></a> +<img src="images/i_248.jpg" width="412" height="650" alt="THE FONTAINE DE MÉDICIS" /> +<p class="caption">THE FONTAINE DE MÉDICIS<br /> +<span class="s2">(GARDEN OF THE LUXEMBOURG)</span></p></div> + +<p>Although arriving on the wrong day (a very easy +thing to do in Paris) I induced the concierge to show +me Puvis de Chavannes' vast and beautiful fresco in the +Sorbonne's amphitheatre, entitled "La Source"—which +is, I take it, the spring of wisdom. Thursday is the +right day. In the chapel is the tomb of Richelieu, a +florid monument with the dying cardinal and some very +ostentatious grief upon it. Near by stands an elderly +gentleman who charges twice as much for postcards as +the dealers outside; but one must not mind that. The +church is not impressive, nor has a recent meretricious +work by Weerts, representing the Love of Humanity +and the Love of Country—the crucified Christ and a +dead soldier—done it much good. Before it is a monument +to Auguste Comte.</p> + +<p>And now let us descend the hill and cheer and enrich +our eyes in one of the most remarkable museums in the +world—the Cluny. Paris is too fortunate. To have +the Louvre were enough for any city, but Paris also has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> +the Carnavalet. To have the Carnavalet were enough, +but Paris also has the Cluny. The Musée de Cluny +is devoted chiefly to applied art, and is a treasury of +mediæval taste. It is an ancient building, standing on +the site of a Roman palace, the ruins of whose baths +still remain. The present mansion was built by a +Benedictine abbot in the fifteenth century: it became +a storehouse of beautiful and rare objects in 1833, when +the collector Alphonse du Sommerard bought it; and +on his death the nation acquired both the house and +its treasures, which have been steadily increasing ever +since. Without, the Cluny is a romantic blend of late +Gothic and Renaissance architecture: within, it is like +the heaven of a good arts-and-craftsman; or, to put it +another way, like an old curiosity shop carried out to the +highest power. I do not say that we have not as good +collections at South Kensington; but it is beyond doubt +that the Cluny has a more attractive setting for them.</p> + +<p>To particularise would merely be to convert these +pages into an incomplete catalogue (and what is duller +than that?), but I may say that one passes among +sculpture and painting, altar-pieces and knockers, pottery +and tapestry, Spanish leather and lace, gold work and +glass, enamel and musical instruments, furniture (the +state bed of Francis I.) and ivories (note those by Van +Opstal), ironwork and jewels, fireplaces and exquisite +slippers. The old keys alone are worth hours: some of +them might almost be called jewels; be sure to look at +Nos. 6001 and 6022. Everything is remarkable. Writing +in London, in a thick fog, at some distance of time +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> +since I saw the Cluny last, I remember most vividly those +keys and a banc d'orfèvre near them; a chimney-piece, +beautiful and vast, from an old house at Châlons-sur-Marne; +certain carvings in wood in the great room next +the Thermes: the "Quatre Pleurants" of Claus de +Worde; a dainty Marie Madeleine by a Fleming, about +1500 (there is another Marie Madeleine, in stone, in an +adjacent room, kneeling with her alabaster box of ointment, +but by no means penitent); and the Jesus on the +Mount of Olives with the sleeping disciples. I remember +also, in one of the faience galleries, two delightful groups +by Clodion—a "Satyre mâle" with two baby goat-feet +playing by him, and a "Satyre femelle," very charming, +also with two little shaggy mites at her knees. The +"Fils de Rubens," in his little chair, is also a pleasant +memory; and there is one of those remarkable Neapolitan +reconstructions of the Nativity, of which the +museum at Munich has such an amazing collection—perhaps +the prettiest toys ever made.</p> + +<p>But as I have said, the Cluny is wonderful throughout, +and it is almost ridiculous to particularise. It is +also too small for every taste. For the lover of the +hues that burn in Rhodian ware it is most memorable +for its pottery; while of the many Parisians who visit +it in holiday mood a large percentage make first for the +glass case that contains its two famous ceintures.</p> + +<p>The Curator of the Carnavalet, as we have seen, is +a topographer and antiquary of distinction; the Director +of the Cluny, M. Haraucourt, is a poet, one of whose +ballads will be found in English form in a later chapter. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> +He is in a happy environment, although his Muse does +not look back quite as, say, Mr. Dobson's loves to do. +The singer of the "Pompadour's Fan" and the "Old +Sedan Chair" would be continually inspired at the Cluny.</p> + +<p>In the Gardens of the Musée we can feel ourselves in +very early times; for the baths are the ruins of a Roman +palace built in 306, the home for a while of Julian the +Apostate; a temple of Mercury stood on the hill where +the Panthéon now is; and a Roman road ran on the +site of the Rue St. Jacques, just at the east of the Cluny, +leading out of Paris southwards to Italy.</p> + +<p>On leaving the Cluny let us take a few steps westward +along the Rue de l'Ecole de Médicine, and stop at No. +15, where the Cordeliers' Club was held, whither Marat's +body was brought to lie in state. His house, in which +Charlotte Corday stabbed him, was close by, where the +statue of Broca now stands. In the Boulevard St. +Germain, at the end of the street, we come to Danton's +statue and more memories of the Revolution. "What +souvenirs of the past," says Sardou, "does the statue of +Danton cast his shadow upon. At No. 87 Boulevard +St. Germain—where the woman Simon keeps house! it +was there 31st March, 1793—at six o'clock in the morning, +the rattling of the butt ends of muskets was heard +on the pavement in the midst of wild cries and protestations +of the crowd, they had dared to arrest Danton, +the Titan of the Revolution, the man of the 10th of +August!—at the same time on the Place de l'Odéon, +at the corner of the Rue Crébillon, Camille Desmoulins +had been arrested. An hour later they were both in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> +the Luxembourg prison, and it was there Camille heard +of the death of his mother.</p> + +<p>"The Passage du Commerce still exists. It is a most +picturesque old quarter, rarely visited by Parisians. At +No. 9 is Durel's library, where Guillotin in 1790 practised +cutting off sheep's heads with 'his philanthropic beheading +machine'. It is generally given out that he was +guillotined himself, but 'Lemprière' says he died quietly +in his bed, of grief at the infamous abuse his instrument +was put to. In the shop close by was the printing +office of the <i>l'Ami du Peuple</i>, and Marat in his +dressing-gown (lined with imitation panther skin) used +to come and correct the proofs of his bloody journal."</p> + +<p>Between the Cluny and the river is a network of +very old, squalid and interesting streets. Here the +students of the middle ages found both their schools +and their lodgings: among them Dante himself, who +refers to the Rue de Fouarre (or straw, on which, following +the instructions of Pope Urban V., the students sat) +as the Vico degli Strami. It has now been demolished. +The two churches here are worth a visit—St. Severin and +St. Julien-le-Pauvre, but the reader is warned that the +surroundings are not too agreeable. In the court adjoining +St Julien's are traces of the wall of Philip Augustus, +of which we saw something at the Mont de Piété.</p> + +<p>All these streets, as I say, are picturesque and dirty, +but I think the best is the Rue de Bièvre, which runs +up the hill of St. Etienne from the Quai de Montebello, +opposite the Morgue, and can be gained from St. Julien's +by the dirty Rue de la Boucherie, of which this street +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> +and its westward continuation, the Rue de la Huchette, +Huysmans, the French novelist and mystic, writes—as +of all this curious district—in his book, <i>La Bièvre et +Saint Severin</i>, one of the best examples of imaginative +topography that I know. Let us see what he says of +the Bièvre, the little river which gives the street its +name and which once tumbled down into the Seine at +this point, but is now buried underground like the New +River at Islington.</p> + +<p>"The Bièvre," he writes, "represents to-day one of the +most perfect symbols of feminine misery exploited by a +big city. Originating in the lake or pond of St. Quentin +near Trappes, it runs quietly and slowly through the +valley that bears its name. Like many young girls from +the country, directly it arrives in Paris the Bièvre falls +a victim to the cunning wide-awake industry of a catcher +of men.... To follow all her windings, it is necessary to +ascend the Rue du Moulin des Prés and enter the Rue de +Gentilly, and then the most extraordinary and unsuspected +journey begins."</p> + +<p>Inspired by the passage of which these are the opening +words, I set out one day to trace the Bièvre to daylight, +but it was a cheerless enterprise, for the Rue +Monge is a dreary street, and the new Boulevards hereabouts +are even drearier because they are wider. I +found her at last, by peeping through a hoarding in the +Boulevard Arago, with tanneries on each side of her; +and then I gave it up.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="hals" id="hals"></a> +<img src="images/i_256.jpg" width="555" height="650" alt="LA BOHÉMIENNE" /> +<p class="caption">LA BOHÉMIENNE<br /> +<span class="s2">FRANZ HALS</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>At the Cluny we saw the Thermes, a visible sign of +Roman occupation; just off the Rue Monge is another, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> +amphitheatre, still in very good condition, with the grass +growing between the crevices of the great stone seats. +You will find it in the Place des Arènes, a vestige of +Roman manners and pleasures now converted into an +open space for children and <i>bonnes</i> and surrounded by +flats. But save for the desertion that the ages have +brought it, the arena is not so very different, and standing +there, one may easily reconstruct the spectators and +see again the wild beasts emerging from the underground +passages, which still remain.</p> + +<p>And now for the Panthéon, which rises above us. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xii" id="chapter_xii"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> +THE PANTHÉON AND ST. GENEVIÈVE</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +A Church's Vicissitudes—St. Geneviève—A Guardian of Paris—Illustrious +Converts—<i>The Golden Legend</i>—A Sabbath-breaker—Geneviève's +Sacred Body—Her Tomb—The Panthéon Frescoes—Joan +of Arc—The Panthéon Tombs—Mirabeau and Marat—Voltaire's +Funeral—The Thoughts of the Thinker—From the +Dome—St. Etienne-du-Mont—The Fate of St. Geneviève—The +Relic-hunters—The Mystery of the Wine-press.</p> + +<p>The Panthéon, like the Madeleine, has had its +vicissitudes. The new Madeleine, as we shall +see, was begun by Napoleon as a splendid Temple of +military glory and became a church; the new Panthéon +was begun by Louis XV. as a splendid cathedral and +became a Temple of Glory, not, however, military but +civil. Louis XV., when he designed its erection on the +site of the old church, intended it to be the church of +St. Geneviève, whose tomb was its proudest possession; +when the Revolution altered all that, it was made +secular and dedicated "aux grands hommes la patrie +reconnaissante," and the first grand homme to be buried +there was Mirabeau (destined, however, not to remain +a grand homme very long, as we shall see), and the next +Voltaire. In 1806 Napoleon made it a church again; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> +in 1830 the Revolutionaries again secularised it; in +1851 it was consecrated again, and in 1885 once more +it became secular, to receive the body of Victor Hugo, +and secular it has remained; and considering everything, +secular it is likely to be, for whatever of change +and surprise the future holds for France, an excess of +ecclesiastical ecstasy is hardly probable.</p> + +<p>So much of Louis XV.'s idea remains, in spite of the +perversion of his purpose, that scenes from the life of +St. Geneviève are painted on the Panthéon's walls and +sculptured on its façade; while in its last sacred days +the church was known again as St. Geneviève's. Possibly +there are old people in the neighbourhood who +still call it that. I hope so.</p> + +<p>The life of St. Geneviève, as told in <i>The Golden +Legend</i>, is rather a series of facile miracles than a human +document, as we say. She was born in the fifth century +at Nanterre, and early became a protégée of St. Germain, +who vowed her to chastity and holiness, from +which she never departed. Her calling, like that of +her new companion on the canon, St. Joan, was that +of shepherdess, and one of Puvis de Chavannes' most +charming frescoes in the Panthéon represents her as a +shadowy slip of a girl kneeling to a crucifix while her +sheep graze about her. I reproduce it <a href="#chavannes">opposite the next +page</a>. Her mother, who had, like most mothers, a +desire that her daughter should marry and have children, +once so far lost her temper as to strike Geneviève +on the cheek; for which offence she became blind. (A +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> +very comfortable corner of heaven is, one feels, the due +of the mothers of saints.) She remained blind for a +long time, until remembering that St. Germain had +promised for her daughter miraculous gifts, she sent for +Geneviève and was magnanimously cured. After the +death of her parent, Geneviève moved to Paris, and there +she lived with an old woman, dividing the neighbourhood +into believers and unbelievers in her sanctity, as is ever +the way with saints. Here the Devil persecuted and +attacked her with much persistence and ingenuity, but +wholly without effect.</p> + +<p>During her long life she made Paris her principal +home, and on more than one occasion saved it: hence +her importance not only to the Parisians, who set her +above St. Denis (whom she reverenced), but to this +book. Her power of prayer was gigantic; she literally +prayed Attila the Hun out of his siege of Paris, +and later, when Childeric was the besieger and Paris +was starving, she brought victuals into the city by boat +in a miraculous way: another scene chosen by Puvis de +Chavannes in his Panthéon series. Childeric, however, +conquered, in spite of Geneviève, but he treated her +with respect and made it easy for her to approach +Clovis and Clotilde and convert them to Christianity—hence +the convent of St. Geneviève, which Clovis founded, +remains of which are still to be seen by the church of St. +Etienne-du-Mont, in the two streets named after those +early Christians—the Rue Clovis and the Rue Clotilde. +Christianity had been introduced into Paris by Saint +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> +Denis, Geneviève's hero, in the third century; but then +came a reaction and the new faith lost ground. It was +St. Geneviève's conversion of Clovis that re-established +it on a much firmer basis, for he made it the national +religion.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="chavannes" id="chavannes"></a> +<img src="images/i_262.jpg" width="316" height="650" alt="STE. GENEVIÈVE" /> +<p class="caption">STE. GENEVIÈVE<br /> +<span class="s2">PUVIS DE CHAVANNES</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Panthéon</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>"This holy maid," says Caxton, "did great penance +in tormenting her body all her life, and became lean +for to give good example. For sith she was of the age +of fifteen years, unto fifty, she fasted every day save +Sunday and Thursday. In her refection she had nothing +but barley bread, and sometime beans, the which, +sodden after fourteen days or three weeks, she ate for +all delices. Always she was in prayers in wakings and +in penances, she drank never wine ne other liquor, that +might make her drunk, in all her life. When she had +lived and used this life fifty years, the bishops that were +that time, saw and beheld that she was over feeble by +abstinence as for her age, and warned her to increase a +little her fare. The holy woman durst not gainsay +them, for our Lord saith of the prelates: Who heareth +you heareth me, and who despiseth you despiseth me, +and so she began by obedience to eat with her bread, +fish and milk, and how well that, she so did, she beheld +the heaven and wept, whereof it is to believe that she +saw appertly our Lord Jesus Christ after the promise of +the gospel that saith that, Blessed be they that be +clean of heart for they shall see God; she had her heart +and body pure and clean."</p> + +<p>Caxton also tells quaintly the story of one of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> +first miracles performed by Geneviève's tomb: "Another +man came thither that gladly wrought on the +Sunday, wherefor our Lord punished him, for his hands +were so benumbed and lame that he might not work on +other days. He repented him and confessed his sin, +and came to the tomb of the said virgin, and there +honoured and prayed devoutly, and on the morn he +returned all whole, praising and thanking our Lord, that +by the worthy merits and prayers of the holy virgin, +grant and give us pardon, grace, and joy perdurable."</p> + +<p>To St. Geneviève's tomb we shall come on leaving +the Panthéon, but here after so much about her adventures +when alive I might say something about her +adventures when dead. She was buried in 511 in the +Abbey church of the Holy Apostles, on the site of +which the Panthéon stands. Driven out by the Normans, +the monks removed the saint's body and carried it away +in a box; and thereafter her remains were destined to +rove, for when the monks returned to the Abbey they +did not again place them in the tomb but kept them in +a casket for use in processions whenever Paris was in +trouble and needed supernatural help. Meanwhile her +tomb, although empty, continued to work miracles also.</p> + +<p>Early in the seventeenth century her bones were restored +to her tomb, which was made more splendid, and +there they remained until the Revolution. The Revolutionists, +having no use for saints, opened Geneviève's +tomb, burned its contents on the Place de Grève, and +melted the gold of the canopy into money. They also +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> +desecrated the church of St. Etienne-du-Mont (which +we are about to visit) and made it a Temple of Theophilanthropy. +A few years later the stone coffer was +removed to St. Etienne-du-Mont, where it now is, gorgeously +covered with Gothic splendours; but as to how +minute are the fragments of the saint that it contains +which must have been overlooked by the incendiary +Revolutionaries, I cannot say. They are sufficient, however, +still to cure the halt and the lame and enable them +to leave their crutches behind.</p> + +<p>The Panthéon is a vast and dreary building, sadly in +need of a little music and incense to humanise it. The +frescoes are interesting—those of Puvis de Chavannes +in particular, although a trifle too wan—but one cannot +shake off depression and chill. The Joan of Arc paintings +by Lenepveu are the least satisfactory, the Maid +of this artist carrying no conviction with her. But +when it comes to that, it is difficult to say which of the +Parisian Maids of art is satisfactory: certainly not the +audacious golden Amazon of Frémiet in the Place de +Rivoli. Dubois' figure opposite St. Augustin's is more +earnest and spiritual, but it does not quite realise one's +wishes. I think that I like best the Joan in the +Boulevard Saint-Marcel, behind the Jardin des Plantes.</p> + +<p>The vault of the Panthéon may be seen only in the +company of a guide, and there is a charge. To be quite +sure that Rousseau is in his grave is perhaps worth the +money; but one resents the fee none the less. Great +Frenchmen's graves—especially Victor Hugo's—should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> +be free to all. There is no charge at the Invalides. +You may stand beside Heine's tomb in the Cimetière +de Montmartre without money and without a guide, but +not by Voltaire's in the Panthéon; Balzac's grave in +Père Lachaise is free, Zola's in the Panthéon costs +seventy-five centimes.</p> + +<p>The guide hurries his flock from one vault to another, +at one point stopping for a while to exchange badinage +with an echo. Rousseau, as I have said, is here; Voltaire +is here; here are General Carnot, President Carnot +with a mass of faded wreaths, Soufflot—who designed +the Panthéon, thinking his work was for St. Geneviève, +and who died of anxiety owing to a subsidence of the +walls; Victor Hugo, and, lately moved hither, not without +turmoil and even pistol shots, the historian of the +Rougon-Macquart family and the author of a letter of +accusation famous in history.</p> + +<p>Not without turmoil! which reminds one that the +Panthéon's funerals have been more than a little grotesque. +I said, for example, that Mirabeau was the first +prophet of reason to be buried here, amid a concourse +of four hundred thousand mourners; yet you may look +in vain for his tomb. And there is a record of the +funeral of Marat, in a car designed by David; yet you +may look in vain for Marat's sarcophagus also. The +explanation (once more) is that we are in France, the +land of the fickle mob. For within three years of +the state burial of Mirabeau, with the National Guard +on duty, the Convention directed that he should be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> +exhumed and Marat laid in his place. Mirabeau's body +therefore was removed at night and thrown into the +earth in the cemetery of Clamart. Enter Marat. +Marat, however, lay beneath this imposing dome only +three poor months, and then off went he, a discredited +corpse, to the graveyard of St. Etienne-du-Mont close +by. Voltaire, however, and Rousseau held their own, +and here they are still, as we have seen.</p> + +<p>Voltaire came hither under circumstances at once +tragic and comic. The cortège started from the site of +the Bastille, led by the dead philosopher in a cart drawn +by twelve horses, in which his figure was being crowned +by a young girl. Opposite the Opera house of that +day—by the Porte St. Martin—a pause was made for +the singing of suitable hymns (from the Ferney Hymnal!) +and on it came again. Surrounding the car were fifty +girls dressed by David for the part; in the procession +were other damsels in the costumes of Voltaire's characters. +Children scattered roses before the horses. +What could be prettier for Voltaire? But it needed +fine weather, and instead came the most appalling storm, +which frightened all the young women (including Fame, +from the car) into doorways, and washed all the colour +from the great man's effigy.</p> + +<p>Remembering all these things, one realises that Rodin's +<i>Penseur</i>, who was placed before the Panthéon in 1906, +has something to brood over and break his mind upon.</p> + +<p>I noticed also among the graves that of one Ignace +Jacqueminot, and wondering if it were he who gave his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> +name to the rose, I was so conscious of gloom and mortality +that I hastened to the regions of light—to the +sweet air of the Mont du Paris and the blue sky over +all. And later I climbed to the lantern—a trifle of +some four hundred steps—and looked down on Paris +and its river and away to the hills, and realised how +much better it was to be a live dog than a dead lion.</p> + +<p>For the tomb of St. Geneviève we have only a few +steps to take, since it stands, containing all of her that was +not burned, in the church of St. Etienne-du-Mont. The +first martyr, although he gives his name to the church +and is seen suffering the stone-throwers in the relief +over the door, is, however, as nothing. St. Geneviève +is the true patron.</p> + +<p>St. Etienne's is one of the most interesting churches +in Paris, without and within. The façade is bizarre and +attractive, with its jumble of styles, its lofty tower and +Renaissance trimmings, and the sacristan's prophet's-house +high up, on the northern side of the odd little +extinguisher. You see this best, and his tiny watchdog +trotting up and down his tiny garden, by descending +the hill a little way and then turning. Within, the +church is fascinating. The pillars of the very lofty nave +and aisles are slender and sure, the vaulting is delicate +and has a unique carved marble rood-loft to divide the +nave from the choir, stretching right along the church, +with a rampe of great beauty. The pulpit is held up +by Samson seated upon his lion and grasping the jawbone +of an ass. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span></p> + +<p>The last time I saw this pulpit was during the Fête +of St. Geneviève, which is held early in January, when +it contained a fluent nasal preacher to whom a congregation +that filled every seat was listening with rapt attention. +At the same time a moving procession of other +worshippers was steadily passing the tomb, which was a +blaze of light and heat from some hundreds of candles +of every size. The man in front of me in the queue, a +stout bourgeois, with his wife and two small daughters, +bought four candles at a franc each. He was all nervousness +and anxiety before then, but having watched +them lighted and placed in position, his face became +tranquil and gay, and they passed quickly out, re-entered +their motor-cab and returned to the normal life.</p> + +<p>Outside the church was a row of stalls wholly given +up to the sale of tokens of the saint—little biographies, +medals, rosaries, and all the other pretty apparatus of +the long-memoried Roman Catholic Church. I bought +a silver pendant, a brief biography, and a tiny metal +statue. I feel now that had I also bought a candle, as +I was minded to, I should have escaped the cold that, +developing two or three days later, kept me in bed for +nearly a fortnight. One must be thorough.</p> + +<p>The church not only has agreeable architectural +features and the tomb of this good woman, it has also +some admirable glass, not exactly beautiful but very +quaint and interesting, including a famous window by the +Pinaigriers, representing the mystery of the wine-press, +as drawn from Isaiah: "I have trodden the wine-press +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> +alone, and of the people there was none with me". +The colouring is very rich and satisfying, even if the +design itself offends by its literalism and want of imagination—Christianity +being figured by the blood of +Christ as it gushes forth into barrels pressed from his +body as relentlessly as ever was juice of the grape. All +this is horrible, but one need not study it minutely. +There are other windows less remarkable but not less +rich and glowing.</p> + +<p>Other illustrious dust that lies beneath this church +is that of Racine and Pascal. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xiii" id="chapter_xiii"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +TWO ZOOS</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Tour d'Argent—Frédéric's Homage to America—A Marquis +Poet—The Halle des Vins—A Free Zoo—Peacocks in Love—A +Reminiscence—The Museums of the Jardin des Plantes—A +Lifeless Zoo—Babies in Bottles—The Jardin d'Acclimatation—The +Cheerful Gallas—A Pretty Stable—Dogs on Velvet—A +Canine Père Lachaise—The Sunday Sportsmen—Panic at the +Zoos—The Besieged Resident—The Humours of Famine.</p> + +<p>On the day of one of my visits to the Jardin des +Plantes I lunched at the Tour d'Argent, a +restaurant on the Quai de la Tournelle, famous among +many dishes for its delicious canard à la presse. No +bird on this occasion passed through that luxurious +mill for me: but the engines were at work all around +distilling essential duck with which to enrich those +slices from the breast that are all that the epicure eats. +Over a simpler repast I studied a bewildering catalogue +of the "Créations of Frédéric"—Frédéric being M. +Frédéric Delair, a venerable chef with a head like +that of a culinary Ibsen, stored with strange lore of +sauces.</p> + +<p>By what means one commends oneself to Frédéric +I cannot say, but certain it is that if he loves you he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> +will immortalise you in a dish. Americans would seem +to have a short cut to his heart, for I find the Canapé +Clarence Mackay, the Filet de Sole Loië Fuller, the +Filet de Sole Gibbs, the Fondu de Merlan Peploe, the +Poulet de Madame J. W. Mackay, and the Poire Wanamaker. +None of these joys tempted me, but I am sorry +now that I did not partake of the Potage Georges Cain, +because M. Georges Cain knows more about old Paris +than any man living; and who knows but that a few +spoonfuls of his Potage might not have immensely +enriched this book! The Noisette de Pré-Salé Bodley +again should have been nourishing, for Mr. Bodley is +the author of one of the best of all the many studies of +France. Instead, however, I ate very simply, of ordinary +dishes—foundlings, so to speak, named after no one—and +amused myself over my coffee in examining the +Marquis Lauzières de Thémines' poésie sur les Créations +de Frédéric (to the air of "la Corde Sensible"). Two +stanzas and two choruses will illustrate the noble poet's +range:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Que de filets de sole on y consomme!<br /> +Sole Néron, Cardinal, Maruka.<br /> +Dosamentès, Edson ... d'autres qu'on nomme<br /> +Victor Renault, Saintgall, Hérédia.<br /> +La liste est longue! rognons, côtelettes,<br /> +Poulet Sigaud et Canard Mac-Arthur,<br /> +Filets de lièvre Arnold White et Noisettes<br /> +De Pré-salé, Langouste Wintherthur.</p> + +<p class="poem">Ce que je fais n'est pas une réclame,<br /> +Je vous le dis pour être obligeant.<br /> +Je m'en voudrais d'encourir votre blâme<br /> +Pour avoir trop vanté <span class="smcap">La Tour D'Argent</span>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span><br /> +Les noms des Œufs de cent façons s'étalent,<br /> +Œufs Bûcheron, œufs Claude Lowther.<br /> +Œufs Tuck, Rathbone, œufs Mackay que n'égalent<br /> +Que les chaud-froids de volaille Henniker.<br /> +Que d'entremets ont nom de "la Tournelle"!<br /> +Et plus souvent, le vocable engageant<br /> +Du restaurant, car plus d'un plat s'appelle<br /> +(Gibier, beignets, salade) "Tour d'Argent".</p> + +<p class="poem">Ami lecteur, pour faire bonne chère,<br /> +Ecoute-moi, ne sois pas négligent,<br /> +Va-t-en dîner, si ta santé t'est chère,<br /> +Au Restaurant nommé <span class="smcap">La Tour D'Argent</span>.</p> + +<p>(Odd work for Marquises!)</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="cluny" id="cluny"></a> +<img src="images/i_274.jpg" width="412" height="650" alt="THE MUSÉE CLUNY" /> +<p class="caption">THE MUSÉE CLUNY (COURTYARD)</p></div> + +<p>On the way to the Jardin des Plantes from this +restaurant it is not unamusing to turn aside to the +Halles des Vins and loiter a while in these genial catacombs. +Here you may see barrels as the sands of the +sea-shore for multitude, and raw wine of a colour that +never yet astonished in a bottle, and I hope, so far as +I am concerned, never will: unearthly aniline juices +that are to pass through many dark processes before +they emerge smilingly as vins, to lend cheerfulness to +the windows of the épicier and gaiety to the French +heart.</p> + +<p>Even with the most elementary knowledge of French +one would take the Jardin des Plantes to be the Parisian +Kew, and so to some small extent it is; but ninety-nine per +cent. of its visitors go not to see the flora but the fauna. +It is in reality the Zoo of the Paris proletariat. Paris, +unlike London, has two Zoos, both of which hide +beneath names that easily conceal their zoological +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> +character from the foreigner—the Jardin des Plantes, +where we now find ourselves, which is free to all, +and the Jardin d'Acclimatation, on the edge of the Bois +de Boulogne, near the Porte Maillot, which costs money—a +franc to enter and a ridiculous supplément to your +cabman for the privilege of passing the fortifications in +his vehicle: one of Paris's little mistakes. To the +Jardin d'Acclimatation we shall come anon: just now +let us loiter among the wild animals of the Jardin des +Plantes, which is as a matter of fact a far more thorough +Zoo than that selecter other, where frivolity ranks before +zoology. Our own Zoo contains a finer collection than +either, and our animals are better housed and ordered, +but this Parisian people's Zoo has a great advantage +over ours in that it is free. All zoological gardens +should of course be free.</p> + +<p>The Jardin des Plantes has another and a dazzling +superiority in the matter of peacocks. I never saw so +many. They occur wonderfully in the most unexpected +places, not only in the enclosures of all the other open-air +animals, but in trees and on roofs and amid the bushes—burning +with their deep and lustrous blue. But on +the warm day of spring on which I saw them first they +were not so quiescent. Regardless of the proprieties they +were most of them engaged in recommending themselves +to the notice of their ladies. On all sides were spreading +tails bearing down upon the beloved with the steady +determination of a three-masted schooner, and now and +then caught like that vessel in a shattering breeze (of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> +emotion) which stirred every sail. In England one might +feel uncomfortable in the midst of so naked a display of +the old Adam, but in Paris one becomes more reconciled +to facts, and (like the new cat in the adage) ceases +to allow "I am ashamed" to wait upon "I would". +The peahens, however, behaved with a stolid circumspection +that was beyond praise. These vestals never lifted +their heads from the ground, but pecked on and on, +mistresses of the scene and incidentally the best friends +of the crowds of ouvriers and ouvrières ("V'là le paon! +Vite! Vite!") at every railing. But the Parisian peacock +is not easily daunted. In spite of these rebuffs the +batteries of glorious eyes continued firing, and wider +and wider the tails spread, with a corresponding increase +of disreputable déshabillé behind; and so I left them, +recalling as I walked away a comic occurrence at school +too many years ago, when a travelling elocutionist, who +had induced our headmaster to allow him to recite to the +boys, was noticed to be discharging all his guns of tragedy +and humour (some of which I remember distinctly at +the moment) with a broadside effect that, while it +assisted the ear, had a limiting influence on gesture and +by-play, and completely eliminated many of the nuances +of conversational give and take. Never throughout the +evening did we lose sight of the full expanse of his shirt +front; never did he turn round. Never, do I say? +But I am wrong. Better for him had it been never: +for the poor fellow, his task over and his badly needed +guinea earned, forgot under our salvoes of applause the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> +need of caution, and turning from one side of the platform +to the other in stooping acknowledgment, disclosed +a rent precisely where no man would have a rent to +be.</p> + +<p>My advice to the visitor to the Jardin des Plantes is +to be satisfied with the living animals—with the seals +and sea-lions, the bears and peacocks, the storks and +tigers; and, in fair weather, with the flowers, although +the conditions under which these are to be observed are +not ideal, so formally arranged on the flat as they are, +with traffic so visibly adjacent. But to the glutton for +museums such advice is idle. Here, however, even he +is like to have his fill.</p> + +<p>Let him then ask at the Administration for a ticket, +which will be handed to him with the most charming smile +by an official who is probably of all the bureaucrats of +Paris the least deserving of a tip, since zoological and +botanical gardens exist for the people, and these tickets +(the need for which is, by the way, non-existent) are +free and are never withheld—but who is also of all the +bureaucrats of Paris the most determined to get one, +even, as I observed, from his own countrymen. Thus +supplied you must walk some quarter of a mile to a huge +building in which are collected all the creatures of the +earth in their skins as God made them, but lifeless and +staring from the hands of taxidermic man. It is as +though the ark had been overwhelmed by some such +fine dust as fell from Vesuvius, and was now exhumed. +One does not get the same effect from the Natural +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> +History Museum in the Cromwell Road; it is, I suppose, +the massing that does it here.</p> + +<p>Having walked several furlongs amid this travesty of +wild and dangerous life, one passes to the next museum, +which is devoted to mineralogy and botany, and here +again are endless avenues of joy for the muséephile and +tedium for others. Lastly, after another quarter of a +mile's walk, the palatial museum of anatomy is reached, +the ingenious art of the late M. Frémiet once more +providing a hors d'œuvre. At the Arts Décoratifs we +find on the threshold a man dragging a bear cub into +captivity; at the Petit Palais, St. George is killing the +dragon just inside the turnstile; and here, near the +umbrella-stand, is a man being strangled by an orang-outang. +Thus cheered, we enter, and are at once amid +a very grove of babies in bottles: babies unready for the +world, babies with two heads, babies with no heads at all, +babies, in short, without any merit save for the biologist, +the distiller, and the sightseer with strong nerves. +From the babies we pass to cases containing examples +of every organ of the human form divine, and such +approximations as have been accomplished by elephants +and mice and monkeys—all either genuine, in +spirits, or counterfeited with horrible minuteness in wax. +Also there are skeletons of every known creature, from +whales to frogs, and I noticed a case illustrating the +daily progress of the chicken in the egg.</p> + +<p>And now for the other Zoo, the Zoo of the classes. +Perhaps the best description is to call it a playground +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> +with animals in it. For there are children everywhere, +and everything is done for their amusement—as is only +natural in a land where children persist through life +and no one ever tires. In the centre of the gardens is +an enclosure in which in the summer of 1908 were +encamped a colony of Gallas, an intelligent and attractive +black people from the border of Abyssinia, who +flung spears at a target, and fought duels, and danced +dances of joy and sorrow, and rounded up zebras, and in +the intervals sold curiosities and photographs of themselves +with ingratiating tenacity. It was a strange +bizarre entertainment, with greedy ostriches darting +their beaks among the spectators, and these shock-headed +savages screaming through their diversions, and +now and again a refined slip of a black girl imploring +one mutely to give a franc for a five centimes picture +postcard, or murmuring incoherent rhapsodies over the +texture of a European dress.</p> + +<p>All around the enclosure the Parisian children were +playing, some riding elephants, others camels, some +driving an ostrich cart, and all happy. But the gem of +the Jardin is the Ecurie, on one side for ponies—scores +of little ponies, all named—the other for horses; on +one side a riding school for children, on the other +side a riding school for grown-up pupils, perhaps +the cavalry officers of the future. The ponies are +charming: Bibiche, landaise, Volubilité, cheval landais, +Céramon, cheval finlandais, Farceur, from the same +country, Columbine, née de Ratibor, and so forth. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> +There they wait, alert and patient too, in the manner +of small ponies, and by-and-by one is led off to the +Petit manège for a little Monsieur Paul or Etienne to +bestride. The Ecurie is a model of its kind, with its +central courtyard and offices for the various servants, +sellier, piqueur and so forth.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="lecon" id="lecon"></a> +<img src="images/i_282.jpg" width="598" height="650" alt="LA LEÇON DE LECTURE" /> +<p class="caption">LA LEÇON DE LECTURE<br /> +<span class="s2">TERBURG</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>Near by is a castellated fortress which might belong +to a dwarf of blood but is really a rabbit house. Every +kind of rabbit is here, with this difference from the +rabbit house in our Zoo, that the animals are for sale; +and there is a fragrant vacherie where you may learn +to milk; and in another part is a collection of dogs—tou-tous +and lou-lous and all the rest of it—and these +are for sale too. This is as popular a department as +any in the Jardin. The expressions of delight and +even ecstasy which were being uttered before some of +the cages I seem still to hear.</p> + +<p>The Parisians may be kind fathers and devoted +mothers: I am sure that they are; but to the observer +in the streets and restaurants their finest shades of +protective affection would seem to be reserved for dogs. +One sees their children with bonnes; their dogs are +their own care. The ibis of Egypt is hardly more +sacred. An English friend who has lived in the heart +of Paris for some time in the company of a fox terrier +tells me that on their walks abroad in the evening the +number of strangers who stop him to pass friendly +remarks upon his pet or ask to be allowed to pat it—or +who make overtures to it without permission—is beyond +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> +belief. No pink baby in Kensington Gardens is more +admired. Dogs in English restaurants are a rarity: +but in Paris they are so much a matter of course that +a little pâtée is always ready for them.</p> + +<p>It was of course a French tongue that first gave utterance +to the sentiment, "The more I see of men the +more I like dogs"; but I cannot pretend to have observed +that the Frenchman suffers any loss in prestige +or power from this attention to the tou-tou and the lou-lou. +Nothing, I believe, will ever diminish the confidence +or success of that lord of creation. He may to the insular +eye be too conscious of his charms; he may suggest +the boudoir rather than the field of battle or the field of +sport; he may amuse by his hat, astonish by his beard, +and perplex by his boots; but the fact remains that he is +master of Paris, and Paris is the centre of civilisation.</p> + +<p>The Parisians not only adore their dogs in life: they +give them very honourable burial. We have in London, +by Lancaster Gate, a tiny cemetery for these friendly +creatures; but that is nothing as compared with the +cemetery at St. Ouen, on an island in the Seine. Here +are monuments of the most elaborate description, and +fresh wreaths everywhere. The most striking tomb is +that of a Saint Bernard who saved forty persons but +was killed by the forty-first—a hero of whose history +one would like to know more, but the gate-keeper is +curiously uninstructed.<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span></p> + +<p>I walked among these myriad graves, all very recent +in date, and was not a little touched by the affection +that had gone to their making. I noted a few names: +Petit Bob, Espérance (whose portrait is in bas-relief +accompanied by that of its master), Peggie, Fan, Pincke, +Manon, Dick, Siko, Léonette (aged 17 years and 4 +months), Toby, Kiki, Ben-Ben ("toujours gai, fidèle et +caressant"—what an epitaph to strive for!), Javotte, +Nana, Lili, Dedjaz, Trinquefort, Teddy and Prince +(whose mausoleum is superb), Fifi (who saved lives), +Colette, Dash (a spaniel, with a little bronze sparrow +perching on his tomb), Boy, Bizon (who saved his owner's +life and therefore has this souvenir), and Mosque ("regretté +et fidèle ami"). There must be hundreds and +hundreds altogether, and it will not be long before +another "Dog's Acre" is required.</p> + +<p>Standing amid all the little graves I felt that the one +thing I wanted to see was a dog's funeral. For surely +there must be impressive obsequies as a preparation to +such thoughtful burial. But I did not. No melancholy +cortège came that way that afternoon; Fido's pompes +funèbres are still a mystery to me.</p> + +<p>But to my mind the best dogs in Paris are not such +toy pets as for the most part are here kept in sacred +memory, but those eager pointers that one sees on +Sunday morning at the Gare du Nord, and indeed at all +the big stations, following brisk, plump sportsmen with +all the opéra bouffe insignia of the chase—the leggings +and the belt and the great satchel and the gun. For +the Frenchman who is going to shoot likes the world +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> +to know what a lucky devil he is: he has none of our +furtive English unwillingness to be known for what we +are. I have seen them start, and I have waited about +in the station towards dinner time just to see them +return, with their bags bulging, and their steps springing +with the pride and elation of success, and the faithful +pointers trotting behind.</p> + +<p>Everything is happy at the Jardins des Plantes +and d'Acclimatation to-day: but it was not always so. +During a critical period of 1870 and 1871 the cages +were in a state of panic over the regular arrival of the +butcher—not to bring food but to make it. Mr. Labouchere, +the "Besieged Resident," writing on December +5th, 1870, says: "Almost all the animals in the Jardin +d'Acclimatation have been eaten. They have averaged +about 7 f. a lb. Kangaroo has been sold for 12 f. the lb. +Yesterday I dined with the correspondent of a London +paper. He had managed to get a large piece of mufflon, +and nothing else, an animal which is, I believe, only +found in Corsica. I can only describe it by saying that +it tasted of mufflon, and nothing else. Without being +absolutely bad, I do not think that I shall take up my +residence in Corsica, in order habitually to feed upon it."</p> + +<p>On December 18th Mr. Labouchere was at Voisin's. +The bill of fare, he says, was ass, horse and English +wolf from the Zoological Gardens. According to a +Scotch friend, the English wolf was Scotch fox. Mr. +Labouchere could not manage it and fell back on the +patient ass. Voisin's, by the way, was the only restaurant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> +which never failed to supply its patrons with a +meal. If you ask Paul, the head waiter, he will give +you one of the siege menus as a souvenir.</p> + +<p>Mr. Labouchere's description of typical life during +the siege may be quoted here as offering material for +reflection as we loiter about this city so notable to-day +for pleasure and plenty. "Here is my day. In the +morning the boots comes to call me. He announces +the number of deaths which have taken place in the +hotel during the night. If there are many he is +pleased, as he considers it creditable to the establishment. +He then relieves his feelings by shaking his fist in the +direction of Versailles, and exits growling 'Canaille de +Bismarck'. I get up. I have breakfast—horse, <i>café au +lait</i>—the <i>lait</i> chalk and water—the portion of horse +about two square inches of the noble quadruped. Then +I buy a dozen newspapers, and after having read them +discover that they contain nothing new. This brings +me to about eleven o'clock. Friends drop in, or I drop +in on friends. We discuss how long it is to last—if +friends are French we agree that we are sublime. At +one o'clock get into the circular railroad, and go to one +or other of the city gates. After a discussion with the +National Guards on duty, pass through. Potter about +for a couple of hours at the outposts; try with glass to +make out Prussians; look at bombs bursting; creep +along the trenches; and wade knee-deep in mud through +the fields. The Prussians, who have grown of late malevolent +even towards civilians, occasionally send a ball far +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> +over one's head. They always fire too high. French +soldiers are generally cooking food. They are anxious +for news, and know nothing about what is going on. +As a rule they relate the episode of some <i>combat +d'avant-poste</i> which took place the day before. The +episodes never vary. 5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>—Get back home; talk to +doctors about interesting surgical operations; then drop +in upon some official to interview him about what he is +doing. Official usually first mysterious, then communicative, +not to say loquacious, and abuses most people +except himself. 7 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>—Dinner at a restaurant; conversation +general; almost every one in uniform. Still +the old subjects—How long will it last? Why does +not Gambetta write more clearly? How sublime we +are; what a fool every one else is. Food scanty, but +peculiar.... After dinner, potter on the Boulevards +under the dispiriting gloom of petroleum; go home and +read a book. 12 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>—Bed. They nail up the coffins +in the room just over mine every night, and the tap, +tap, tap, as they drive in the nails, is the pleasing music +which lulls me to sleep."</p> + +<p>Here is another extract illustrating the pass to which +a hungry city had come: "Until the weather set in so +bitter cold, elderly sportsmen, who did not care to stalk +the human game outside, were to be seen from morning +to night pursuing the exciting sport of gudgeon fishing +along the banks of the Seine. Each one was always +surrounded by a crowd deeply interested in the chase. +Whenever a fish was hooked, there was as much excitement +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> +as when a whale is harpooned in more northern +latitudes. The fisherman would play it for some five +minutes, and then, in the midst of the solemn silence of +the lookers-on, the precious capture would be landed. +Once safe on the bank, the happy possessor would be +patted on the back, and there would be cries of 'Bravo!' +The times being out of joint for fishing in the Seine, +the disciples of Izaak Walton have fallen back on the +sewers. The <i>Paris Journal</i> gives them the following +directions how to pursue their new game: 'Take a +long strong line, and a large hook, bait with tallow, and +gently agitate the rod. In a few minutes a rat will come +and smell the savoury morsel. It will be some time +before he decides to swallow it, for his nature is cunning. +When he does, leave him five minutes to meditate over it; +then pull strongly and steadily. He will make convulsive +jumps; but be calm, and do not let his excitement gain +on you, draw him up, <i>et voilà votre dîner</i>.'"</p> + +<p>There is still hardly less excitement when a fish is +landed by a quai fisherman, but the emotion is now +purely artistic. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xiv" id="chapter_xiv"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +THE GRANDS BOULEVARDS: I. THE MADELEINE TO THE +OPERA</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +From Temple to Church—Napoleon the Christian—The Chapelle +Expiatoire—More Irony of History—Mi-Carême—The Art of +Insolence—Spacious +Streets—The Champions of France—Marius—Letter-boxes +and Stamps—The Facteur at the Bed—Killing a +Guide no Murder—The Largest Theatre in the World—A +Theatrical Museum.</p> + +<p>The Madeleine has had a curious history. The +great Napoleon built it, on the site of a small +eighteenth-century church, as a Temple of Glory, a gift +to his soldiers, where every year on the anniversaries of +Austerlitz and Jena a concert was to be held, odes read, +and orations delivered on the duties and privileges of +the warrior, any mention of the Emperor's own name +being expressly forbidden. That was in 1806. The +building was still in progress when 1815 came, with another +and more momentous battle in it, and Napoleon +and his proposal disappeared. The building of the +Temple of Glory was continued as a church, and a church +it still is; and the memory of Jena and Austerlitz is +kept alive in Paris by other means (they have, for +example, each a bridge), no official orations are delivered +on the soldier's calling, no official odes recited. It was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> +a noble idea of the Emperor's, and however perfunctorily +carried out, could not have left one with a less satisfied +feeling than some of the present ceremonials in the +Madeleine, which has become the most fashionable Paris +church. Napoleon, however, is not wholly forgotten, for +in the apse, I understand, is a fresco representing Christ +reviewing the chief champions of Christianity and felicitating +with them upon their services, the great Emperor +being by no means absent. Herr Baedeker says +that the fresco is there, but I have not succeeded in +seeing it, for the church is lit only by three small +cupolas and is dark with religious dusk.</p> + +<p>Within, the Madeleine is a surprise, for it does not +conform to its fine outward design. One expects a +classic severity and simplicity, and instead it is paint and +Italianate curves. The wisest course for the visitor is +to avoid the steps and the importunate mendicants at +the railings, and slip in by the little portal on the west +side where the discreet closed carriages wait.</p> + +<p>Louis XVIII., with his passion—a very natural one—to +obliterate Napoleon and the revolutionaries and +resume monarchical continuity, wished to complete the +Madeleine as a monument to Louis XVI. and Marie +Antoinette; but he did not persevere with the idea. +He built instead, on the site of the old cemetery of the +Madeleine, where Louis XVI. and the Queen had been +buried, the Chapelle Expiatoire. It is their memory +only which is preserved here, for, after Waterloo, their +bones were carried to St. Denis, where the other French +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> +kings lie. Their statues, however, are enshrined in the +building (which is just off the Boulevard Haussmann, +isolated solemnly and impressively among chestnut trees +and playing children), the king being solaced by an +angel who remarks to him in the words used by Father +Edgeworth on the scaffold, "Fils de St. Louis, montez +au ciel!" and the queen by religion, personified by +her sister-in-law, Madame Elizabeth. The door-keeper, +who conducted me as guide, was in raptures over Louis +XVI.'s lace and the circumstance that he was hewn +from a single block of marble. I liked his enthusiasm: +these unfortunate monarchs deserve the utmost that +sculptor and door-keeper can give them.</p> + +<p>Paris has changed its mind more completely and +frequently than any city in the world—and no illustration +of that foible is better than this before us. Consider +the sequence: first the king; then the prisoner; +then the execution—the body and head being carried +to the nearest cemetery, the Madeleine, where the +guillotine's victims were naturally flung, and carelessly +buried. Ten months later the queen's body and head +follow. (It is said that the records of the Madeleine +contain an entry by a sexton, which runs in English, +"Paid seven francs for a coffin for the Widow Capet".) +That was in 1793. Not until 1815 do they find sepulture +befitting them, and then this chapel rises in their +honour and they become saints.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="dentelliere" id="dentelliere"></a> +<img src="images/i_294.jpg" width="551" height="650" alt="LA DENTELLIÈRE" /> +<p class="caption">LA DENTELLIÈRE<br /> +<span class="s2">JAN VERMEER OF DELFT</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>Among other bodies buried here was that of Charlotte +Corday. Also the Swiss Guards, whom we saw meeting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> +death at the Tuileries. A strange place, and to-day, +in a Paris that cares nothing for Capets, a perfect +example of what might paradoxically be called well-kept +neglect.</p> + +<p>To me the Madeleine has always a spurious air: +nothing in it seems quite true. Externally, its Roman +proportions carry no hint of the Christian religion; +within, there is a noticeable lack of reverence. Every +one walks about, and the Suisses are of the world +peculiarly and offensively worldly. Standing before the +altar with its representation of the Magdalen, who gives +the church its name, being carried to Heaven, it is difficult +to realise that only thirty-eight years ago this very +spot was running red with the blood of massacred Communards.</p> + +<p>I remember the Madeleine most naturally as I saw +it once at Mi-Carême, from an upper window at Durand's, +after lunch. It was a dull day and the Madeleine +frowned on the human sea beneath it; for the +Place before it and the Rue Royale were black with +people. The portico is always impressive, but I had +never before had so much time or such excellent opportunity +to study it and its relief of the Last Judgment, +an improbable contingency to which few of us were +giving much thought just then. Not only were the +steps crowded, but two men had climbed to the green +roof and were sitting on the very apex of the building.</p> + +<p>The Mi-Carême carnival in Paris, I may say at once, +is not worth crossing the Channel for. It is tawdry +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> +and stupid; the life of the city is dislocated; the +Grands Boulevards are quickly some inches deep in +confetti, all of which has been discharged into faces and +even eyes before reaching the ground; the air is full of +dust; and the places of amusement are uncomfortably +crowded. The Lutetian humours of the Latin Quarter +students and of Montmartre are not without interest for +a short time, but they become tedious with extraordinary +swiftness and certainty as the morning grows grey.</p> + +<p>Each side of the Madeleine has its flower markets, +and they share the week between them. Round and +about Christmas a forest of fir-trees springs up. At +the back of the Madeleine omnibuses and trams converge +as at the Elephant.</p> + +<p>For a walk along the Grands Boulevards this temple +is the best starting-point; but I do not suggest that +the whole round shall be made. By the Grands Boulevards +the precisian would mean the half circle from the +Madeleine to the Place de la République and thence +to the Place de la Bastille; or even the whole circle, +crossing the river by the Pont Sully to the Boulevard +St. Antoine, which cuts right through the Surrey side +and crosses the river by the Pont de la Concorde and +so comes to the Rue Royale and the Madeleine again. +Those are the Grands Boulevards; but when the term +is conversationally used it means nothing whatever but +the stretch of broad road and pavement, of vivid kiosques +and green branches, between the Madeleine and the Rue +Richelieu: that is the Grands Boulevards for the flâneur +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> +and the foreigner. All the best cafés to sit at, all the +prettiest women to stare at, all the most entertaining +shop windows, are found between these points.</p> + +<p>The prettiest women to stare at! Here I touch on +a weakness in the life of Paris which there is no doubt +the Boulevards have fostered. Staring—more than +staring, a cool cynical appraisement—is one of the +privileges which the Boulevardier most prizes. I have +heard it said that he carries staring to a fine art; but +it is not an art at all, and certainly not fine; it is just +a coarse and disgusting liberty. It is nothing to him +that the object of his interest is accompanied by a man; +his code ignores that detail; he is out to see and to +make an impression and nothing will stop him. One +must not, however, let this ugly practice offend one's +sensibility too much. Foreigners need not necessarily +do as the Romans do, but it is not their right to be too +critical of Rome; and liberty is the very air of the +Boulevards. Live and let live. If one is going to be +annoyed by Paris, one had better stay at home.</p> + +<p>The Grands Boulevards might be called the show-rooms +of Paris: it is here that one sees the Parisians. +In London one may live for years and never see a +Londoner; not because Londoners do not exist, but +because London has no show-rooms for their display. +There is no Boulevard in London; the only streets that +have a pavement capable of accommodating both spectators +and a real procession of types are deserted, such +as Portland Place and Kingsway. The English, who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> +conquer and administer the world, dislike space; the +French, a people at whose alleged want of inches we +used to mock, rejoice in space. Think of the Champs-Elysées +and the Bois, and then think of Constitution +Hill and Hyde Park, and you realise the difference. +Take a mental drive by any of the principal Boulevards—from +the Madeleine eastward to the Place de la +République and back to the Madeleine again by way +of the Boulevards de Magenta and Clichy and down the +Boulevard Malesherbes, and then take a mental drive +from Hyde Park Corner by way of Piccadilly, the +Strand, Fleet Street, Cannon Street, Lombard Street, +Cheapside, Holborn, Oxford Street and Park Lane to +Hyde Park Corner again and you realise the difference. +In wet weather in Paris it is possible to walk all day and +not be splashed. Think of our most fashionable thoroughfare, +just by Long's Hotel, when it is raining—our Rue +de la Paix. The only street in London of which a +Frenchman would not be ashamed is the Mile End Road.</p> + +<p>At the Taverne Olympia—just past the old houses +standing back from the pavement, on the left, which +are built on the wall of the old moat, when this Boulevard +really was a bulwark or fortification—at the Taverne +Olympia, upstairs, is one of the few billiard saloons in +Paris in which exhibition games are continually in +progress, and in which one can fill many amusing half-hours +and perhaps win a few louis. Years ago I used +to frequent the saloon in a basement under the Grand +Café, a few doors east of the Olympia, but it has lost +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> +some of its prestige. The best play now is at Olympia +and at Cure's place in the Rue Vivienne. Every day of +the year, for ever and ever, a billiard match is in progress. +So you may say is, in the winter, the case in +London at Burroughs and Watts', or Thurston's, but +these are very different. In London the match is for a +large number of points and it may last a week or a fortnight. +Here there are scores of matches every afternoon +and evening and the price of admission is a consommation. +By virtue of one glass of coffee you may sit for +hours and watch champion of France after champion of +France lose and win, win and lose.</p> + +<p>The usual game is played by three champions of +France and is for ten cannons off the red. The names +of the players, on cards, are first flung on the table, and +the amateur of sport advances from his seat and stakes +five francs on that champion of France whom he favours. +Five francs is the unit. On my first visit, years ago, +the champion whom I, very unsoundly but not perhaps +unnaturally, supported, was one Lucas. Poor fellow, +on that afternoon he did his best, but he never got +home. The great Marius was too much for him. +Marius in those days was a very fine player and the +hero of the saloon at the Grand Café. A Southerner +I should guess; for I have seen his doubles by the score +in the cafés of Avignon and Nîmes. He was short and +thick, with a bald head and a large sagacious nose and a +saturnine smile and a heavy moustache. Winning and +losing were all one to him, although it is understood +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> +that fifty centimes are contributed by each of his backers +to a champion of France when he brings it off. Marius +looked down his nose in the same way whatever happened. +He was no Roberts; he had none of the +Cæsarian masterfulness, none of the Napoleonic decision, +of that king of men. The modern French game does not +lend itself to such commanding excellence, such Alpine +distinction. The cannon is all: there is no longer any +of the quiet and magical disappearance of the ball into +a pocket which makes the English game so fascinating.</p> + +<p>Such was Marius when I first saw him, and quite lately +I descended to his cellar again and found him unaltered, +except that he was no longer a master except very occasionally, +and that he had grown more sardonic. I do +not wonder at it. It may not be, in Paris, "a lonely +thing to be champion," as Cashel Byron says, but it +must be a melancholy thing to be no longer the champion +that you were. A home of rest for ex-champions would +draw my guinea at once.</p> + +<p>The ten or eight cannons off the red, I might add, +are varied now and then. Sometimes there is a match +between two players for a hundred points. Sometimes +three players will see which can first make eight cannons, +each involving three cushions (trois bandes). This is +a very interesting game to watch, although it may be +a concession to decadence.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 380px;"><a name="bievre" id="bievre"></a> +<img src="images/i_302.jpg" width="380" height="650" alt="THE RUE DE BIÈVRE" /> +<p class="caption"><span class="center s2">PANTHÉON</span><br /> +THE RUE DE BIÈVRE<br /> +<span class="s2">(FROM THE QUAI DE MONTEBELLO)</span></p></div> + +<p>We come next to the Rue Scribe, and crossing it, +are at "Old England," a shop where the homesick may +buy such a peculiarly English delicacy as marmalade, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> +beneath the shadow of the gigantic Grand Hotel, +notable not only for its million bedrooms but for marking +the position of one of the few post offices of Paris, +and also the only shop in the centre of the city which +keeps a large and civilised stock of Havana cigars. One +can live without Havana cigars, but post offices are +a necessity, and in Paris they conceal themselves with +great success; while, as for letter-boxes, it has been +described as a city without one. To a Londoner accustomed +to the frequent and vivid occurrence at street +corners of our scarlet obelisks, it is so. Quite recently +I heard of a young Englishman, shy and incorrigibly +one-languaged, who, during a week in Paris, entrusted +all his correspondence to a fire-alarm. But, as a matter +of fact, Paris has letter-boxes in great number, only for +the most part they are so concealed as to be solely for the +initiated. Directly one learns that every tobacconist also +sells stamps and either secretes a letter-box somewhere +beneath his window, or marks the propinquity of one, +life becomes simple.</p> + +<p>Although normally one never has, in France, even in +the official receptacle of one of the chief of the Bureaux +des Postes, any of that confidence that one reposes in +the smallest wall-box in England; yet one must perforce +overcome this distrust or use only pneumatiques. The +French do not carry ordinary letters very well, but +if you register them nothing can keep the postman +from you. A knock like thunder crashes into your +dreams, and behold he is at your bedside, alert and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> +important, be-ribboned with red tape, tendering for your +signature a pen dipped in an inkstand concealed about +his person. Every one who goes to France for amusement +should arrange to receive one registered letter.</p> + +<p>Its letter-boxes may be a trifle farcical, but in its +facilities given to purchasers of stamps France makes +England look an uncivilised country. Why it should +be illegal for any one but a postal official to supply +stamps in my own land, I have never been informed, +nor have any of the objections to the system ever been +explained away. In France you may get your stamps +anywhere—from tobacconists for certain; from waiters +for certain; from the newspaper kiosques for certain; +and from all tradespeople almost for certain: hence one +is relieved of the tiresome delays in post offices that are +incident to English life. But I am inclined to think +that when it comes to the post office proper, England +has the advantage. The French post office (when you +have found it) is always crowded and always overheated; +and you remember what I told the men in the Mint.</p> + +<p>To return to the Grand Hotel, I am minded to express +the wish that something could be done to rid its +pavement of the sly leering detrimental with an umbrella +who comes up to the foreigner and offers his services as a +guide to the night side of Paris. Not until an Englishman +has killed one of these pests will this part of Paris +be endurable. But from what I have observed I should +say that few murders are less likely to occur....</p> + +<p>And so we come to the Café de la Paix, and turning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> +to the left, the Opera is before us. The Opera is one +of the buildings of Paris that are taken for granted. +We do not look at it much: we think of it as occupying +the central position, adjacent to Cook's, useful as +a place of meeting; we buy a seat there occasionally, +and that is all. And yet it is the largest theatre in +the world (the work of that Charles Garnier whose +statue is just outside), and although it is not exactly +beautiful, its proportions are agreeable; it does not +obtrude its size (and yet it covers three acres); it sits +very comfortably on the ground, and an incredible +amount of patient labour and thought went to its +achievement, as any one may see by walking round it +and studying the ornamentation and the statuary, +among which is Carpeaux's famous lively group "La +Danse". One very pleasant characteristic of the Opera +is the modesty with which it announces its performances: +nothing but a minute poster in a frame, three or +four times repeated, giving the information to the passer-by. +Larger posters would impair its superb reserve.</p> + +<p>The Opera has a little museum, the entrance to which +is in the Rue Auber corner, by the statue of the architect +(with his plan of the building traced in bronze +below his bust). This museum is a model of its kind—small +but very pertinent and personal in character. +Here are one of Paganini's bows and his rosin box; +souvenirs of Malibran presented to her by some Venetian +admirers in 1835; Berlioz' season ticket for the Opera +in 1838, and a page of one of his scores; Rossini in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> +a marble statuette, asleep on his sofa, wearing that +variety of whisker which we call a Newgate fringe; +Rossini on his death-bed, drawn by L. Roux, and a page +of a score and a cup and saucer used by him; a match +box of Gounod's, a page of a score, and his marble bust; +Meyerbeer on his death-bed, drawn by Mousseaux, a +decoration worn by that composer, and a page of his +score; two of Cherubini's tobacco boxes and a page of +his score; Danton's clay caricature of Liszt—all hair +and legs—at the piano, and a caricature of Liszt playing +the piano while Lablache sings and Habeneck conducts; +a bust of Fanny Cerrito, danseuse, in 1821—with a +mischievous pretty face—that Cerrito of whom Thomas +Ingoldsby rhymed; and a bust of Emma Livry, a danseuse +of a later day, who died aged twenty-three from injuries +received from fire during the répétition génerale of +the "Muette de Portici" on November 15th, 1862. In +a little coffer near by are the remains of the clothes the +poor creature was wearing at the time. What else is +there? Many busts, among them Delibes the composer +of "Coppélia," whose grave we shall see in the Cimetière +de Montmartre: here bearded and immortal; autograph +scores by Verdi, Donizetti, Victor Massé, Auber, Spontini +(whose very early piano also is here), and Hérold; a +caricature by Isabey of young Vestris bounding in mid-air, +models of scenes of famous operas, and a host of +other things all displayed easily in a small but +sufficient room. If all museums were as compact and +single-minded! +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xv" id="chapter_xv"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /> +A CHAIR AT THE CAFÉ DE LA PAIX</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Green Hour—In the Stalls of Life—National Contrasts and the +Futility of Drawing Them—The Concierge—The Bénéfice Hunters—The +Claque—The Paris Theatre—The Paris Music Hall—The +Everlasting Joke—The Real French—A Country of Energy—A +City of Waiters—Ridicule—Women—Cabmen—The Levelling +of the Tourist—French Intelligence—The Chauffeurs—The Paris +Spectacle.</p> + +<p>And now since it is the "green hour"—since it is +five o'clock—let us take a chair outside the Café +de la Paix and watch the people pass, and meditate, +here, in the centre of the civilised world, on this wonderful +city of Paris and this wonderful country of France.</p> + +<p>I am not sure but that when all is said it is not these +outdoor café chairs of Paris that give it its highest charm +and divide it from London with the greatest emphasis. +There are three reasons why one cannot sit out in this +way in London: the city is too dirty; the air is rarely +warm enough; and the pavements are too narrow. But +in Paris, which enjoys the steadier climate of a continent +and understands the æsthetic uses of a pavement, and +burns wood, charcoal or anthracite, it is, when dry, +always possible; and I, for one, rejoice in the privilege. +This "green hour"—this quiet recess between five and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> +six in which to sip an apéritif, and talk, and watch the +world, and anticipate a good dinner—is as characteristically +French as the absence of it is characteristically English. +The English can sip their beverages too, but how different +is the bar at which they stand from the comfortable +stalls (so to speak) in the open-air theatres of the Boulevards +in which the French take their ease.</p> + +<p>At every turn one is reminded that these people live +as if the happiness of this life were the only important +thing; while if we subtract a frivolous fringe, it may +be said of the English that (without any noticeable gain +in such advantages as spirituality confers) they are always +preparing to be happy but have not yet enough money +or are not yet quite ready to begin. The Frenchman +is happy now: the Englishman will be happy to-morrow. +(That is, at home; yet I have seen Englishmen in Paris +gathering honey while they might, with both hands.)</p> + +<p>But the French and English, London and Paris, are +not really to be compared. London and Paris indeed +are different in almost every respect, as the capitals of +two totally and almost inimically different nations must +be. For a few days the Englishman is apt to think that +Paris has all the advantages: but that is because he is +on a holiday; he soon comes to realise that London is +his home, London knows his needs and supplies them. +Much as I delight in Paris I would make almost any +sacrifice rather than be forced to live there; yet so long +as inclination is one's only master how pleasant are her +vivacity and charm. But comparisons between nations +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> +are idle. For a Frenchman there is no country like +France and no city like Paris; for an Englishman England +is the best country and London the most desirable +city. For a short holiday for an Englishman, Paris is a +little paradise; for a short holiday for a Frenchman, +London is a little inferno.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="head" id="head"></a> +<img src="images/i_310.jpg" width="474" height="650" alt="GIRL'S HEAD" /> +<p class="caption">GIRL'S HEAD<br /> +<span class="s2">ÉCOLE DE FABRIANO</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>Each country is the best; each country has advantages +over the other, each country has limitations. The +French may have wide streets and spacious vistas, but +their matches are costly and won't light; the English, +even in the heart of London, may be contented with +narrow and muddy and congested lanes, but their sugar +at least is sweet.</p> + +<p>The French may have abolished bookmakers from +their race-courses and may give even a cabman a clean +napkin to his meals, but their tobacco is a monopoly. +The English may fill their streets with newspaper posters +advertising horrors and scandals, but they are permitted +now and then to forget their vile bodies. The French +may piously and prettily erect statues of every illustrious +child of the State, but their billiard tables are +now without pockets. London may have a cleaner Tube +railway system than Paris, but Paris has the advantage +of no lifts and a correspondence ticket at a trifling cost +which will take you everywhere, whereas London's Tubes +belonging to different companies the correspondence is +expensive. Again with omnibuses, London may have +more and better, but here again the useful correspondence +system is to be found only in Paris. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span></p> + +<p>London may be in darkness for most of the winter +and be rained upon by soot all the year round; but at +any rate the Londoner is master in his own house or +flat and not the cringing victim of a concierge, as every +Parisian is. That is something to remember and be +thankful for. Paris has an atmosphere, and a climate, +and good food, and attentive waiters, and a cab to every +six yards of the kerb, and no petty licensing tyrannies, and +the Champs-Elysées, and immunity from lurid newspaper +posters, and good coffee, and the Winged Victory, and +Monna Lisa; but it also has the concierge. At the entrance +to every house is this inquisitive censorious janitor—a +blend in human shape of Cerberus and the Recording +Angel. The concierge knows the time you go out +and (more serious) the time you come in; what letters +and parcels you receive; what visitors, and how long +they stay. The concierge knows how much rent you +pay and what you eat and drink. And the worst of it +is that since the concierge keeps the door and dominates +the house you must put a good face on it or you will +lose very heavily. Scowl at the concierge and your life +will become a harassment: letters will be lost; parcels +will be delayed; visitors will be told you are at home; +a thousand little vexations will occur. The concierge +in short is a rod which, you will observe, it is well to kiss. +The wise Parisian therefore is always amiable, and generous +too, although in his heart he wishes the whole system +at the devil.</p> + +<p>And here I ought to say that although one is thus +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> +conscious of certain of the defects and virtues of each +nation, I have no belief whatever in any large interchange +of characteristics being possible. Nations I +think can borrow very little from each other. What +is sauce for the goose is by no means necessarily sauce +for the oie, and the meat of an homme can easily be the +poison of a man.</p> + +<p>The French and the English base life on such different +premises. To put the case in a nutshell, we may +say that the French welcome facts and the English avoid +them. The French make the most of facts; the English +persuade themselves that facts are not there. The +French write books and plays about facts, and read and +go to the theatre to see facts; the English write books +and plays about sentimental unreality, and read and go +to the theatre in order to be diverted from facts. The +French live quietly and resignedly at home among facts; +the English exhaust themselves in games and travel and +frivolity and social inquisitiveness, in order to forget that +they have facts in their midst.</p> + +<p>One always used to think that the English were the +most willing endurers of impositions and monopolies; +but I have come to the conclusion that a people that +can continue to burn French matches and use French +ink and blotting-paper, bend before the concierge and +suffer the claque and the French theatre attendant, +must be even weaker. Only a people in love with +slavery would continue to endure the black bombazined +harpies who turn the French theatres into infernos, first +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> +by their very presence and secondly by their clamour +for a bénéfice. They do nothing and they levy a tax +on it. So far from exterminating them, this absurd +lenient French people has even allowed them to dominate +the cinematoscope halls which are now so numerous +all over Paris. I sit and watch them and wonder what +they do all day: in what dark corner of the city they +hang like bats till the evening arrives and they are +free to poison the air of the theatres and exact their +iniquitous secret commission. The habit of London +managers to charge sixpence for a programme—an +advertisement of his wares such as every decent and +courteous tradesman is proud to give away—is sufficiently +monstrous; but I can never enough honour them +for excluding these bénéfice hunters.</p> + +<p>Whatever may be said of French acting and French +plays there is no doubt that our theatres are more comfortable +and better managed. A Frenchman visiting a +theatre in London has no difficulties: he buys his seat +at the office, is shown to it and the matter ends. An +Englishman visiting a theatre in Paris has no such ease. +He must first buy his ticket (and let him scrutinise the +change with some care and despatch); this ticket, however, +does not, as in London, carry the number of his +seat: it is merely a card of introduction to the three +gentlemen in evening dress and tall hats who sit side by +side in a kind of pulpit in the lobby. One of them +takes his ticket, another consults a plan and writes a +number on it, and the third hands it back. Another +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> +difficulty has yet to come, for now begins the turn of +the harpies. Why the English custom is not followed, +and a clean sweep made of both the men in the pulpit +and the women inside, one has no notion; for in addition +to being a nuisance they must reduce the profits.</p> + +<p>I mentioned the claque just now. That is another +of the Frenchman's darling bugbears which the English +would never stand. Every Frenchman to whom I have +spoken about it shares my view that it is an abomination, +but when I ask why it is not abolished he merely +shrugs his shoulders: "Why should it be?—one can +endure it," is the attitude; and that indeed is the +Frenchman's attitude to most of the things that he finds +objectionable. They are, after all, only trimmings; +the real fabric of his life is not injured by them; therefore +let them go on. Yet while one can understand the +persistence of certain Parisian defects, the long life of +the claque remains a mystery. Upon me the periodical +and mechanical explosions of this body of hirelings have +an effect little short of infuriation. One is told that +the actors are responsible rather than the managers, and +this makes its continuance the more unreasonable, for +the result has been that in their efforts to acquire the +illusion of applause, they have lost the real thing. +French audiences rarely clap any more.</p> + +<p>When it comes to the consideration of the French +stage, there is again no point in making comparisons. +It is again a conflict of fact and sentiment. The +French are intensely interested in the manifestations of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> +the sexual emotion, and they have no objection to see +the calamities and embarrassments and humours to which +it may lead worked out frankly on the boards or in +literature: hence a certain sameness in their plays and +novels. The majority of the English still think that +physical matters should be hidden: hence our dramatists +and novelists having had to find other themes, adventure, +eccentricity and character have won their predominant +place. That is all there is to it. The French stage is +the best—to a Frenchman or a gallicised Englishman; +the English stage is the best—to the English. The +English go rather to see; the French to hear. In other +words a blind Frenchman would be better pleased with +his national stage than a blind Englishman with his. +The blind Frenchman would at any rate not miss the +jokes, which, though he knew them all before, he could +not resist; whereas the Englishman would be deprived +of the visible touches of which the personæ of our drama +are largely built up. In a drama of passion, whether +treated seriously or lightly, words necessarily are more +than idiosyncrasies.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="benedicite" id="benedicite"></a> +<img src="images/i_318.jpg" width="511" height="650" alt="LE BÉNÉDICITÉ" /> +<p class="caption">LE BÉNÉDICITÉ<br /> +<span class="s2">CHARDIN</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>In the Paris music halls the comic singers merely +sing—they have little but words to give. London +music hall audiences may have an undue affection for +red noses and sordid domestic details; but they do +expect a little character, even if it is coarse character, +during the evening, and they get it. There is little in +the French hall. Personality is discouraged here; richness, +quaintness, unction, irresponsibility, eccentricity—such +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> +gifts as once pleased us in Dan Leno and now are +to be found in a lesser degree but very agreeably in +Wilkie Bard—these are superfluities to a French comic +singer. All that is asked of him is that he shall be +active, shall have a resonant voice, and shall commit to +memory a sufficient number of cynical reflections on life. +A gramophone producing any rapid indecent song would +please the French more than a hundred Harry Lauders. +(And yet when all is said it must be far easier to live in a +country where decency, as we understand and painfully +cultivate it, has not everywhere to be considered. The +life at any rate of the French author, publisher, editor and +magistrate, to name no others, is immensely simplified.)</p> + +<p>But from my point of view the worst characteristic +of the French music hall and variety stage is the revue. +The revue is indeed a standing proof of the incontrovertible +fact that however the hotel proprietors may +feel about it, the Parisian does not want English people +in his midst. (Why should he?) The revue in its +quiddity is a device for excluding foreigners from +theatres; for it is not only dull and monotonous, but +being for the most part a satire on Parisian politics is +incomprehensible too. I am not here to defend the +English pantomime, but not all its agonies (as Ruskin +called them) reach such a height of tedium as a revue +can achieve. A Frenchman ignorant of English at +Drury Lane on Boxing Night might be bewildered and +even stunned; but he would at any rate know something +of what was happening and his eyes would be kept busy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> +An Englishman at a revue knows nothing, for there is +no story, and very little money is spent on the stage +picture: it is just a steady cataract of topical talk. I +have endured many revues, always hoping against hope +that some one would be witty or funny, that some ingenious +satirical device would occur. But I have never +been rewarded. No matter what the nominal subject, +the jokes have been the same: the old old mots à +double entente, the old old outspoken indecency....</p> + +<p>The stream of people continues to be incessant and +of incredible density—all walking at the same pace, all +talking as only the French can talk, rich and poor +equally owners of the pavement. Now and then a +camelot offers a toy or a picture postcard; boys bring +<i>La Patrie</i> or <i>La Presse</i>; a performer bends and twists +a piece of felt into every shape of hat, culminating in +Napoleon's famous chapeau à cornes....</p> + +<p>One thing that one notices is the absence of laughter. +The French laugh aloud very seldom. Even in their +theatres, at the richest French jokes, their approval is +expressed rather in a rippling murmur counterfeiting +surprise than a laugh. Animation one sees, but on +these Boulevards behind that is often a suggestion of +anxiety. The dominant type of face seen from a chair +at the Café de la Paix is not a happy one....</p> + +<p>It is when one watches this restless moving crowd, or +the complacent audiences at the farces, or the diners in +restaurants eating as if it were the last meal, and when +one looks week after week at the comic papers of Paris, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> +with their deadly insistence on the one and apparently +only concern of Parisian life, that one has most of all to +remind oneself that these people are not the French, and +that one is a superficial tourist in danger of acquiring +very wrong impressions. This is the fringe, the froth. +One has only to remember a very few of the things we +have seen in Paris to realise the truth of this. Never +was a harder working people. Look at the early hours +that Paris keeps: contrast them with London's slovenly +awakening. Look at the amazing productivity of a +notoriously idle and careless set—the artists: the old +Salon with its miles of pictures twice a year, and the +other Salons, hardly less crowded, and the minor exhibitions +too. Look at the industry of the Paris stage: +the new plays that are produced every week, involving +endless rehearsals day and night. Look at the energy +of the French authors, dramatic as well as narrative, of +the journalists and printers. Think of the engineers, +the motor-car manufacturers, the gardeners and the +vintners. Think of the bottle-makers. (But one cannot: +such a thought causes the head to reel in this city +of bottles.) No, we are not seeing France, we foreign +visitors to "the gay capital". Don't let us labour +under any such mistake. The industrious, level-headed, +cheerful French people do not exhibit themselves to the +scrutinising eyes of the Café de la Paix, do not spend +all their time as <i>Le Rire</i> would have us believe, do not +over eat and over drink.</p> + +<p>Around and about one all the time, as one watches +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> +this panorama, the swift and capable waiters are busy. +Every one carries away from Paris one mastering impression +upon the inward eye: I am not sure that +mine is not a blur of waiters in their long white aprons. +At the Paris Exhibition of 1900, over the principal +entrance at the south-west corner of the Place de la +Concorde, was the gigantic figure of a young and +fashionable woman in the very heyday of her vivacity, +allurement and smartness. She personified Paris. But +not so would I symbolise that city. In any coat of arms of +Paris that I designed would certainly be a capable young +woman, but also a waiter, sleek, attentive and sympathetic.</p> + +<p>Paris may be a city of feminine charm and domination; +but to the ordinary foreigner, and especially the Englishman, +it is far more a city of waiters. Women we +have in England too: but waiters we have not. There +are waiters in London, no doubt, but that is the end of +them: there are, to all intents and purposes, no waiters +in the provinces, where we eat exclusively in our own +houses. And even in London we must brace ourselves +to find such waiters as there are: we must indulge in +heroic feats of patience, and, once the waiter comes into +view, exercise most of the vocal organs to attract his +notice and obtain his suffrages. In other words, there +is in London perhaps one waiter to every five thousand +persons; whereas in Paris there are five thousand +waiters, more or less, to every one person. Or so it +seems. It is a city of waiters; it is <i>the</i> city of waiters.</p> + +<p>Still the people stream by, and one wonders whence +the idea comes that the French are a particularly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> +small race. It is not true. Look at that tall boulevardier +with some one else's hat (why do so many Frenchmen +seem to be wearing other men's hats?) and the +immense beard. Look at those two long-haired artists +from the Latin Quarter, in velvet clothes and black +sombreros. In England they would be stared at and +laughed at; but here no one is laughed at at all, and +only the women are stared at. It is interesting to +note how little street ridicule there is in France. The +Frenchman mocks, but he does not, as I think so many +of the English do, search for the ridiculous; or at any +rate it is not the same kind of ridiculousness that we +pillory. In England we bring such sandpaper of prejudice +and public opinion to bear upon eccentricity that +every one becomes smooth and ordinary—like every one +else. But in France—to the superficial observer, at +any rate—individuality is encouraged and nourished; +in France either no one is ridiculous or every one is.</p> + +<p>Some one once remarked to me that never in Paris +do you see a woman with any touch of the woods. It +is true. The Parisian women suggest the boudoir, the +theatre, the salon, the sewing-room, the kitchen, and +now and then even the fields; but never the woods....</p> + +<p>One misses also in Paris the boy of from fifteen to +eighteen. Younger boys there are, and young men +abound, but youths of that age one does not much see, +and very rarely indeed a father and son together. In +fact the generations seem to mix very little: in the +restaurants men of the same age are usually together: +beards lunch with beards.... +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span></p> + +<p>And the road is dense too. There is a block every +few minutes, while the agents in the centre of the +carrefour do their best to control the four streams of +traffic. It is odd that a people with so much sense of +order and red tape should fail so signally to produce an +organiser of traffic. Certain it is that the stupidest +Kentish giant who joins the Metropolitan police force +has a better idea of such a duty than any of these +polished gentlemen in caps. Partly perhaps because in +London the police are feared and obeyed, and in Paris +the drivers, particularly the cabmen, care for no one. +The words Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité are not stencilled +all over our churches and public buildings, you see.</p> + +<p>The cabmen! My impression now is, writing here in +England, that the Paris cochers are all exactly alike. +They have white hats and blue coats and bad horses +and black moustaches, and their backs entirely fill the +landscape. They beat their horses and shout at them +all the time. One seldom sees an accident, although +they never look as if they were going to avoid one. +That is partly because they are a weary and cynical +folk, and partly because in France the roads belong to +vehicles, and not, as in England, to foot-passengers. In +England if you are run over, you can prosecute the +driver and get damages; in France if you are run over, +the driver (one has always heard) can prosecute you for +being in the way.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="italiens" id="italiens"></a> +<img src="images/i_326.jpg" width="650" height="510" alt="THE BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS" /> +<p class="caption">THE BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS<br /> +<span class="s2">(LOOKING EAST)</span></p></div> + +<p>No matter with what fervour is the entente fostered +and nourished, the Parisian cabman will see to it that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> +the hatchet is never too deeply interred, that the racial +excrescences are not too smoothly planed. Polite hotel +managers, obsequious restaurateurs, smiling sommeliers +and irradiated shopkeepers may do their best to assure +the Anglo-Saxon that he is among a people that exist +merely to do him honour and adore his personality; but +directly he hails a cab he knows better. The truth is +then his. Not that the Parisian cocher hates a foreigner. +Nothing so crude as that. He merely is possessed by a +devil of contempt that prompts him to humiliate and +confound us. To begin with he will not appear to want +you as a fare; he will make it a favour to drive you at +all. He will then begin his policy of humorous pin-pricks. +Though you speak with the accent of Mounet-Sully +himself he will force you to pronounce the name +of your destination not once but many times, and then +very likely he will drive you somewhere else first. You +may step into his cab with a feeling that Paris is becoming +a native city: you will emerge wishing it at the bottom +of the sea. That is the cocher's special mission in life—subtly +and insidiously to humiliate the tourist. He does +it like an artist and as an artist—for his own pleasure. +It is the only compensation that his dreary life carries.</p> + +<p>The French, I fancy, are not less capable of stupidity +than any other people. There is an idea current that +they are the most intelligent of races, but I believe this +to be a fallacy, proceeding from the fact that the French +language lends itself to epigrammatic expression, and +that every French child dips his cup into the common +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> +reservoir of engaging idioms and adroit phrases. +This means that French conversation, even among the +humblest, is better than English conversation under +similar and far more favourable conditions; but it means +no more. It gives no real intelligence. The incapacity +of the ordinary Frenchman to get enough imagination +into his ear (so fine that it can distinguish between the +most delicate vowel sounds in his own language) to enable +it to understand a foreign pronunciation is partly a +proof of this. But take him at any time off his regular +lines, present a new idea to him, and he can be as stupid +as a Sussex farm labourer. It is the same with America. +Just as the French language imposes wit on its user, so is +every American, man or woman, fitted at birth with the +mechanism of humour. Yet how few are humorous!</p> + +<p>But the cocher is not the only cabman of Paris: +there remains the driver of the auto. The motor cab +has not elbowed out the horse cab in Paris as it has in +London, nor probably will it, for the Parisians are not +in a hurry; but for Longchamp and such excursions +the auto is indispensable, and the motor cabman becomes +more and more a characteristic of the streets. Our +London chauffeurs are sufficiently implacable, blunt +and churlish, but the Parisian chauffeur is like fate. +There is no escape if you enter his car: he lights +his cigarette, sinks his back into his seat, and his +shoulders into his back, and his head into his shoulders, +and drives like the devil. He seems to have no life of +his own at all: he exists merely to urge his car wherever +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> +he is told. The foreigner has no hold whatever upon +the chauffeur; he arranges the meter to whatever tariff +he pleases, and before you can examine the dial at the end +of the journey he has jerked up the flag. When you +keep him waiting his meter devours your substance. Always +terrible, he is worst in winter, when he is dressed +entirely in hearth-rugs. The old cocher for me.</p> + +<p>But it grows chilly and it is dinner time. Let us go. +Yet first I would remind you that we chose the Café de +la Paix for our reverie only because it is the centre, and +we were intent upon the centre. But the pavement +chairs of all the cafés of Paris are interesting, and it is +equally good to sit in any populous bourgeois quarter +where one can watch the daily indigenous life of this city, +which the visitor who remains for the most part in the +visitors' districts can so easily miss. The busy, capable +girls and women shopping—their pretty uncovered heads +all so neatly and deftly arranged, and their bags and +baskets in their hands; the chair mender blowing his +horn; the teams of white horses, six or eight in single +file, with high collars and bells, drawing blocks of stone +or barrels of wine; the tondeur de chiens, with his +mournful pipe and box of scissors; the brisk errand boys; +the neat little milliners with their band-boxes; now and +then a slovenly soldier and a well-groomed erect agent. +Paris as a spectacle is perpetually new and amusing. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xvi" id="chapter_xvi"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +THE GRANDS BOULEVARDS: II. THE OPERA TO THE +PLACE DE LA RÉPUBLIQUE</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Christmas Baraques—The Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin—The Rue +Laffitte—La Musée Grévin—The Bibliothèque Nationale—The +Roar of Finance—Tailors as Cartoonists—A Bee-hive Street—Cities +within the City—Pompes Funèbres—The Church as Advertiser—The +Great Marguery—Gates which are not Gates—The +Life of St. Denis—Highways from Paris—The First Theatre—St. +Martin's Act of Charity—The Arts et Métiers; a Modern Cluny—Statues +of the Republic.</p> + +<p>From the Place de l'Opéra to the Place de la République +is an interesting and instructive walk, +but at no time of the day a very easy one; and between +five o'clock and half-past six, and eight and ten, on the +north pavement, it is always almost a struggle; but when +the baraques are in full swing around Christmas and the +New Year, it is a struggle in earnest, at any rate as far +as the Rue Drouot. Indeed Christmas and New Year, +but especially Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve, are +great times in France, and presents are exchanged as +furiously as with us.</p> + +<p>On Christmas Eve—Réveillon as it is called—no one +would do anything so banal as to go to bed. The restaurants +obtain a special permission to remain open, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> +and tables are reserved months in advance. Montmartre, +never very sleepy, takes on a double share of wakefulness.</p> + +<p>The first street on our left, the Rue de la Chaussée +d'Antin, is one of the busiest in Paris, with excellent +shops and many interesting associations. Madame +Récamier lived at No. 7, the site of the Hôtel d'Antin. +So also did Madame Necker and Madame Roland, and +for a while Edward Gibbon. Chopin lived at No. 5. +This street, by the way, has suffered almost more than +any other from the Parisian fickleness in nomenclature. +It began as the Rue de la Chaussée Gaillon, then Rue +de l'Hôtel Dieu, then Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin, from +Richelieu's Hôtel d'Antin, then the Rue Mirabeau, from +the revolutionary who lodged and died at No. 42, then, +when Mirabeau's body was removed ignominiously from +the Panthéon, the Rue Mont Blanc, and in 1815 it +became once again the Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the Rue Laffitte one should stop, because +one gets there a glimpse of Montmartre's white +and oriental cathedral, hanging in mid-air, high above +Paris and the church of Notre Dame de Lorette. This +street is, to me, one of the most entertaining in the city, +for almost every other shop is a picture-dealer's, and to +loaf along it, on either side, is practically to visit a gallery. +Two or three of these shops keep as a continual +sign the words "Bronzes de Barye". The Rue Laffitte +was named after the banker Jacques Laffitte, whose bank +was in the Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin. Cerutti, who +delivered Mirabeau's funeral oration, set up his revolutionary +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> +journal <i>La Feuille Villageoise</i> here. At the +Hôtel Thelusson at the end of the street the Incroyables +and the Merveilleuses assembled. Among the guests +was General Buonaparte, and it was here that he first +met Joséphine Beauharnais.</p> + +<p>The Musée Grévin, to which we soon come on the +left, is the Parisian Tussaud's; and it is as much better +than Tussaud's as one would expect it to be. Tussaud's +is vast and brilliant; the Musée Grévin is small and +mysterious. There is so little light that every one seems +wax, and one has to look very narrowly and anxiously +at all motionless figures. The particular boast of the +Grévin is its groups: not so much the Pope and his +pontifical cortège, the coulisses of the Opera (a scene of +coryphées and men about town), and the Fête d'Artistes, +as the admirable tableaux of the Revolution. To the untutored +eye of one who, like myself, avoids waxworks, +the Grévin figures and grouping are good and, what is +perhaps more important, intelligent. Pains have been +taken to make costumes and accessories historically accurate, +and in many cases the actual articles have been +employed, notably in the largest tableau of all—"Une +Soirée à Malmaison"—which was arranged under the +supervision of Frédéric Masson, the historian, an effigy +of whom stands near by. Among these scenes the historical +sense of the French child can be really quickened. +There are also tableaux of Rome in the time of the early +Christians—very clever and painful.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="madame" id="madame"></a> +<img src="images/i_334.jpg" width="486" height="650" alt="MADAME LE BRUN ET SA FILLE" /> +<p class="caption">MADAME LE BRUN ET SA FILLE<br /> +<span class="s2">MADAME LE BRUN</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>At the Rue Drouot, at the conjunction of the Boulevards +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> +des Italiens and de Montmartre, there is an angle. +Hitherto we have been walking west by north; we now +shall walk west by south. From this point we shall also +observe a difference in the character of the street, which +will become steadily more bourgeois. At this corner, +where the traffic is always so congested, owing largely +to the omnibuses with the three white horses abreast +that cross to and from the Rue Richelieu, all the best +cafés are behind us.</p> + +<p>If that £32,000,000 reconstruction scheme of which +I have already spoken comes to pass, this point will be +unrecognisable, for among the items in that programme +is the uniting of the Boulevard Haussmann, which now +comes to an abrupt end at the Rue Taitbout, with the +Boulevard de Montmartre, which, as a glance at the +map will show, is in a line with it. But my hope is that +the improvement will be long deferred.</p> + +<p>It is in the Rue Richelieu that the Bibliothèque +Nationale stands, where the foreign resident in Paris +may read every day, precisely as at the British Museum, +provided always that he is certified by his Consul to be +worthy of a ticket, and the visitor may on certain days +examine priceless books and autographs, prints and maps +and cameos and wonderful antiquities. Here once lived +Cardinal Mazarin, and it is in the galerie that bears his +name that the rarest bindings are to be seen—some from +Grolier's own shelves. Among the MSS. is that of +Pascal's <i>Pensées</i>. The library, which is now perhaps +the finest in existence, has been built up steadily by the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> +kings of France, even from Charlemagne, but Louis +XII. was the first of them who may really be called a +bibliophile, to be worthily followed by François I. It +was not until 1724, in the reign of Louis XV., that the +royal collection was removed to this building. The +Revolution greatly added to its wealth by transferring +hither the libraries of the destroyed convents and monasteries. +The treasures in the Cabinet de Médailles +I cannot describe; all I can say is that they ought not +to be missed. They may be called an extension of the +Galerie d'Apollon in the Louvre.</p> + +<p>Before leaving the Bibliothèque I should add that in +certain of its rooms, with an entrance in the Rue Vivienne, +exhibitions are periodically held, and it is worth while to +ascertain if one is in progress. In the spring of 1908 I saw +there a most satisfying display of Rembrandt's etchings.</p> + +<p>It was in one of the old book-shops in the neighbourhood +of the Bibliothèque that I received my first +impression of the Paris Bourse. I was turning over +little pocket editions of Voltaire's <i>Pucelle</i> and naughty +Crébillons and such ancient boudoir fare, when I began +to be conscious of a sound as of a thousand boys' schools +in deadly rivalry. On hurrying out to learn the cause +I found Paris in its usual condition of self-containment +and intent progress; no one showed any sign of inquisitiveness +or excitement; but on the steps of the Bourse +I observed a shouting, gesticulating mob of men who +must, I thought, be planning a new Reign of Terror. +But no; they were merely financiers engaged in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> +ordinary work of life. The Bourse is free, and I climbed +the steps, pushed through the money-makers, and entered. +Never again. I have seen men engaged in the unlovely +task of acquiring lucre by more or less improper means +in various countries, but I never saw anything so horrible +as the rapacity expressed upon the faces of this heated +Bourse populace.</p> + +<p>Capel Court is not indifferent to the advantages of a +successful coup, but Capel Court differs from the Bourse +not only in a comparative retention of its head, but also +in a certain superficial appearance of careless aristocracy. +Capel Court dresses well and keeps time for a practical +joke now and then. The Bourse is shabby and in the +grip of avarice. Wall Street and the Chicago pit, I am +told, are worse: I have not seen them; but no race-course +scramble for odds could exceed the horrors of that day +in the Bourse. The home, by the way, of this daily vociferous +service of Mammon, was built on the site of the +old convent of the Filles de St. Thomas. During the +Revolution the connection between the Bourse and +Heaven was even closer, for the church of the Petits +Pères was then set apart for Exchange purposes.</p> + +<p>Returning to the point where we left the Boulevard—at +the Rue Richelieu—I am moved to ask what would +happen in London if Messrs. Baker in the Tottenham +Court Road or Messrs. Gardiner in Knightsbridge were +suddenly to break out into caricature and embellish their +windows with scarifying cartoons of Kings, Kaisers, Presidents +and Premiers? The question may sound odd, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> +but it is simple enough if you visit the High Life tailor +at the corner of the Rue Richelieu, or, farther east, a +similar establishment at the corner of the Rue de Rougemont, +for it then becomes obvious that it is quite part +of the duties of the large Parisian clothier to do his part +in forming public opinion. These cartoons are always +bold and clever, although often too municipal for the +foreigner's apprehension.</p> + +<p>I have said somewhere that one of my favourite streets +in Paris is the Rue Montorgeuil. That is largely, as +I have explained, because it is old and narrow, and the +people swarm in it, and the stalls are so many, and the +houses are high and white and take the sun so bravely, +and it smells of Paris; and also, of course, because the +Compas d'Or is here, bringing the middle ages so nigh. +Another favourite is the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre +(which is now the next on the left eastward) for +its busy happy shops and its moving multitudes. In its +own narrow way it is almost as crowded as the Grands +Boulevards.</p> + +<p>A little way up this street, on the right, is a gateway +leading into a very curious backwater, as noticeably quiet +as the highways are noisy and restless: the Cité Bergère, +the largest of those cités within a cité of which Paris has +several, to be compared in London only with St. Helen's +Place in Bishopsgate or Park Row at Knightsbridge. The +Cité Bergère is practically nothing but hotels—high and +narrow, with dirty white walls and dirty green shutters—very +cheap, and very incurious as to the occupations +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> +of their guests, whether male or female. It has a gate +at each end which is closed at night and penetrated +thereafter only at the goodwill of the concierge, whom +it is well to placate. The Cité Bergère leads into the +Cité Rougemont (hence offering an opportunity to an +innkeeper between the two to hang out the imposing +sign of the Hôtel des Deux Cités), and from the Cité +Rougemont you gain that district of Paris where the +woollen merchants congregate.</p> + +<p>Returning to the Grands Boulevards, the next street +on the left is the Rue Rougemont, and if we take this +we come in a few moments to the Conservatoire, where +so many famous musicians have been taught, and where +Coquelin and Sarah Bernhardt learned the art of elocution. +There is a little museum at the Conservatoire in +which every variety of musical instrument is preserved, +together with a few personal relics, such as a cast of +Paganini's nervous magical hand, with its long sharply +pointed fingers, and the death-mask of Chopin.</p> + +<p>Close to the Conservatoire is the darkest church in +Paris—Saint Eugène, a favourite spot for funeral services. +I chanced once to stay in a room overlooking +this church, until the smell of mortality became too +constant. There was a funeral every day: every morning +the undertakers' men were busy in the preparations +for the ceremony—draping the façade with heavy curtains +of a blackness that seemed to darken the circumambient +air: every afternoon removing it, together with +the other trappings of the ritual—the candlesticks and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> +furniture. It is not without reason that the French +undertaker ambushes beneath the imposing style of +Pompes Funèbres.</p> + +<p>It was, by the way, on the walls of Saint Eugène, +each side of the door, that I first saw any of those +curious affiches, made, I suppose, necessary, or at any rate +prudent, by recent events in France, directing notice to—advertising, +I almost wrote, and indeed why not?—the +advantages of religion. Religion (this is what the +notice came to in essence), religion has its points after all. +When President Fallières' daughter was married, it remarked, +where was the ceremony performed? In a church. +(Ha, Ha!) Who, it asked, is called to visit a man on his +death-bed, no matter how wicked he has been? A priest. +(Touché!) And so forth. Surely a strange document.</p> + +<p>In the same street is an old book-stall whose shelves +are fastened to the wall, giving the appearance of an +open-air library for all—the Carnegie idea at its best. +There used to be one on the side of the Hôtel Chatham +in the Rue Volney (opposite Henry's excellent American +Bar) but it has now gone.</p> + +<p>We may regain the Boulevards by turning down the +long Rue du Faubourg Poissonière, which leads direct, +through the Rue Montorgeuil, to the Halles and the +Pont Neuf—a very good walk. Passing Marguery's +great restaurant on the left, famous for its filet de sole +in a special sauce, which every one should eat once if +only to see the great Marguery on his triumphant progress +through the rooms, bending his white mane over +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> +honoured guests, we come to a strange thing—a massive +archway in the road, parallel with the pavements, which +I think needs a little explanation. It will take us far +from the Grands Boulevards: as far, in fact, as <i>The +Golden Legend</i>; for the arch is the Porte St. Denis, and +St. Denis is the patron saint of Paris.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="pont" id="pont"></a> +<img src="images/i_342.jpg" width="650" height="436" alt="LE PONT DE MANTES" /> +<p class="caption">LE PONT DE MANTES<br /> +<span class="s2">COROT</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre: Moreau Collection)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>St. Denis was not a Frenchman but an Athenian, +who was converted by St. Paul in person, after considerable +discussion. Indeed, discussion was not enough: it +needed a miracle to win him wholly. "And as," wrote +Caxton, "S. Denis disputed yet with S. Paul, there +passed by adventure by that way a blind man tofore them, +and anon Denis said to Paul: If thou say to this blind +man in the name of thy God: See, and then he seeth, +I shall anon believe in him, but thou shalt use no words +of enchantment, for thou mayst haply know some words +that have such might and virtue. And S. Paul said: +I shall write tofore the form of the words, which be +these: In the name of Jesu Christ, born of the virgin, +crucified and dead, which arose again and ascended into +heaven, and from thence shall come for to judge the +world: See. And because that all suspicion be taken +away, Paul said to Denis that he himself should pronounce +the words. And when Denis had said those +words in the same manner to the blind man, anon the +blind man recovered his sight. And then Denis was +baptized and Damaris his wife and all his meiny, and +was a true Christian man and was instructed and taught +by S. Paul three years, and was ordained bishop of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> +Athens, and there was in predication, and converted that +city, and great part of the region, to christian faith."</p> + +<p>Denis was sent to France by Pope Clement, and he +converted many Parisians and built many churches, +until the hostile strategy of the Emperor Domitian prevailed +and he was tortured, the scene of the tragedy +being Montmartre. "The day following," says Caxton, +"Denis was laid upon a gridiron, and stretched all +naked upon the coals of fire, and there he sang to our +Lord saying: Lord thy word is vehemently fiery, and +thy servant is embraced in the love thereof. And after +that he was put among cruel beasts, which were excited +by great hunger and famine by long fasting, and as +soon as they came running upon him he made the sign +of the cross against them, and anon they were made +most meek and tame. And after that he was cast into a +furnace of fire, and the fire anon quenched, and he had +neither pain ne harm. And after that he was put on +the cross, and thereon he was long tormented, and after, +he was taken down and put into a dark prison with his +fellows and many other Christian men.</p> + +<p>"And as he sang there the mass and communed the +people, our Lord appeared to him with great light, and +delivered to him bread, saying: Take this, my dear +friend, for thy reward is most great with me. After +this they were presented to the judge and were put +again to new torments, and then he did do smite off +the heads of the three fellows, that is to say, Denis, +Rusticus, and Eleutherius, in confessing the name of +the holy Trinity. And this was done by the temple of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> +Mercury, and they were beheaded with three axes. And +anon the body of S. Denis raised himself up, and bare +his head between his arms, as the angel led him two +leagues from the place, which is said the hill of the +martyrs, unto the place where he now resteth, by his +election, and by the purveyance of God. And there +was heard so great and sweet a melody of angels that +many of them that heard it believed in our Lord."</p> + +<p>Any one making the pilgrimage from, say, Notre +Dame to the town of St. Denis to-day, can follow the +saint's footsteps, for the Rue St. Denis at the foot of +Montmartre leads out into the Rue du Faubourg St. +Denis, and that street right over Montmartre, Caxton's +hill of the martyrs, to St. Denis itself. I do not pretend +that the legend as it is thus given has not been subjected +to severe criticism; but when one has no certain +knowledge, the best story can be considered the best +evidence, and I like Caxton better than the others, even +though it conflicts a little with the legend of St. +Geneviève. It is she, I might add, who is credited with +having inaugurated the pilgrimage to St. Denis's bones.</p> + +<p>The Rue St. Denis was more than the road to the +saint's remains: it was the great north road out of Paris +to the sea. Just as the old Londoners bound for the +north left by the City Road and passed through the +village of Highgate, so did the French traveller leave +by the Rue St. Denis and pass through the village of +St. Denis. Similarly the Rue St. Martin was the high-road +to Germany. In the old days, when this street +was a highway, the Porte St. Denis had some meaning, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> +for it stood as a gateway between the city and the +country; but to-day, when the course of traffic is east +and west, it stands (like the Porte St. Martin) merely +as an obstruction in the Grand Boulevard—not quite so +foolish as our own revised Marble Arch, but nearly +so. The Porte St. Denis dates from 1673 and celebrates, +as the bas-reliefs indicate, the triumphs of +Louis XIV. in Germany and Holland; the Porte +St. Martin (to which we are just coming) belongs to +the same period and commemorates other successes of +the same monarch.</p> + +<p>The Rue St. Denis is one of the most entertaining +of the old streets of Paris, although adulterated a little +by omnibuses and a sense of commerce. But to have +boundless time before one, and no cares, and no fatigue, +and starting at the Porte St. Denis to loiter along it +prepared to penetrate every inviting court and alluring +by-street—that is a great luxury. The first theatre in +Paris, and indeed in France, was in the Hospital of the +Trinity in the Rue St. Denis. That was early in the +fifteenth century, and it was designed for the performance +of Mystery plays in which the protagonist was, of +course, Jesus Christ. Paris has now many theatres, +with other ideals; but whatever their programmes may +be, they proceed from that early and pious spring.</p> + +<p>We come next to the Boulevard de Strasbourg, running +north to the Gare de l'Est, and the Boulevard +de Sébastopol, running south to the Ile de la Cité; +and then to the second archway, the Porte St. Martin. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> +St. Martin (who was Bishop of Tours) lived in Paris for +a while, and it was here that he performed the miracle +of healing a leper by embracing him—an act commemorated +by Henri I. in the founding of the Priory of +St. Martin, which stood a little way down the Rue +St. Martin on the left, on a site on which the Musée +des Arts et Métiers now stands. But it was at Amiens +that the saint's most beautiful act—the gift of his cloak +to a beggar—was performed, and perhaps I may be +allowed to quote here, from another book of mine, the +translation of a poem by M. Haraucourt, the curator of +the Cluny museum, celebrating that deed:—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span class="i4">CHARITY</span></p> + +<p class="poem">Because so bitter was the rain,<br /> +Saint Martin cut his cloak in twain,<br /> +<span class="i1">And gave the beggar half of it</span><br /> +To cover him and ease his pain.</p> + +<p class="poem">But being now himself ill clad,<br /> +The Saint's own case was no less sad.<br /> +<span class="i1">So piteously cold the night;</span><br /> +Though glad at heart he was, right glad.</p> + +<p class="poem">Thus, singing, on his way he passed,<br /> +While Satan, grim and overcast,<br /> +<span class="i1">Vowing the Saint should rue his deed,</span><br /> +Released the cruel Northern blast.</p> + +<p class="poem">Away it sprang with shriek and roar,<br /> +And buffeted the Saint full sore,<br /> +<span class="i1">Yet never wished he for his cloak;</span><br /> +So Satan bade the deluge pour.</p> + +<p class="poem">Huge hail-stones joined in the attack,<br /> +And dealt Saint Martin many a thwack,<br /> +<span class="i1">"My poor old head!" he smiling said,</span><br /> +Yet never wished his cape were back.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">"He must, he shall," cried Satan, "know<br /> +Regret for such an act," and lo,<br /> +<span class="i1">E'en as he spoke the world was dark</span><br /> +With fog and frost and whirling snow.</p> + +<p class="poem">Saint Martin, struggling toward his goal,<br /> +Mused thoughtfully, "Poor soul! poor soul!<br /> +<span class="i1">What use to him was half a cloak?</span><br /> +I should have given him the whole."</p> + +<p class="poem">The cold grew terrible to bear,<br /> +The birds fell frozen in the air:<br /> +<span class="i1">"Fall thou," said Satan, "on the ice</span><br /> +Fall thou asleep, and perish there."</p> + +<p class="poem">He fell, and slept, despite the storm,<br /> +And dreamed he saw the Christ Child's form<br /> +<span class="i1">Wrapped in the half the beggar took,</span><br /> +And seeing Him, was warm, so warm. +</p> + +<p>The Arts et Métiers is a museum devoted to the +progress of mechanics and the useful crafts: a kind of +industrial exhibition, a modern utilitarian Cluny. It +is a memorial of the world's ingenuity and the ingenuity +of France in particular, and one cannot have a much +better reminder that the frivolity of the Grands Boulevards +is not all. Apropos, however, of the frivolity of +the Grands Boulevards, I may say that the case that +was attracting most interest on the Sunday that I was +here contained a collection of all the best mechanical +toys of the past dozen years, with their dates affixed. +The only article in the vast building which seemed to +serve no useful purpose was a mirror cracked during the +Commune by a bullet, with the bullet still in it. In the +square opposite the Musée is the statue of Béranger, who +for many years made the ballads of the French nation.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="porte" id="porte"></a> +<img src="images/i_350.jpg" width="498" height="650" alt="THE PORTE ST. DENIS" /> +<p class="caption">THE PORTE ST. DENIS<br /> +<span class="s2">(SOUTH FAÇADE)</span></p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> +Returning to the Grands Boulevards once more, we +pass first the Porte St. Martin theatre, where the great +Coquelin played Cyrano, and where he was rehearsing +<i>Chantecler</i> when he died, and then the Ambigu, +home of sensational melodrama, and come very shortly +to the Place de la République, with its great central +monument. The Republic thus celebrated is not merely +the Third and present Republic, but all the efforts in +that direction which the French have made, as the +twelve reliefs round the base will show, for they begin +with the scene in the Jeu de Paume in 1789, and end +with the National Fête on July 14th, 1880. Paris would +still have statues of the République if this were to go, +for there is one by Dalou, the sculptor of these bas-reliefs, +in the Place de la Nation, and another by Soitoux +at the Institut. Dalou (whose work we saw in such +profusion at the Little Palace in the Champs-Elysées) +made a very spirited and characteristic group, with the +Republic standing high on a chariot being drawn by +lions and urged forward by an ouvrier and an ouvrière.</p> + +<p>There is another and hardly less direct walk eastward +to the Place de la République, which, taken slowly and +amusedly, instructs one as fully in the manners of the +busy small Parisian as the Boulevards in those of the +flâneur. This route is by the Rue de Provence, the +Rue Richer, the Rue des Petites-Ecuries and the Rue +Château-d'Eau—practically a straight line, and in the +old days a highway. You see the small Parisian at his +busiest—at her busiest—this way. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xvii" id="chapter_xvii"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +MONTMARTRE</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +Steep Streets—The Musée Moreau—The Sacré-Cœur—Françoise-Marguerite—Paris +and Her Beggars—A Ferocious Cripple—The +Communard Insurrection—The Maison Dufayel—Heinrich +Heine—The Cimetière de Montmartre—The Boulevard de Clichy—Cabarets +Good and Bad—An Aged Statesman is Entertained—Three +Bals—Paris and Late Hours—The Night Cafés—The +Tireless Dancers—A Coat-tail—The Dead Maître d'Hôtel.</p> + +<p>One may gain Montmartre by every street that +runs off the Grands Boulevards on the left, between +the Opéra and the Place de la République; but +when the night falls and the tide begins to turn that +way, it is the Rue Blanche and the Rue Pigalle that do +most of the work. All are very steep. To the wayfarer +climbing the hill in no hurry, I recommend for +its interest the Rue des Martyrs (Balzac once lived at +No. 47), leading out of the Rue Laffitte; or, starting +from the Boulevards at a more easterly point, one may +gain it by the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, which runs +into the Rue des Martyrs at Notre Dame de Lorette +and is full of activity and variety.</p> + +<p>By taking the Rue de la Rochefoucauld one may +spend a few minutes in a little white building there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> +which was once the home and studio of the painter +Gustave Moreau and is now left to the nation as a +permanent memorial of his labours. In industry the +man must have approached Rubens and Rembrandt, +for this, though a large house, is literally filled with +paintings and drawings and studies, which not only +cover the walls but cover screens built into the walls, +and screens within screens, and screens within those. +The menuisier and Moreau together have contrived to +make No. 14 Rue de la Rochefoucauld the most tiring +house in Paris—at least to me, who do not admire +the work of this painter, or at any rate do not want +to see more of it than is in the Luxembourg, where +may be seen several of his pictures, including the most +famous of all, the Salome. Herr Baedeker considers +that Moreau's works have a charm of their own, but +I do not find it. I find a striving after the grandiose +and startling, with only occasional lapses into sincerity +and good colour. It is better than Wiertz, no doubt; +but less entertaining, because less shocking.</p> + +<p>Montmartre's life may for our purpose be divided +into three distinct periods: day, evening, and the small +hours. By day one may roam its streets of living and +of dead and study Paris from its summit; in the evening +its cabarets are in full swing; and then comes midnight +when its supper cafés open, not to close or cease +their melodies until the shops are doing business again.</p> + +<p>Montmartre (so called because it was here that St. +Denis and his associates were put to death) really is a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> +mountain, as any one who has climbed to the Sacré-Cœur +can tell. The last two hundred yards are indeed +nearly as steep as the Brecon Beacons; but the climb is +worth it if only for the view of Paris. (There is, however, +a funicular railway.) As for the cathedral, that +seems to me to be better seen and appreciated from the +distance: from the train as one enters Paris in the late +afternoon, with the level sun lighting its pure walls; +from the heights on the south side of the river; from +the Boulevard des Italiens up the Rue Laffitte; and +from the Buttes-Chaumont, as in Mr. Dexter's exquisite +drawing. For the cathedral itself is not particularly +attractive near at hand, and within it is cold and +dull and still awaiting its glass. It was, however, one +of the happiest thoughts that has come to Rome in +our time to set this fascinating bizarre Oriental building +here. It gave Paris a new note that it will now never +lose.</p> + +<p>Before leaving, one ought perhaps to have a peep at +Françoise-Marguerite, for one is not likely to see her +equal again. Françoise-Marguerite, otherwise known +as La Savoyarde de Montmartre, is the great bell given +to the cathedral by the province of Savoy. She weighs +nineteen tons, is nine feet tall, and her voice has remarkable +timbre.</p> + +<p>Behind the new cathedral lies the old church of St. +Pierre-de-Montmartre, on the side of which, it is said, +once stood a temple of Mars. (Hence, for some lexicographers, +Mont-Mars and Montmartre; but I prefer to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> +think of St. Denis wandering here without his head.) +It was in the crypt of this church, I have somewhere +read, that Ignatius Loyola, with Xavier and Laine, +founded the order of Jesuits.</p> + +<p>I attended early mass at the Sacré-Cœur church on +January 1st, 1908. It was snowing lightly and very +cold, and as I came away, at about eight, and descended +the hill towards Paris, I was struck by the spectacle +of the lame and blind and miserable men and women +who were appearing mysteriously from nowhere to descend +the hill too, groping and hobbling down the +slippery steepnesses. Such folk are an uncommon sight +in Paris, where every one seems to be, if not robust, at +any rate active and capable, and where, although it +eminently belongs to the poor as much as to the rich, +extreme poverty is rarely seen. In London, where the +poor convey no possessive impression, but, except in +their own quarters, suggest that they are here on +sufferance, one sees much distress. In Paris none, +except on this day, the first of the year—and on one +or two others, such as July 14th—when beggars are +allowed to ask alms in the streets. For the rest of the +year they must hide their misery and their want, although +I still tremble a little as I remember the importunities +of the Montmartre cripple of ferocious aspect +and no legs at all, fixed into a packing-case on wheels, +who, having demanded alms in vain, hurls himself night +after night along the pavement after the hard-hearted, +urging his torso's chariot by powerful strokes of his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> +huge hands on the pavement, as though he rowed +against Leander, with such menacing fury that I for one +have literally taken to my heels. He is the only beggar +I recollect meeting except on the permitted days, and +then Paris swarms with them.</p> + +<p>Standing on the dome of the cathedral one has the +city at one's feet, not as wonderfully as on the Eiffel +Tower, but nearly so. From the Buttes-Chaumont we +see Montmartre: here we see the Buttes-Chaumont, +which, before it was a park, shared with Montmartre +the gypsum quarries from which plaster of Paris is +made. Beyond the Buttes-Chaumont is Père Lachaise, +a hill strangely mottled by its grave-stones, while immediately +below us is the Cimetière du Nord, which we +are about to visit for the sake of certain very interesting +tombs.</p> + +<p>One realises quickly the strategical value of this mountain. +Paris has indeed been bombarded from it twice—by +Henri IV., and again, only thirty-eight years ago. +It was indeed on Montmartre that the Communard insurrection +began, for it was the cannon on these heights +that the rebel soldiers at once made for after the assassination +of their officers. They held them for a while, +but were then overpowered and forced to take up their +quarters in the Buttes-Chaumont and Père Lachaise, +which were shelled by the National Guard from Montmartre +until the brief but terrible mutiny was over.</p> + +<p>The great dome, close by us on the left, which might +be another Panthéon, crowns the Maison Dufayel. Who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> +is Dufayel? you ask. Well, who is Wanamaker, who +was Whiteley? M. Dufayel is the head of the gigantic +business in the Boulevard Barbès, a northern continuation +of the Boulevard de Magenta. His advertisements +are on every hoarding. I think the Maison Dufayel is +well worth a visit, especially as there is no need to buy +anything: you may instead sip an apéritif, listen to the +band or watch the cinematoscope. One also need have +none of that fear of what would happen were there to +be a sudden panic which always keeps me nervous if ever +I am lured into the Magasins du Louvre or the Galeries +Lafayette; for at Dufayel's there is space, whereas at +those vast shopping centres there is a congestion that, +in a time of stress would lead to perfectly awful results. +The Maison Dufayel is not so varied a repository as +Wanamaker's or Whiteley's: but in its way it is hardly +less remarkable. Its principal line is furniture, and I +never saw so many beds in my life. It was M. Dufayel +who brought to perfection the deposit system of payment, +and his agents continually range the otherwise +pleasant land of France, collecting instalments.</p> + +<p>Since I had wandered into this monstrous establishment, +which may not be as large as Harrod's Stores but +feels infinitely vaster, I determined to buy something, +and decided at last upon a French picture-book for an +English child. Buying it was a simple operation, but +I then made the mistake of asking that it might be +sent to England direct. One should never do that in a +bureaucratic country. The lady led me for what seemed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> +several miles through various departments until we came +late in the day to rows and rows of Frenchmen and +Frenchwomen each in a little glass box. These boxes +were numbered and ran to hundreds. We stopped at last +before, say, 157, where my guide left me. The Frenchman +in the box denied at once that the book could go +by post. It was too large. It must go by rail. For +myself, I did not then care how it went or if it went at +all: I was tired out. But feeling that such an act as to +abandon the parcel and run would be misconstrued +and resented in a home of such perfect mechanical order, +I waited until he had written for a quarter of an hour in +a fine flowing hand with a pen sharper than a serpent's +tooth, and then I paid the required number of francs and +set out on the desperate errand of finding the street +again. The book was a week on its journey. Go to +Dufayel's, I say, most certainly, for it is quite amusing; +but go when you are young and strong.</p> + +<p>To me the most interesting thing on Montmartre is +the grave of Heinrich Heine in the Cimetière du Nord, +a strange irregular city of dead Parisians all tidily laid +away in their homes in its many streets, over which a +busy rumbling thoroughfare has been carried on a viaduct. +I had Heine's <i>Salon</i> with me when I was last in Paris, +and I sought his grave again one afternoon with an increased +sense of intimacy. A medallion portrait of the +mournful face is cut in the marble, and on the grave +itself are wistful echoes of the <i>Buch der Lieder</i>. A little +tin receptacle is fixed to the stone, and I looked at the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> +cards which in the pretty German way visitors had left +upon the poet and his wife; for Frau Heine lies too +here. All were German and all rain-soaked (or was it +tears?)</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="provende" id="provende"></a> +<img src="images/i_360.jpg" width="650" height="454" alt="LA PROVENDE DES POULES" /> +<p class="caption">LA PROVENDE DES POULES<br /> +<span class="s2">TROYON</span><br /> +<span class="s2"><i>(Louvre: Thomy-Thierret Collection)</i></span></p></div> + +<p>Matthew Arnold in his poem called Heine's grave +black: the present one is white. How do the lines +run?</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"<i>Henri Heine</i>"——'tis here!<br /> +That black tombstone, the name<br /> +Carved there—no more! and the smooth,<br /> +Swarded alleys, the limes<br /> +Touch'd with yellow by hot<br /> +Summer, but under them still,<br /> +In September's bright afternoon,<br /> +Shadow, and verdure, and cool.<br /> +Trim Montmartre! the faint<br /> +Murmur of Paris outside;<br /> +Crisp everlasting-flowers,<br /> +Yellow and black, on the graves.</p> + +<p class="poem">Half blind, palsied, in pain,<br /> +Hither to come, from the streets'<br /> +Uproar, surely not loath<br /> +Wast thou, Heine!—to lie<br /> +Quiet, to ask for closed<br /> +Shutters, and darken'd room,<br /> +And cool drinks, and an eased<br /> +Posture, and opium, no more;<br /> +Hither to come, and to sleep<br /> +Under the wings of Renown.</p> + +<p class="poem">Ah! not little, when pain<br /> +Is most quelling, and man<br /> +Easily quell'd, and the fine<br /> +Temper of genius so soon<br /> +Thrills at each smart, is the praise,<br /> +Not to have yielded to pain<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> +No small boast, for a weak<br /> +Son of mankind, to the earth<br /> +Pinn'd by the thunder, to rear<br /> +His bolt-scathed front to the stars;<br /> +And, undaunted, retort<br /> +'Gainst thick-crashing, insane,<br /> +Tyrannous tempests of bale,<br /> +Arrowy lightnings of soul</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p class="poem">Ah! as of old, from the pomp<br /> +Of Italian Milan, the fair<br /> +Flower of marble of white<br /> +Southern palaces—steps<br /> +Border'd by statues, and walks<br /> +Terraced, and orange-bowers<br /> +Heavy with fragrance—the blond<br /> +German Kaiser full oft<br /> +Long'd himself back to the fields,<br /> +Rivers, and high-roof'd towns<br /> +Of his native Germany; so,<br /> +So, how often! from hot<br /> +Paris drawing-rooms, and lamps<br /> +Blazing, and brilliant crowds,<br /> +Starr'd and jewell'd, of men<br /> +Famous, of women the queens<br /> +Of dazzling converse—from fumes<br /> +Of praise, hot, heady fumes, to the poor brain<br /> +That mount, that madden—how oft<br /> +Heine's spirit outworn<br /> +Long'd itself out of the din,<br /> +Back to the tranquil, the cool<br /> +Far German home of his youth</p> + +<p class="poem">See! in the May-afternoon,<br /> +O'er the fresh, short turf of the Hartz,<br /> +A youth, with the foot of youth,<br /> +Heine! thou climbest again.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span></p> + +<p class="poem">But something prompts me: Not thus<br /> +Take leave of Heine! not thus<br /> +Speak the last word at his grave!<br /> +Not in pity, and not<br /> +With half censure—with awe<br /> +Hail, as it passes from earth<br /> +Scattering lightnings, that soul!</p> + +<p class="poem">The Spirit of the world,<br /> +Beholding the absurdity of men—<br /> +Their vaunts, their feats—let a sardonic smile,<br /> +For one short moment wander o'er his lips.<br /> +<i>That smile was Heine!</i>—for its earthly hour<br /> +The strange guest sparkled; now 'tis passed away.</p> + +<p class="poem">That was Heine! and we,<br /> +Myriads who live, who have lived,<br /> +What are we all, but a mood,<br /> +A single mood, of the life<br /> +Of the Spirit in whom we exist,<br /> +Who alone is all things in one?<br /> +Spirit, who fillest us all!<br /> +Spirit, who utterest in each<br /> +New-coming son of mankind<br /> +Such of thy thoughts as thou wilt!<br /> +O thou, one of whose moods,<br /> +Bitter and strange, was the life<br /> +Of Heine—his strange, alas,<br /> +His bitter life!—may a life<br /> +Other and milder be mine!<br /> +May'st thou a mood more serene,<br /> +Happier, have utter'd in mine!<br /> +May'st thou the rapture of peace<br /> +Deep have embreathed at its core;<br /> +Made it a ray of thy thought,<br /> +Made it a beat of thy joy!<br /></p> + +<p>Heine has many illustrious companions. If you would +stand by the grave of Berlioz and Ambroise Thomas, of +Offenbach, who set all Europe humming, of Delibes the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> +composer of Genée's "Coppélia," of the brothers Goncourt, +of Renan, who wrote the <i>Life of Christ</i>, or of +Henri Murger, who discovered Bohemia, of De Neuville, +painter of battles, of Halévy and Meilhac the playwrights, +or of Théophile Gautier the poet, you must seek +the Cimetière du Nord.</p> + +<p>Montmartre in the evening centres in the Boulevard de +Clichy—a high-spirited thoroughfare. Many foreigners +visit it only then, and the Boulevard spreads its wares +accordingly, and very tawdry some of them are. Here, +for example, is a garish façade labelled "Ciel," in which +a number of grubby blackguards dressed as saints and +angels first bring refreshments at a franc a glass, and +then offer the visitor a "prêche humoristique" followed +by variations of Pepper's ghost in what are called "scènes +paradisiaques," the whole performance being cold, tawdry +and very stupid. Next door is "Enfer," where similar +delights are offered, save that here the suggestion is not +of heaven but hell. Instead therefore of grubby blackguards +as saints we have grubby blackguards as devils. +On the opposite side of the road is the Cabaret du +Néant, where you are received with a mass for the dead +sung by the staff, and sit at tables made of coffins.</p> + +<p>It is hardly necessary to say that very few Parisians +enter these places. The singing cabarets, however, are +different: they are genuine, and one needs to be not +only a Parisian but a very well-informed Parisian to +appreciate them, for the songs are palpitatingly topical +and political. The Quatz'-Arts, the Lune-Rousse and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> +the Chat-Noir (once so famous, but now lacking in the +genius either of Salis, its founder, or of Caran d'Ache, +Steinlen or Willette, who helped to make it renowned) +are all in the Boulevard de Clichy. So also is Aristide +Bruant's cabaret, where an organised shout of welcome +awaits every visitor, and Aristide—in costume a cross +between a poet and a cowboy—sings his realistic ballads +of Parisian street life. Here also is the Moulin-Rouge, +which in the old days of the elephant was in its spurious +way amusing, but is now rebuilt and redecorated out of +knowledge, and for all the words you hear might be on +Broadway.</p> + +<p>Here also, at the extreme western end of the Boulevard, +is the Hippodrome, now a hippodrome only in name and +given up to the popular cinematoscope. I regret the +loss of the real Paris Hippodrome. Paris still has her +permanent circuses, but the Hippodrome is gone. It was +there that, one night, in 1889, I chanced to sit very near +the royal box, into which, with much bowing and scraping +of managers, a white-haired old gentleman with the +features of a lion and an eagle harmoniously blended +was ushered. He was only seventy-nine, this old gentleman, +and he was in the thick of such duties as fall to +the Leader of the Opposition and promoter of Home +Rule for Ireland; but he followed every step of the +performance like a schoolboy, and now and then he sent +for an official to have something explained to him, such +as, on one occasion, the workings of the artificial +snow-storm which overwhelmed Skobeleff's army. That +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> +ill-fated Russian general was the hero of the spectacle, +a remarkable one in its way; but to me the restless +animation and whole-hearted enjoyment of Mr. Gladstone +was the finer entertainment.</p> + +<p>Montmartre has also three dancing halls, two of which +are genuine and one a show-place. The genuine halls +are the Moulin-de-la-Galette, high on the hill on the +steepest part of it above the Moulin-Rouge, and the +Elysée in the Boulevard de Rochechouart, which are +open only two or three times a week and which are +thronged by the shop-assistants and young people of +the neighbourhood. The spurious hall is the Bal Tabarin, +which is open every evening and is a spectacle. +It is, however, by no means unamusing, and I have spent +many pleasant idle hours there. Willette's famous fresco +of the apotheosis of the Parisian leg decorates a wall-space +over the bar with peculiar fitness. At all the +bals the men who dance retain their hats and often +their overcoats, and for the most part leave their partners +with amazing abruptness at the last step. Some of the +measures are conspicuous for a lack of restraint that +would decimate an English ballroom; but one must not +take such displays "at the foot of the letter": they do +not mean among these Latin romps and frolics what +they would mean with us, whose emotions are less facile +and sense of fun less physical.</p> + +<p>And so we come to midnight, when Montmartre +enters its third, and, to a Londoner exasperated by the +grandmotherly legislation of his own city, its most +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> +entertaining phase. The idea that Paris is a late city +is an illusion. Paris is not a late city: it is a city with +a few late streets. Paris as a whole goes to bed as early +as London, if not earlier, as a walk in the residential +quarters will prove. Montmartre is late, and the Boulevards +des Capucines and des Italiens are late, although +less so; and that is about all. When it is remembered +that Paris rises and opens its shops some hours earlier +than London, and that the Parisians value their health, +it will be recognised that Paris could not be a late city. +One must remember also that the number of all-night +cafés is very small, so small that by frequenting them +with any diligence one may soon come to know by sight +most of the late fringe of this city, both amateurs and +professionals. One is indeed quickly struck by their +numerical weakness.</p> + +<p>There is a fashion in night cafés as in hats; change +is made as suddenly and as inexplicably. One month +every one is crowding into, let us say, the Chat Vivant, +and the next the Chat Vivant kindles its lamps and +tweaks its mandolins in vain: all the world passes its +doors on the way to the Nid de Nuit. What is the +reason? No one knows exactly; but we must probably +once again seek the woman. A new dancer (or shall I say +attachée?) has appeared, or an old dancer or attachée +transferred her allegiance. And so for a while the Nid +has not a free table after one o'clock, and on a special +night—such as Mi-Carême, or Réveillon, or New Year's +Eve—it is the head-waiter and the door-keeper of the Nid +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> +into whose hands are pressed the gold coins and bank +notes to influence them to admit the bloods and their +parties and find them a table. A year ago the douceur +(often fruitless) would have gone to the officials of the +Chat Vivant.</p> + +<p>They remain, when all has been said against them, +simple and well-mannered places, these half-dozen famous +cafés on which the sun always rises. To think so one +must perhaps graduate on the Boulevards, but once +they are accepted they can become an agreeable habit. +Sleepiness is as unknown there as the writings of Thomas +à Kempis. Not only the dancers de la maison but the +visitors too are tireless. There may be ways of getting +ennui into a Parisian girl, but certainly it is not by +dancing. Nor does the band tire either, one excellent +rule at all of them being that there should be no pause +whatever between the tunes, from the hour of opening +until day.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="windmill" id="windmill"></a> +<img src="images/i_370.jpg" width="650" height="457" alt="THE WINDMILL" /> +<p class="caption">THE WINDMILL<br /> +<span class="s2">R. P. BONINGTON</span><br /> + +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>There lies before me as I write an amusing memorial +of the innocent high spirits that can prevail on such a +special all-night sitting as Réveillon: one of the tails +of a dress coat, lined with white satin on which a skilful +hand has traced with a fountain pen (my own) two very +intimate scenes of French life. These drawings were +made between five and six in the morning in the intervals +of the dance, the artist, lacking paper, having without +a word taken a table knife and shorn off his coat-tails for +the purpose. His coat, I may say, was already being +worn inside out, with one of the leather buckles of his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> +braces as a button-hole. A tall burly man, with a long +red Boulevard beard, he had thrown out signs of friendliness +to me at once, and we became as brothers. He +drew my portrait on the table-cloth; I affected to draw +his. He showed me where I was wrong and drew it +right. He then left me, in order to walk for a while on +an imaginary tight-rope across the floor, and having +safely made the journey and turned again, with infinite +skill in his recoveries from falling and the most dexterous +managing of a balancing-pole that did not exist, he +leaped lightly to earth again, kissed his hand to the +company, and again sat by me and resumed his work; +finally, after other diversions, completing the chef d'œuvre +that is now lying on my desk and lending abandon to +what is otherwise a stronghold of British decorum. We +parted at seven. I have never seen him since, but I find +his name often in the French comic papers illustrating +yet other phases of their favourite pleasantry for the +entertainment of this simple and tireless people.</p> + +<p>Another incident I recall that is equally characteristic +of Montmartre. "Ça ne fait rien," said a head-waiter +when we had expressed regret on hearing of the death +of the maître d'hotel, for whom (an old acquaintance) +we had been asking. "Ça ne fait rien: it is necessary +to order supper just the same." True. True indeed +everywhere, but particularly true on Montmartre. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xviii" id="chapter_xviii"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> +THE ELYSÉE TO THE HÔTEL DE VILLE</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +The Most Interesting Streets—Pet Aversions—The Rue de la Paix—The +Vendôme Column—A Populous Church—The Whiff of +Grapeshot—Alfred de Musset—The Molière Quarter—A Green +and White Oasis—Camille Desmoulins at the Café de Foy—Charles +Lamb in Paris—The Cloître de St. Honoré—The Massacre +of St. Bartholomew—St. Germain of Auxerre—A Satisfied +Corpse—Catherine de Médicis' Observatory—St. Eustache—A +Wonderful Organ-The Halles—French Economy and English +Want of It—The Goat-herd—The Assassination of Henri IV.—The +Tour St. Jacques-Pascal, Theologian and Inventor of +Omnibuses—A Sinister Spot—The Paris Town-hall—A Riot of +Frescoes—Etienne Marcel—The Hôtel de Ville and Politesse—An +Ancient Palace—Old Streets—Madame de Beauvais' Mansion—A +Quiet Courtyard—The Church of St. Paul and St. Louis—Rabelais' +Grave.</p> + +<p>The Elysée, the official home of the French president—Paris's +White House and Buckingham +Palace—is situated in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, +which is one of the most entertaining streets +in the whole city in which to loiter; that is, if you like, +as I do, the windows of curiosity dealers and jewellers +and print shops. Not that bargains are to be obtained +here: far from it: it is not like the Rue des Saints Pères +or the Rue Mazarine across the river; but merely as a +series of windows it is fascinating. I like it as much as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> +I dislike the Rue Lafayette, which has always been my +aversion, not only because it is interminable and commercial +and noisy, but because it leads back to England +and work; yet since, however, when one arrives in Paris +it leads from England and work, I must be a little +lenient, and there is also a café in it where the diamond +merchants compare gems quite openly.</p> + +<p>Remembering these extenuating circumstances I unhesitatingly +award the palm for undesirability in a Paris +street to the Rue du Quatre-Septembre and the Rue +Réaumur, which are sheer Shaftesbury Avenue, and, as +in Shaftesbury Avenue, cause one to regret the older +streets and houses whose place they have usurped. The +Rue de Rivoli I dislike too: that strange mixture of very +good hotels (the Meurice, for instance, is here) and +rubbishy shops full of tawdry jewellery to catch the +excursionist. How it happened that such a site should +have been allowed to fall into such hands is a mystery. +An additional objection to the Rue de Rivoli is that +the one English acquaintance whom one least wishes to +meet is always there.</p> + +<p>The Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré becomes the +Rue Saint-Honoré at the Rue Royale. The Rue Saint-Honoré +is also a good street for shop windows, but not +the equal of its more aristocratic half; just as that is +surpassed here by the Rue de la Paix, to which we now +come on the left, and which contains more things that +I can do without, made to perfection, than any street +I ever saw. At its foot is the Place Vendôme, with the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> +beautiful column in the midst on which Napoleon's +campaign of 1805 is illustrated in a bronze spiral that +constitutes at once, I suppose, the most durable and +the longest picture in the world. The bronze came very +properly from the melted Russian and Austrian cannons. +Napoleon stands at the top, imperially splendid; but +as we saw in the chapter on the "Ile de la Cité," it was +not always so: for his first statue was removed by Louis +XVIII. to be used for the new Henri IV. In its stead +a fleur-de-lys surmounted the column. Then came +Louis-Philippe, who erected a new statue of the Emperor, +not, however, imperially clad; and then Napoleon +III., who substituted the present figure. But in 1870 +the Communards succeeded in bringing the column down, +and it has only been vertical again since 1875. Thus +it is to be a Paris monument!</p> + +<p>Returning to the Rue Saint-Honoré, in which, by the +way, are several old and interesting houses, such as +No. 271, the Cabaret du Saint-Esprit, a great resort in +the Reign of Terror of spectators wishing to see the +tumbrils pass, and No. 398, where Robespierre lodged, +we come to St. Roch's church, on the left, interesting +both in itself and in history. It has been called the +noisiest church in Paris, and certainly it is difficult to +find a time when feet are silent there. The attraction is +St. Roch's wealth of shrines, of a rather theatrical character, +such as the wise poor love: an entombment, a +calvary and a nativity, all very effective if not beautiful. +Beauty does not matter, for on Good Friday the entombment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> +holds thousands silent before it. The church, +which is in the baroque style that it is so easy to +dislike, is too florid throughout. Among the many +monuments are memorials of Corneille and Diderot, +both of whom are buried here. The music of St. Roch +is, I am told, second only to that of the Madeleine.</p> + +<p>So much for St. Roch within. Historically it +chances to be of immense importance, for it was here, +and in the streets around and about the church, that +the whiff of grapeshot blew which dispersed the French +Revolution into the air. That was on October 5th, 1795, +and it was not only the death of the Revolution but it +was the birth of the conquering Buonaparte. Carlyle +is superb: "Some call for Barras to be made Commandant; +he conquered in Thermidor. Some, what is more +to the purpose, bethink them of the Citizen Buonaparte, +unemployed Artillery-Officer, who took Toulon. A +man of head, a man of action: Barras is named Commandant's-Cloak; +this young Artillery-Officer is named +Commandant. He was in the Gallery at the moment, +and heard it; he withdrew, some half-hour, to consider +with himself: after a half-hour of grim compressed considering, +to be or not to be, he answers <i>Yea</i>.</p> + +<p>"And now, a man of head being at the centre of it, +the whole matter gets vital. Swift, to Camp of Sablons; +to secure the Artillery, there are not twenty men +guarding it! A swift Adjutant, Murat is the name of +him, gallops; gets thither some minutes within time, +for Lepelletier was also on march that way: the Cannon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> +are ours. And now beset this post, and beset that; +rapid and firm: at Wicket of the Louvre, in Cul-de-sac +Dauphin, in Rue Saint-Honoré, from Pont-Neuf all +along the north Quays, southward to Pont <i>ci-devant</i> +Royal,—rank round the Sanctuary of the Tuileries, a +ring of steel discipline; let every gunner have his match +burning, and all men stand to their arms!</p> + +<p>"Lepelletier has seized the Church of Saint-Roch; has +seized the Pont-Neuf, our piquet there retreating without +fire. Stray shots fall from Lepelletier; rattle down +on the very Tuileries Staircase. On the other hand, +women advance dishevelled, shrieking, Peace; Lepelletier +behind them waving his hat in sign that we shall +fraternise. Steady! The Artillery-Officer is steady as +bronze; can, if need were, be quick as lightning. He +sends eight-hundred muskets with ball-cartridges to the +Convention itself; honourable Members shall act with +these in case of extremity: whereat they look grave +enough. Four of the afternoon is struck. Lepelletier, +making nothing by messengers, by fraternity or hat-waving, +bursts out, along the Southern Quai Voltaire, +along streets and passages, treble-quick, in huge veritable +onslaught! Whereupon, thou bronze Artillery-Officer—? +'Fire!' say the bronze lips. And roar and +thunder, roar and again roar, continual, volcano-like, +goes his great gun, in the Cul-de-sac Dauphin against +the Church of Saint-Roch; go his great guns on the +Pont-Royal; go all his great guns;—blow to air some +two-hundred men, mainly about the Church of Saint-Roch! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> +Lepelletier cannot stand such horse-play; no +Sectioner can stand it; the Forty-thousand yield on all +sides, scour towards covert. 'Some hundred or so of +them gathered about the Théâtre de la République; +but,' says he, 'a few shells dislodged them. It was all +finished at six.'</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="sacre" id="sacre"></a> +<img src="images/i_378.jpg" width="650" height="450" alt="THE SACRÉ-CŒUR" /> +<p class="caption">THE SACRÉ-CŒUR DE MONTMARTRE, FROM THE BUTTES-CHAUMONT</p> +</div> + +<p>"The Ship is <i>over</i> the bar, then; free she bounds +shoreward,—amid shouting and vivats! Citoyen Buonaparte +is 'named General of the Interior, by acclamation'; +quelled Sections have to disarm in such humour as they +may; sacred right of Insurrection is gone forever! +The Sieyes Constitution can disembark itself, and begin +marching. The miraculous Convention Ship has got +to land;—and is there, shall we figuratively say, changed, +as Epic Ships are wont, into a kind of <i>Sea Nymph</i>, +never to sail more; to roam the waste Azure, a Miracle +in History!</p> + +<p>"'It is false,' says Napoleon, 'that we fired first with +blank charge; it had been a waste of life to do that.' +Most false: the firing was with sharp and sharpest +shot: to all men it was plain that here was no sport; +the rabbets and plinths of Saint-Roch Church show +splintered by it to this hour.—Singular: in old Broglie's +time, six years ago, this Whiff of Grapeshot was promised; +but it could not be given then; could not have +profited then. Now, however, the time is come for it, +and the man; and behold, you have it; and the thing +we specifically call <i>French Revolution</i> is blown into +space by it, and become a thing that was!—" +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span></p> + +<p>Crossing the Place du Théâtre-Français we come to +that historic home of the best French drama, where +Molière is still played frequently, and one has some respite +from the theme of facile promiscuity which dominates +most of the other theatres of Paris. A new statue +of Alfred de Musset has lately been set up under the +Comédie Française. I copy from a writer very unlike +him a passage of criticism to remember as one stands +by this monument: "Give a look, if you can, at a +Memoir of Alfred de Musset written by his Brother. +Making allowance for French morals, and Absinthe +(which latter is not mentioned in the Book), Alfred +appears to me a fine Fellow, very un-French in some +respects. He did not at all relish the new Romantic +School, beginning with V. Hugo, and now alive in —— and +Co.—(what I call the Gargoyle School of Art, +whether in Poetry, Painting, or Music)—he detested +the modern 'feuilleton' Novel, and read Clarissa!... +Many years before A. de M. died he had a bad, long, +illness, and was attended by a Sister of Charity. When +she left she gave him a Pen with 'Pensez à vos promesses' +worked about in coloured silks: as also a little +worsted 'Amphore' she had knitted at his bedside. +When he came to die, some seventeen years after, he +had these two little things put with him in his Coffin." +That, by Edward FitzGerald, no natural friend to the +de Mussets of the world, is very pretty.</p> + +<p>The Rue de Richelieu runs up beside the Comédie +Française. We have already been in this street to see +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> +the Bibliothèque Nationale, entering it from the Boulevard, +but let us now walk up it, first to see the Molière +monument, so appropriate just here, and also to glance +at No. 50, a house still unchanged, where once lived an insignificant +couple named Poisson, whose daughter Jeanne +Antoinette Poisson lived to become famous as Madame +La Pompadour. In souvenirs of Molière Paris is still +rich. We are coming soon to No. 92 Rue Saint-Honoré, +where he was born; we are coming to the church of St. +Eustache, where he was christened on January 15th, 1622, +and where his second son was christened too. We are +coming also to the church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, +where he was married and where his first son was baptised. +In St. Roch he once stood as a godfather; and close to +us now, at the corner of the Rue Saint-Honoré and the +Rue Valois, was one of his theatres. And he died close +to his monument, at No. 40 Rue de Richelieu. This +then is the Molière quarter.</p> + +<p>We now enter the Palais Royal, that strange white +and green oasis into which it is so simple never to stray. +When I first knew Paris the Palais Royal was filled with +cheap restaurants and shops to allure the excursionist +and the connoisseur of those books which an inspired +catalogue once described as very curious and disgusting. +It is now practically deserted; the restaurants have +gone and few shops remain; but in the summer the +band plays to happy crowds, and children frolic here all +day. I have, however, never succeeded in shaking off +a feeling of depression. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span></p> + +<p>The original palace was built by Richelieu and was +then the Palais Cardinal. After his death it became +the Palais Royal and was enlarged, and was the scene +of notorious orgies. Camille Desmoulins made it more +serious, for it was here that he enflamed the people by +his words on July 12th, 1789, and started them on their +destroying career. That was in the Café de Foy. Carlyle +thus describes the scene: "But see Camille Desmoulins, +from the Café de Foy, rushing out, sibylline in face; his +hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a +table: the Police satellites are eyeing him; alive they +shall not take him, not they alive him alive. This time +he speaks without stammering:—Friends! shall we die +like hunted hares? Like sheep hounded into their pinfold; +bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a +whetted knife? The hour is come; the supreme hour of +Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to try conclusions +with Oppressed; and the word is, swift Death, +or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be <i>well</i>-come! Us, +meseems, one cry only befits: To Arms! Let universal +Paris, universal France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, +sound only: To arms—To arms! yell responsive +the innumerable voices; like one great voice, as of a +Demon yelling from the air: for all faces wax fire-eyed, all +hearts burn up into madness. In such, or fitter words, +does Camille evoke the Elemental Powers, in this great +moment.—Friends, continues Camille, some rallying +sign! Cockades; green ones;—the colour of Hope!—As +with the flight of locusts, these green tree-leaves; green +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> +ribands from the neighbouring shops; all green things +are snatched, and made cockades of. Camille descends +from his table, 'stifled with embraces, wetted with tears'; +has a bit of green riband handed him; sticks it in his +hat. And now to Curtius' Image-shop there; to the +Boulevards; to the four winds; and rest not till France +be on fire!"</p> + +<p>Desmoulins in bronze now stands in the garden, near +this spot. It is an interesting statue by Boverie, who +showed great courage in his use of a common chair, +dignified here into a worthy adjunct of liberation.</p> + +<p>Under Napoleon the Tribunate sat in the Palais Royal, +and after Napoleon the Orleans family made it their +home. The Communards, always thorough, burned a +good deal of it in 1871, and it is now a desert and the +seat of the Conseil d'Etat. Let us leave it by the gateway +leading to the Rue de Valois and be happier again.</p> + +<p>The Rue de Valois is an interesting and picturesque +street, but its greatest attraction to me is its association +with Charles Lamb. His hotel—the Europe, just opposite +the gateway—has recently been rebuilt and is now +called the Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal et de l'Europe, +and the polished staircase on which his infinitesimal legs +slipped about so comically on his late and not too steady +returnings (and how could he be steady when Providence +ordained that the waiter of whom in his best stammering +French he ordered an egg, on his first visit to a restaurant, +should have so misunderstood the order as to bring +in its place a glass of eau de vie—an error, we are told, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> +which gave Lamb much pleasure?) the polished staircase +has now gone; but the hotel stands exactly where it +did, and every thing else is the same—the Bœuf à la Mode +is still close by and still one of the best restaurants in +Paris, and the Place de Valois is untouched, with its +most attractive archway leading to the Rue des Bons-Enfants +and giving on to the vista of the Rue Montesquieu, +with its hundred signs hanging out exactly as in +1823.</p> + +<p>We now return to the Rue Saint-Honoré. The three +old houses, 180, 182 and 184, opposite the Magasins +du Louvre, belonged before the Revolution to the Canons +of Saint-Honoré. The courtyard here—the Cloître du +Saint-Honoré—is one of the most characteristic examples +of dirty Paris that remain, but very picturesque too. To +peep in here is almost certainly to be rewarded by +some Hogarthian touch, and to walk up the Rue des +Bons-Enfants yields similar experiences and some very +pleasant glimpses of old Paris.</p> + +<p>Still going east we turn down past the Oratoire on +the right, with Coligny's monument on its south side, +into the Rue de Rivoli, and across the Rue du Louvre +obliquely to the old church we see there, opposite the +east end of the Louvre and Napoleon's iron gates. +This church is that of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, not to +be confounded with the St. Germain of St. Germain des +Prés across the river. St. Germain l'Auxerrois is historically +one of the most interesting of the Paris churches, +for it was St. Germain's bell that gave the signal for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> +the massacre of St. Bartholomew in 1572. Charles IX. +is said to have fired at the Huguenots (doubtless with +Catherine de Médicis at his shoulder, anxious for the +success of his aim) from one of the windows in the +Louvre overlooking this space.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="amateur" id="amateur"></a> +<img src="images/i_386.jpg" width="500" height="650" alt="L'AMATEUR D'ESTAMPES" /> +<p class="caption">L'AMATEUR D'ESTAMPES<br /> +<span class="s2">DAUMIER</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Palais des Beaux Arts</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>St. Germain of Auxerre began as a layman—the ruler +of Burgundy. Divine revelation, however, indicated +that the Church was his true calling, and he therefore +succeeded Saint Amadour as Bishop, "gave," in Caxton's +words, "all his riches to poor people, and changed his +wife into his sister". He took to the new life very +thoroughly. He fasted every day till evening and then +ate coarse bread and drank water and used no pottage +and no salt. "In winter ne summer he had but one +clothing, and that was the hair next his body, a coat +and a gown, and if it happed so that he gave not his +vesture to some poor body, he would wear it till it were +broken and torn. His bed was environed with ashes, +hair, and sackcloth, and his head lay no higher than his +shoulders, but all day wept, and bare about his neck +divers relics of saints. He ware none other clothing, +and he went oft barefoot and seldom ware any girdle. +The life that he led was above man's power. His life +was so straight and hard that it was marvel and pity +to see his flesh, and was like a thing not credible, and +he did so many miracles that, if his merits had not gone +before, they should have been trowed phantasms."</p> + +<p>St. Germain's miracles were more interesting than +those of, say, his convert Sainte Geneviève. He conjured +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> +devils; he forbade fire to burn him; having fed his +companions on the only calf of a friendly cow-herd, he +put the bones and the skins together and life returned +to it; he also raised one of his own disciples from the +dead and conversed with him through the walls of his +tomb, but on the disciple saying that in his late condition +"he was well and all things were to him soft and +sweet," he permitted him to remain dead. He also +found his miraculous gifts very useful in the war; but +his principal interest to us is that he is supposed to +have visited England and organised the Establishment +here. St. Germain's church has a little old glass that +is charming and much bad new. The south transept +window, although sheer kaleidoscope, is gay and attractive.</p> + +<p>At the back of the church runs the narrow and medieval +Rue de l'Arbre-Sec, extending to the Rue Saint-Honoré. +At No. 4 is, or was, the Hôtel des Mousquetaires, +where, when it was the Belle Etoile, d'Artagnan +drank and swaggered. Let us take this street and come +to St. Eustache by way of another and less terrible +souvenir of Catherine de Médicis. The Rue de l'Arbre-Sec +leads to the Rue Sauval and to the circular Rue de +Viarmes surrounding the Bourse de Commerce. Here +we see a remarkable Doric column, all that remains of +the palace which Catherine built in order to avoid the +fate predicted for her by a soothsayer—that she would +perish in the ruins of a house near St. Germain's. The +Tuileries, which she was then building, being far too near +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> +St. Germain's to be comfortable after such a remark, she +erected the Hôtel de la Reine, the tower being designed +for astrological study in the company of her Italian +familiar, Ruggieri. All else has gone: the tower and +the stars remain.</p> + +<p>A few steps down the Rue Oblin and we are at St. +Eustache, which has to my eyes the most fascinating +roof of any church in Paris and a very attractive +nave. The interior, however, is marred by the presence +of what might be called a church within a church, destroying +all vistas, and it is only with great difficulty +that one can see the exquisite rose window over the +organ. It is a church much used by the poor—who +even call it Notre Dame des Halles—but its music on +festival days brings the rich too. Like most other +Paris churches of any importance, St. Eustache had its +secular period. The Feast of Reason was held here in +1793; in 1795 it was the Temple of Agriculture. In +1791 Mirabeau, the first of the illustrious, as we saw, to +be buried in the Panthéon, was carried here in his coffin +for a funeral service, at which guns were fired that +brought down some of the plaster. Voiture the poet +was buried here. The church has always been famous for +the splendour of its festivals and for its music, its present +organ, once much injured by Communard bombs, being +one of the finest in the world. No reader of this book +who cares for solemn music should fail to ascertain +the St. Eustache festivals. On St. Cecilia's day entrance +is very difficult, but an effort should be made. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span></p> + +<p>Eustache, or Eustace, the Saint, had no direct association +with Paris, as had our friends St Germain and St. +Geneviève and St. Denis and St. Martin and St. Merry; +but he had an indirect one, having been a Roman +soldier under the Emperor Trajan, whose column was +the model for the Vendôme column. In the Sacristy, +however, are preserved some of the bones not only of +himself but of his wife and family, brought hither from +St. Denis. One of his teeth is here too, and one special +bone, the gift of Pope Alexander VII. to an influential +Catholic.</p> + +<p>Why our London markets should be so dull and unattractive +and the Halles so entertaining is a problem +which would perhaps require an ethnological essay of +many pages to elucidate. But so it is. Smithfield, +Billingsgate, Leadenhall, Covent Garden—one has little +temptation or encouragement to loiter in any of them; +but the Halles spread welcoming arms. I have spent +hours there, and would spend more. In the very early +morning it is not too agreeable a neighbourhood for +the idle spectator, nor is he desired, although if he is +prepared to endure a little rough usage with tongue +and elbow he will be vastly amused by what he sees; +but later, when all the world is up, the Halles entreat +his company. Their phases are three: the first is the +arrival of the market carts with their merchandise, very +much as in our own Covent Garden, but multiplied +many times and infinitely more vocal and shattering to +the nerves. (I once occupied a bedroom within range +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> +of this pandemonium.) The second phase, a few hours +later, sees the descent upon the market of the large +caterers—buyers for the restaurants, great and small, +the hotels and pensions. That is between half-past five +and half-past seven. And then come the small buyers, +the neat servants, the stout housewives, all with their +baskets or string bags. This is our time; we may now +loiter at our ease secure from the swift and scorching +sarcasms of the crowded dawn.</p> + +<p>The Halles furnish another proof of the quiet +efficiency of Frenchwomen. At every fruit and vegetable +stall—and to me they are the most interesting of +all—sits one or more of these watchful creatures, cheerful, +capable and always busy either with the affairs of +the stall or with knitting or sewing. The Halles afford +also very practical proof of the place that economy is +permitted to hold in the French cuisine: as much being +done for the small purse as for the large one.</p> + +<p>In England we are ashamed of economy; by avoiding +it we hope to give the impression that we are not mean. +The wise French either care less for their neighbour's +opinions or have agreed together to dispense with such +insincerities; and the result is that if a pennyworth of +carrots is all that your soup requires you need not buy two +pennyworth, and so forth. Little portions of vegetables +for one, two or more persons, all ready for the pot, +can be bought, involving no waste whatever, and with +no faltering or excuse on the part of the purchaser to +explain so small an order. In France a customer is a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> +customer. There are no distinctions; although I do +not deny that in the West End of Paris, where the +Americans and English spend their money, subtle shades +of courtesy (or want of it) have crept in. I have been +treated like a prince in a small comestible shop where +I wanted only a pennyworth of butter, a pennyworth of +cheese and a pennyworth of milk. It is pennies that +make the French rich; no one can be in any doubt of +that who has taken notice of the thousands of small +shops not only in Paris but in the provinces.</p> + +<p>Any one making an early morning visit to the Halles +should complete it by seeing my goat-herd, who leads +his flocks thereabouts and eastward. He is the prettiest +sight I ever saw in Paris. There are several goat-herds—even +Passy knows them—but my goat-herd is here. +By eight o'clock he has done; his flock is dry. He +wears a blue cloth tam-o'-shanter (if there can be such +a thing: it is really the cap of the romantic mountaineer +of comic opera) and he saunters carelessly along, piping +melancholy notes on a shepherd's pipe—not unlike the +lovely wailing that desolates the soul in the last act of +<i>Tristan und Isolde</i>. When a customer arrives he calls +one of his goats, sits down on the nearest doorstep—it +may be a seventeenth-century palace—and milks a cupful; +and then he is off again, with his scrannel to his +lips, the very type of the urban Strephon.</p> + +<p>We may leave les Halles (pronounced lay al, and not, +as one would think, lays all: one of the pitfalls for the +English in Paris) by the Rue Berger, and enter the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> +Square des Innocents to look at its decorative fountain. +The next street below the Rue des Innocents is the +Rue de la Ferronnerie, where, on May 14th, 1610, +Henri IV. was assassinated by Ravaillac before the door +of No. 3. And so by the Rue St. Denis, which one is +always glad to enter again, and the Rue de Rivoli, we +come to Saint-Jacques, that grey aged isolated tower +which we have seen so often from the heights and in +the distance. It is a beautiful Gothic building, at the +summit of which is the figure of St. James with his +emblems, the originals of which are at the Cluny. The +tower belonged to the church of St. Jacques-la-Boucherie, +but that being in the way when Napoleon +planned the Rue de Rivoli, it had to go.</p> + +<p>The tower has not lately been open to the climbers, +and I have never seen Paris from St. James's side, but +I hope to. Blaise Pascal experimented here in the +density of air; hence the presence of his statue below. +It was also to Pascal, of whom we now think only as an +ironist and wistful theologian, that Paris owes her +omnibuses, for it was he that devised the first, which +began to run on March 18th, 1662, from the Luxembourg +to the Bastille. Pascal owed his conversion to +his escape from a carriage accident on the Pont Neuf. +His grave we saw at St. Etienne-du-Mont.</p> + +<p>In crossing the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville one must not +forget that this was once the terrible Place de Grève, +the site of public executions for five centuries. Here +we meet Catherine de Médicis again, for it was by her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> +order that after the Massacre of St. Bartholomew the +Huguenots Briquemont and Cavagnes were hanged here, +and here also was executed Captain Montgomery, whom +we are to meet in the next chapter. The foster-sister +of Marie de Médicis was burned alive in the Place de +Grève as a sorcerer; and Ravaillac, after assassinating +Henri IV., here met his end. Among later victims was +the famous Cartouche, of whom Thackeray wrote so +entertainingly.</p> + +<p>The Hôtel de Ville is not a building that I for one +should choose to revisit, nor do I indeed advise others +to bother about it at all; but externally at any rate it is +fine, with its golden sentinels on high. Its chief merit +is bulk; but there is a certain interest in observing a +Republican palace of our own time, if only to see how +near it can come to the real thing. A saturnine guide +displays a series of spacious apartments, the principal +attraction of which is their mural painting. All the best +French Royal Academicians (so to speak) of twenty +years ago had a finger in this pie, and their fantasies +sprawl over ceilings and walls. With the exception of +one room, the history of Paris is practically ignored, +allegory being the master vogue. Poetry, Song, Inspiration, +Fame, Ambition, Despair—all these undraped +ladies may be seen, and many others. Also Electricity +and Steam, Science and Art, distinguishable from their +sisters only by the happy chance that although they +forgot their clothes they did not forget their symbols.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="baiser" id="baiser"></a> +<img src="images/i_396.jpg" width="491" height="650" alt="LE BAISER" /> +<p class="caption">LE BAISER<br /> +<span class="s2">RODIN</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Luxembourg</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>One beautiful thing only did I see, and that was a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> +large design, perhaps the largest there, of Winter, by +Puvis de Chavannes. But to say that I saw it is an +exaggeration: rather, I was conscious of it. For the +architect of the salon in which Puvis was permitted to +work forgot to light it.</p> + +<p>In the historical room there are crowded scenes by +Laurens of the past of Paris—the hero of which is +Etienne Marcel, whose equestrian statue may be seen +from the windows, under the river façade of the building. +Etienne Marcel, Merchant Provost, controlled Paris +after the disastrous battle of Poictiers, where the King +and the Dauphin were both taken prisoners. Power, +however, made him headstrong, and he was killed by an +assassin.</p> + +<p>It is from the Hôtel de Ville that the city of Paris is +administered, with the assistance of the Préfecture de +Police on the island opposite. The Hôtel de Ville contains, +so to speak, the Paris County Council, and I have +been told that no building is so absurdly over-staffed. +That may or may not be true. The high officials do +not at any rate allow business to exclude the finer graces +of life, for in the great hall in which I waited for the +cicerone were long tables on which were some twenty or +thirty baskets containing visiting cards, and open books +containing signatures, and before each basket was a card +bearing the name of an important functionary of the +Hôtel de Ville—such as the Préfet de la Seine, and the +Sous-Préfet, and their principal secretaries, and so forth. +Every minute or so some one came in, found the basket +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> +to which he wished to contribute, and dropped a card +in it. I wondered to what extent the social machinery +of Paris bureaucracy would be disorganised if I were to +change a few baskets, but I did not embark upon an +experiment the results of which I should have had no +means of contemplating and enjoying.</p> + +<p>After leaving the Hôtel de Ville and its modern +splendours, we may walk eastward along the Rue de +l'Hôtel de Ville, one of the narrowest and dirtiest relics +of old Paris, and so come to the Hôtel de Sens. But +first notice, at the corner of the Rue des Nonnains-d'Hyères, +at the point at which Mr. Dexter made his +drawing, the very ancient stone sign of the knife-grinder. +The Hôtel de Sens, in the Place de l'Ave Maria, at the +end of the Rue de l'Hôtel de Ville, is almost if not quite +the most attractive of the old palaces. Although it has +been allowed to fall into neglect, it is still a wonderfully +preserved specimen of fifteenth-century building. The +turrets are absolutely beautiful. The Archbishop of +Sens built it, and for nearly three centuries it remained +the home of power and wealth, among its tenants being +Marguerite of Valois. Then came the Revolution and +its decline into a coach office, from which it is said the +Lyons mail, made familiar to us by the Irvings, started. +During a later revolution, 1830, a cannon ball found a +billet in the wall, and it may still be seen there, I am +told, although these eyes missed it. The Hôtel is now +a glass factory. The city of Paris ought to acquire it +before it sinks any lower. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> + +<p>It is at the foot of the Rue de l'Ave Maria, hard by, +that Molière's theatre, which we saw from the Quai des +Célestins in an earlier chapter, is found. Here Molière +was arrested at the instance of the unpaid tallow +chandler. Our way now is by the Rue Figuier, of which +the Hôtel de Sens is No. 1, to the Rue François-Miron, +all among the most fascinating old architecture and +association. At No. 8 Rue Figuier, for instance, Rabelais +is said to have lived, and what could be better +than that? At No. 17, we have what the Vicomte de +Villebresme calls a "jolie niche du XV<sup>e</sup> siècle". This +street leads into the Rue de Jouy, also exceedingly old, +with notable buildings, such as No. 7, the work of +Mansard père, and No. 9, and on the left of the Impasse +Guépine, which existed in the reign of Saint Louis.</p> + +<p>In the Rue François-Miron, if you do not mind exhibiting +a little inquisitiveness, enter the doorway of +No. 68, and look at the courtyard and the staircase. +Here you get an excellent idea of past glories, while the +outer doors or gates give an excellent idea of past danger +too. For life in Paris in the days in which this street +was built must have been very cheap after dark. It is +not dear even now in certain parts. This was an historic +mansion. It was built for Madame de Beaumaris, +femme de chambre of Anne of Austria, and on its balcony, +now removed, on August 20th, 1660, Anne stood with +Mazarin and others when Louis XIV. entered Paris. +No. 82 still retains a balcony of great charm.</p> + +<p>We now enter the very busy Rue St. Antoine at its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> +junction with the Rue de Rivoli. Almost immediately +on our right is a gateway leading into a very charming +courtyard, which is not open to the public, but into +which one may gently trespass; it is the school of the +Frères Chrétiens, founded by Frère Joseph, the good +priest with the sweet and sad old face whose bust is on +the wall. A few steps farther bring us to the church +of St. Paul and St. Louis, a florid and imposing fane, +to which Victor Hugo (to whose house we are now +making our way) carried his first child to be christened, +and presented to the church two holy water stoops in +commemoration. Here also Richelieu celebrated his +first mass. One of Delacroix's best early works (we saw +the picture called "Hommage à Delacroix," you will +remember, in the Moreau collection at the Louvre) is +in the left transept, "Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane". +On no account miss the Passage Charlemagne +(close to the St. Paul Station on the Métro) for it is +a curious, busy and very French by-way, and it possesses +the remains of a palace of the fourteenth century. In +the Passage de St. Pierre is the site of the old cemetery +of St. Paul's in which Rabelais was buried. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xix" id="chapter_xix"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /> +THE PLACE DES VOSGES AND HUGO'S HOUSE</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +A Beautiful Square—The Palais des Tournelles—Revolutionary +Changes—Madame de Sévigné and Rachel—Hugo's Crowded +Life—A Riot of Relics—Victorious Versatility—Dumas' Pen—The +Age of Giants—Dickens—"Les Trois Dumas".</p> + +<p>Were we to walk a little farther along the busy +Rue St. Antoine towards the Place de la +Bastille, we should come, on the left, a few yards past +the church of St. Louis, to the Rue de Birague, at the +head of which is the beautiful red gateway of which Mr. +Dexter has made such a charming picture. This is the +southern gateway of the Place des Vosges, a spacious +green square enclosed by massive red and white houses +of brick and stone which once were the abode, when the +Place des Vosges was the Place Royale, of the aristocracy +of France.</p> + +<p>Before that time the courtyard of the old Palais des +Tournelles was here, where Henri II. was killed in a +tournament in 1559, through an accident for which +Captain Montgomery of the Scotch Guard, whose fault +Catherine de Médicis deemed it to be, was executed, as +we have just seen, in the Place de l'Hôtel-de-Ville. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> +Catherine de Médicis, not content with thus avenging +her husband's death, demolished the Palais des Tournelles, +and a few years later Henri IV., to whom old +Paris owes so much, built the Place Royale, just as it is +now. His own pavilion was the centre building on the +south side, comprising the gateway which Mr. Dexter +has drawn; the Queen's was the corresponding building +on the north side.</p> + +<p>Around dwelt the nobles of the Court—such at any +rate as were not living in the adjoining Marais. Richelieu's +hotel embraced Nos. 21-23 as they now are. It +was in front of that mansion that the famous duel +between Montmorency-Bouteville and Des Chapelles +against Bussy and Beuvron was fought. The spirit of +the great Dumas, one feels, must haunt this Place: for +it is peopled with ghosts from his brave romances.</p> + +<p>The decay of the Place des Vosges began, of course, +when the aristocracy moved over to the Faubourg St. +Germain, although it never sank low. The Revolution +then took it in hand, and naturally began by destroying +the statue of Louis XIII. in the centre, which Richelieu +had set up, while its name was changed from Place +Royale to its present style in honour of the Department +of the Vosges, the first to contribute funds to the new +order. In 1825, under Charles X., Louis XIII. in a +new stone dress returned to his honoured position in +the midst of the square, and all was as it should be once +more, save that no longer did lords and ladies ruffle it +here or in the Marais. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="vosges" id="vosges"></a> +<img src="images/i_404.jpg" width="463" height="650" alt="THE PLACE DES VOSGES" /> +<p class="caption">THE PLACE DES VOSGES<br /> +<span class="s2">(SOUTHERN ENTRANCE, IN THE RUE BIRAGUE)</span></p></div> + +<p>The most picturesque associations of the Place des +Vosges are historical; but it has at any rate three +houses which have an artistic interest. At No. 1 was +born that gifted and delightful lady in whose home in +later years we have spent such pleasant hours—Madame +de Sévigné, or as she was in those early days (she was +born in 1626) Marie de Rabutin-Chantal. At No. 13 +lived for a while Rachel the tragedienne. According +to Herr Baedeker, who is not often wrong, she died here +too: but other authorities place her death at Carmet, +near Toulon. I like to think that this rare wayward and +terrible creature of emotion was once an inhabitant of +these walls. The third house is No. 6, in the south-eastern +corner, the second floor of which, from 1833 to +1848, was the home of Victor Hugo. It is now a Hugo +museum. Although Hugo occupied only a small portion, +the whole house is now dedicated to his spreading +memory. Let us enter.</p> + +<p>There is nothing in England like the Hugo museum. +I have been to Carlyle's house in Cheyne Row; to +Johnson's house at Lichfield; to Wordsworth's house at +Grasmere; to Milton's house at Chalfont St. Giles; to +Leighton's House at Kensington; and the impression +left by all is that their owners lived very thin lives. +The rooms convey a sense of bareness: one is struck +not by the wealth of relics but by the poverty of them; +while for any suggestion that these men were pulsating +creatures of friendship one seeks in vain. But Hugo—Hugo's +house throbs with life and energy and warm +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span> +prosperous amities. Every inch is crowded with mementoes +of his vigour and his triumphs, yes, and his +failures too.</p> + +<p>Here are portraits of him by the hundred, at all ages, +caricatures, lampoons, play bills, first editions, popular +editions, furniture by Hugo, decorations by Hugo, +drawings by Hugo, scenes in Hugo's life in exile, +wreaths, busts, portraits of his grandchildren (who +taught him the exquisite art of being a grandfather), his +death-bed, his death-mask, the cast of his hands. Hugo, +Hugo, everywhere, always tremendous and splendid and +passionate and French.</p> + +<p>Among the more valuable possessions of this museum +are Bastien-Lepage's charcoal drawing of the master; +Besnard's picture of the first night of Hernani with the +young romantic on the stage taking his call and hurling +defiance at the gods; Steinlen's oil painting (there are +not many oil paintings by this great draughtsman and +great Parisian) "Les Pauvres Gens"; Daumier's cartoon +"Les Châtiments"; Henner's "Sarah la Baigneuse" +from <i>Les Orientales</i>; allegories by Chifflart; beautiful +canvases by Carrière and Fantin-Latour; and Devambez's +"Jean Valjean before the tribunal of Arras," in which +Jean is curiously like Gladstone in a bad coat; Vierge's +drawing of the funeral of Georges Hugo, during the +siege; and Yama Motto's curious scene of Hugo's own +funeral, of which there are many photographs, including +one of the coffin as it lay in state for two days +under the Arc de Triomphe. There are also a number +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> +of Hugo relics which the camelots of that day were +selling to the crowds.</p> + +<p>Hugo, it is well known, nursed a private ambition to +be a great artist, and in my opinion he was a great +artist. There are on these walls drawings from his hand +which are magnificent—mysterious and sombre fortresses +on impregnable cliffs, scenes in enchanted lands with +more imagination than ever Doré compassed, and some +of the sinister cruelty and power of Méryon. Hugo +was ingenious too: he decorated a room with coloured +carvings in the Chinese manner and he made the neatest +folding table I ever saw—hinged into the wall so that +when not in use it takes up no floor-space whatever.</p> + +<p>It is amusing to follow Hugo's physiognomy through +the ages, at first beardless, looking when young rather +like Bruant, the chansonnier of to-day; then the coming +of the beard, and the progress of it until the final stage +in which the mental eye now always sees the old poet—white +and strong and benevolent—the Hugo, in short, +of Bonnat's famous portrait.</p> + +<p>On a table is a collection of literary souvenirs of +intense interest: Hugo's pen and inkstand, and the +great Dumas' pen presented to Hugo in 1860 after +writing with it his last "15 or 20" volumes (fifteen <i>or</i> +twenty—how like him!); Lamartine's inkstand, offered +"to the master of the pen"; George Sand's match-box +for those endless cigarettes, and with it her travelling +inkstand. In another room upstairs are the six pens +used by Hugo in writing <i>Les Humbles</i>. Dumas' pen is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> +not by any means the only Dumas relic here; portraits +of him are to be seen, one of them astonishingly negroid. +Had he too worked for liberty and carried in his breast +or even on his sleeve a great heart that, like Hugo's, +responded to every call and beat furiously at the very +whisper of the word injustice, he too would have his +museum to-day not less remarkable than this. But to +write romances was not enough: there must be toil +and suffering too.</p> + +<p>Dumas and Hugo were born in the same year, 1802: +Balzac was then three. In 1809 came Tennyson and +Gladstone; in 1811 Thackeray and in 1812 Browning +and Dickens. What was the secret of that astounding +period? Why did the first twelve years of the last +century know such energy and abundance? To walk +through the rooms of this Hugo museum, however +casually, is to be amazed before the vitality and exuberance +not only of this man but of the French genius. It +is truly only the busy who have time. I wish none the +less that there was a museum for Alexandre the Great. +I would love to visit it: I would love to see his kitchen +utensils alone. The generous glorious creature, "the +seven and seventy times to be forgiven"! As it was, +no one being about, I kissed the pen with which he had +written his last "15 or 20" novels (the splendid liar!).</p> + +<p>I wish too that we had a permanent Dickens' museum +in London—say at his house in Devonshire Terrace, +which is now a lawyer's office. What a fascinating +memorial of Merry England it might become, and what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> +a reminder to this attenuated specialising day of the +vigour and versatility and variety and inconquerable +vivacity of that giant! Just as no one can leave Hugo's +house without a quickening of imagination and ambition, +so no one could leave that of Charles Dickens.</p> + +<p>In addition to this museum Hugo has his monument +in the Place Victor Hugo, far away in a residential desert +in the north-west of Paris, a bronze figure of the poet as +a young man seated on a rock, with Satire, Lyric Poetry +and Fame attending him; while on the façade of the +house where he died, No. 124 Avenue Victor Hugo, is a +medallion portrait. He figures also in a fresco in the +Hôtel de Ville. Dumas' monument is in the garden of +the Place Malesherbes in the Avenue de Villiers. Doré +designed it, as was perhaps fitting. The sturdy Alexandre +sits, pen in hand, on the summit, his West Indian +hair curling vigorously into the sky, with d'Artagnan +and three engrossed readers at the base. It is not quite +what one would have wished; but it is good to visit. +His son, the dramatist, the author of that adorable joke +against his father's vanity—that he was capable of riding +behind his own carriage to persuade people that he kept +a black servant—has a monument close by; and the +gallant general of whom one reads such brave stories in +the first volume of the <i>Mémoires</i> is to be set there too, +and then the Place, I am told, will be re-named the +Place des Trois Dumas. +</p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="chapter_xx" id="chapter_xx"></a>CHAPTER XX<br /> +THE BASTILLE, PÈRE LACHAISE AND THE END</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot"> +A Thoughtful Municipality—The Fall of the Bastille—Revolt and +Revolution—The Column of July—A Paris Canal—Deliberate +Building—The Buttes-Chaumont—A City of the Dead—Père +la Chaise—Bartholomé's Monument—The Cimetière de Mont +Parnasse—The Country round Paris—What we have Missed—Conclusion.</p> + +<p>The Place des Vosges is close to the Place de la Bastille, +which lies to the east of it along the Rue St. +Antoine. The prison has gone for ever, but one is assisted +by a thoughtful municipality to reconstruct it, a +task of no difficulty at all if one remembers with any +vividness the models in the Carnavalet or the Archives, +or buys a pictorial postcard at any neighbouring shop. +The contribution of the pious city fathers is a map on +the façade of No. 36 Place de la Bastille, and a permanent +outline of the walls of the dreadful building inlaid +in the road and pavement, which one may follow +step by step to the satisfaction of one's imagination and +the derangement of the traffic until it disappears into +cafés and shops. One has to remember, however, that +the surface of the ground was much lower, the prison +being surrounded by a moat and gained only by bridges. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> +For the actual stones one must go to the Pont de la +Concorde, the upper part of which was built of them in +1790.</p> + +<p>The Bastille's end came in 1789, at the beginning of +the Revolution, on the day after the National Guard +was established, when the people of Paris rose under +Camille Desmoulins and captured it, thus not only displaying +but discovering their strength. Carlyle was +never more scornful, never more cruelly vivid, than in +his description of this event. I must quote a little, it +is so horribly splendid: "To describe this Siege of the +Bastille (thought to be one of the most important in +History) perhaps transcends the talent of mortals. +Could one but, after infinite reading, get to understand +so much as the plan of the building! But there is open +Esplanade, at the end of the Rue Saint-Antoine; there +are such Forecourts, <i>Cour Avanceé, Cour de l'Orme</i>, +arched Gateway (where Louis Tournay now fights); +then new drawbridges, dormant-bridges, rampart-bastions, +and the grim Eight Towers: a labyrinthic Mass, +high-frowning there, of all ages from twenty years to +four hundred and twenty;—beleaguered, in this its last +hour, as we said, by mere Chaos come again! Ordnance +of all calibres; throats of all capacities; men of all +plans, every man his own engineer: seldom since the +war of Pygmies and Cranes was there seen so anomalous +a thing. Half-pay Elie is home for a suit of regimentals; +no one would heed him in coloured clothes: +half-pay Hulin is haranguing Gardes Françaises in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> +Place de Grève. Frantic Patriots pick up the grapeshots; +bear them, still hot (or seemingly so), to the +Hôtel-de-Ville:—Paris, you perceive, is to be burnt! +Flesselles is 'pale to the very lips'; for the roar of the +multitude grows deep. Paris wholly has got to the +acme of its frenzy; whirled, all ways, by panic madness. +At every street-barricade, there whirls simmering a +minor whirlpool,—strengthening the barricade, since God +knows what is coming; and all minor whirlpools play +distractedly into that grand Fire-Maelstrom which is +lashing round the Bastille.</p> + +<p>"And so it lashes and it roars. Cholat the wine-merchant +has become an impromptu cannoneer. See +Georget, of the Marine Service, fresh from Brest, ply +the King of Siam's cannon. Singular (if we were not +used to the like): Georget lay, last night, taking his +ease at his inn; the King of Siam's cannon also lay, +knowing nothing of <i>him</i>, for a hundred years. Yet +now, at the right instant, they have got together, and +discourse eloquent music. For, hearing what was toward, +Georget sprang from the Brest Diligence, and +ran. Gardes Françaises also will be here, with real +artillery: were not the walls so thick!—Upwards from +the Esplanade, horizontally from all neighbouring roofs +and windows, flashes one irregular deluge of musketry, +without effect. The Invalides lie flat, firing comparatively +at their ease from behind stone; hardly through +portholes show the tip of a nose. We fall, shot; and +make no impression! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="bergere" id="bergere"></a> +<img src="images/i_414.jpg" width="650" height="529" alt="LA BERGERE GARDANT SES MOUTONS" /> +<p class="caption">LA BERGERE GARDANT SES MOUTONS<br /> +<span class="s2">MILLET</span><br /> +<span class="s2">(<i>Louvre, Chauchard Collection</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>"Let conflagration rage; of whatsoever is combustible! +Guard-rooms are burnt, Invalides mess-rooms. +A distracted 'Perukemaker with two fiery torches' is +for burning 'the saltpetres of the Arsenal';—had not +a woman run screaming; had not a Patriot, with some +tincture of Natural Philosophy, instantly struck the +wind out of him (butt of musket on pit of stomach), +overturned barrels, and stayed the devouring element. +A young beautiful lady, seized escaping in these Outer +Courts, and thought falsely to be De Launay's daughter, +shall be burnt in De Launay's sight; she lies swooned +on a paillasse: but again a Patriot, it is brave Aubin +Bonnemère the old soldier, dashes in, and rescues her. +Straw is burnt; three cartloads of it, hauled thither, go +up in white smoke: almost to the choking of Patriotism +itself; so that Elie had, with singed brows, to drag +back one cart; and Réole the 'gigantic haberdasher' +another. Smoke as of Tophet; confusion as of Babel; +noise as of the Crack of Doom!</p> + +<p>"Blood flows; the aliment of new madness. The +wounded are carried into houses of the Rue Cerisaie; +the dying leave their last mandate not to yield till the +accursed Stronghold fall. And yet, alas, how fall? The +walls are so thick! Deputations, three in number, arrive +from the Hôtel-de-Ville; Abbé Fauchet (who was of +one) can say, with what almost superhuman courage of +benevolence. These wave their Town-flag in the arched +Gateway; and stand, rolling their drum; but to no +purpose. In such Crack of Doom De Launay cannot +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span> +hear them, dare not believe them: they return, with +justified rage, the whew of lead still singing in their +ears. What to do? The Firemen are here, squirting +with their fire-pumps on the Invalides cannon, to wet +the touchholes; they unfortunately cannot squirt so +high; but produce only clouds of spray. Individuals +of classical knowledge propose <i>catapults</i>. Santerre, the +sonorous Brewer of the Suburb Saint-Antoine, advises +rather that the place be fired, by a 'mixture of phosphorus +and of oil-of-turpentine spouted up through +forcing-pumps': O Spinola-Santerre, hast thou the +mixture <i>ready</i>? Every man his own engineer! And +still the fire-deluge abates not: even women are firing, +and Turks; at least one woman (with her sweetheart), +and one Turk. Gardes Françaises have come: real cannon, +real cannoneers. Usher Maillard is busy; half-pay +Elie, half-pay Hulin rage in the midst of thousands.</p> + +<p>"How the great Bastille Clock ticks (inaudible) in its +Inner Court there, at its ease, hour after hour; as if +nothing special, for it or the world, were passing! It +tolled One when the firing began; and is now pointing +towards Five, and still the firing slakes not.—Far down, +in their vaults, the seven Prisoners hear muffled din as +of earthquakes; their Turnkeys answer vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Wo to thee, De Launay, with thy poor hundred +Invalides! Broglie is distant, and his ears heavy: +Besenval hears, but can send no help. One poor troop +of Hussars has crept, reconnoitering, cautiously along +the Quais, as far as the Pont Neuf. 'We are come to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> +join you,' said the Captain; for the crowd seem shoreless. +A large-headed dwarfish individual, of smoke-bleared +aspect, shambles forward, opening his blue lips, for there +is sense in him; and croaks: 'Alight then, and give +up your arms!' The Hussar-Captain is too happy to +be escorted to the Barriers, and dismissed on parole. +Who the squat individual was? Men answer, It is M. +Marat, author of the excellent pacific <i>Avis au Peuple</i>! +Great truly, O thou remarkable Dogleech, is this thy +day of emergence and new-birth: and yet this same day +come four years—!—But let the curtains of the Future +hang."</p> + +<p>After some hours the deed is done and Paris re-echoes +to the cries "La Bastille est prise!" "In the Court, +all is mystery, not without whisperings of terror; though +ye dream of lemonade and epaulettes, ye foolish women! +His Majesty, kept in happy ignorance, perhaps dreams +of double-barrels and the Woods of Meudon. Late at +night, the Duke de Liancourt, having official right of +entrance, gains access to the Royal Apartments; unfolds, +with earnest clearness, in his constitutional way, the +Job's-news. '<i>Mais</i>,' said poor Louis, '<i>c'est une révolte</i>, +Why, that is a revolt!'—'Sire,' answered Liancourt, 'it +is not a revolt,—it is a revolution.'"</p> + +<p>That was July 14th, 1789; but it is not the July that +the Colonne de Juillet in the centre of the Place celebrates. +That July was forty-one years later, not so late +but that many Parisians could remember both events. +July 27th to 29th, 1830, the Second Revolution, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> +overturned the Bourbons and set Louis-Philippe of +Orleans in the siège périlleux of France. Louis-Philippe +himself erected this monument in memory of the six +hundred and fifteen citizens who fell in his interests and +who are buried beneath. Their names are cut in the +bronze of the column, on the summit of which is the +beautiful winged figure of Liberty.</p> + +<p>Beneath the vault of the Colonne, and immediately +beneath the Colonne itself, runs the great canal which +brings merchandise into Paris from the east, entering +the Seine between the Pont Sully and the Pont d'Austerlitz. +At this point it is not very interesting, but from +the Avenue de la République, where it re-emerges again +into the light of day, and thence right away to the Abattoirs +de Villette, it is very amusing to stroll by. The +Paris <i>Daily Mail</i>, which in its eager paternal way has +taken English and American visitors completely under +its wing, is diurnally anxious that its readers should +make a tour of these abattoirs. But not I. That a +holiday in Paris should include the examination of a +slaughter-house strikes me as a joyless proposition, putting +thoroughness far before pleasure. But the <i>Daily +Mail</i> is like that; it also does its best on the second and +fourth Wednesdays in every month to get its compatriots +down the Paris sewers. And I suppose they go. Strange +heart of the tourist! We never think of penetrating +either to the sewers or the slaughter-houses of our native +land; we have no theories of sewers, no data for comparison; +we love the upper air and the sun. But being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span> +in a foreign city we cheerfully give the second or fourth +Wednesday to such delights.</p> + +<p>Having taken the <i>Daily Mail's</i> advice and visited the +abattoirs (which I have not done), one cannot do better +than return to Paris by way of the canal, sauntering +beside it all the way to the Rue Faubourg du Temple, +where one passes into the Place de la République and +the stir of the city once more. The canal descends +from the heights of La Villette in a series of long steps, +as it were (or, to take the most dissonant simile possible +to devise, like the lakes at Wootton), built up by locks. +Idling by this canal one sees many agreeable phases of +human toil. Many commodities and materials reach +Paris by barge, and it is on these quais and in the +Villette basin that the unloading is done; while the +barges themselves are pleasant spectacles—so long and +clean and broad—very Mauretanias beside the barges of +Holland—with spacious deck-houses that are often perfect +villas, the wife and children watering the flowers at +the door.</p> + +<p>One quai is given up wholly to lime. This arrives in +thousands of little solid sacks which stevedores whiter +than millers transfer to the carts, that, in their turn, +creak off to disorganise the traffic of a hundred streets +and provoke the contempt of a thousand drivers before +they reach their destined building, on which the workmen +have already been engaged for two years and will +be engaged for two years more. There is no hurry +in constructional work in Paris—except of course on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> +Exhibitions, which spring up in a night. The same piece +of road that was up in the Rue Lafayette for some surface +trouble in a recent April, I found still up in October. +But they have the grace, when rebuilding a house in +the city, to hide their deliberate processes behind a +wooden screen—such a screen as was opposite the Café +de la Paix, at the south-east corner of the Boulevard +des Capucines, for, it seems to me, years.</p> + +<p>If, however, one is walking beside the canal in the +other direction, up the hill instead of down, one will +soon be nearer the Victoria Park of Paris, the park of +the east end, than at any other time, and this should +be visited as surely as the abattoirs should be avoided: +unless, of course, one is a well-informed or thoughtful +butcher. We have seen the Parc Monceau; well, the +antithesis of the Parc Monceau, which has no counter-part +in London, is the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. +Both are children's paradises, the only difference in the +children being social position. The Parc des Buttes-Chaumont +is sixty acres of trees and walks and perpendicular +rocks and water, the special charm of which is +its diversified character, rising in the midst to an immense +height made easy for carriages and perambulators by a +winding road. It has a deep gorge crossed by a suspension +bridge, a lake for boats, a cascade, and thousands +of chairs side by side, touching, lining the roads, on +which the maids and matrons of La Villette and Belleville +sew and gossip, while the children play around. The +parc was made in the sixties: before then it had been a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> +waste ground and gypsum quarry—hence its attractive +irregularities. How wonderful the heights and cathedral +of Montmartre can appear from one of the peaks of the +Buttes-Chaumont, Mr. Dexter's drawing shows.</p> + +<p>The Buttes-Chaumont is the most easterly point we +have yet reached; but there is another parc more +easterly still awaiting us, not unlike the Buttes-Chaumont +in its acclivities, but unlike it in this particular, +that it is a parc not of the living but the dead. I mean +Père Lachaise. Père Lachaise! What kind of an old +man do you think gave his name to this cemetery? +Most persons, I imagine, see him as white-haired and +venerable: not twinkling, like Papa Gontier, but serene +and noble and sad. As a matter of fact he was a père +only by profession and courtesy. Père Lachaise was +Louis XIV.'s fashionable confessor (Landor has a diverting +imaginary conversation between these two), and the +cemetery took its name from his house, which chanced to +occupy the site of the present chapel. The ground was +enclosed as a burial ground as recently as 1804, which +means of course that the famous tomb of Abélard and +Héloise, to which all travellers find their way, is a +modern reconstruction. The remains of La Fontaine +and Molière and other illustrious men who died before +1804 were transferred here, just as Zola's were recently +transferred from the cemetery of Montmartre to the +Panthéon, but with less excitement.</p> + +<p>Père Lachaise cannot be taken lightly. The French +live very thoroughly, but when they die they die +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span> +thoroughly too, and their cemeteries confess the scythe. +There may be, to our thinking, too much architecture; +but it is serious. There is no mountebanking (as at +Genoa), nor is there any whining, as in some of our own +churchyards. Death to a Frenchman is a fact and a +mystery, to be faced when the time comes, if not before, +and to be honoured. On certain festivals of the year there +are a thousand mourners to every acre of Père Lachaise.</p> + +<p>The natural entrance is by the Rue de la Roquette, +but it is less fatiguing to enter at the top, at the new +gate in the Avenue du Père Lachaise, and walk downhill; +for the paths are steep and the cemetery covers +a hundred acres and more. The objection to this course +is that one loses some of the sublimity of Bartholomé's +<i>Monument aux Morts</i> at the foot of the mountain on +which the chapel stands. This monument faces the +principal entrance with the careful design of impressing +the visitor, and its impact can be tremendous. We +approach it by the Avenue Principale, in which lies +Alfred de Musset, with the willow waving over his tomb +and his own lines upon it.</p> + +<p>And then one enters seriously upon this strange pilgrimage +among names and memories. Chopin lies here, +his music stilled, and Talma the tragedian; Beaumarchais +and Maréchal Ney; Cherubini and Alphonse +Daudet; Balzac, his pen for ever idle, and Delacroix; +Béranger, who made the nation's ballads, and Brillat-Savarin, +all his dinners eaten; Michelet, the historian, +and Planquette, the composer of <i>Les Cloches de Corneville</i>; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span> +Daumier, the great artist who saw to the heart of things, +and Corot, who befriended Daumier's last years; Daubigny +and Rosa Bonheur, Thiers and Scribe; Rachel, +once so very living, and many Rothschilds now poorer +than I.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="morts" id="morts"></a> +<img src="images/i_424.jpg" width="650" height="473" alt="LE MONUMENT AUX MORTS" /> +<p class="caption">LE MONUMENT AUX MORTS<br /> +<span class="s2">A. BARTHOLOMÉ</span><br /> + +<span class="s2">(<i>Père la Chaise</i>)</span></p></div> + +<p>Paris has other cemeteries, as we know, for we have +walked through that of Montmartre; but there is also +the Cimetière de Montparnasse, where lie Sainte-Beuve +and Leconte de Lisle, Théodore de Banville, master of +<i>vers de société</i>, and Fantin-Latour, Baudelaire (lying +beneath a figure of the Genius of Evil), and Barbey +d'Aurevilly, the dandy-novelist. There are also the +cemeteries of Passy and Picpus, but into these I have +never wandered. Lafayette lies at Picpus, which is behind +a convent in the Rue de Picpus, and costs fifty centimes +to see, and there also were buried many victims of the +guillotine besides those whose bodies were flung into +the earth behind the Madeleine.</p> + +<hr class="l15" /> + +<p>All the space at my disposal has been required by +Paris itself; and such is the human interest that at any +rate in the older parts clings to every stone and saturates +the soil, that I do not know that I have had any temptation +to rove beyond the fortifications. But that of +course is not right. No one really knows the Parisians +until he sees them in happy summer mood in one of +the pleasure resorts on the Seine, or winning money at +Enghien, or lunching in one of the tree-top restaurants +at Robinson. We have indeed been curiously unenterprising, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span> +and it is all owing to the fascination of Paris herself +and the narrow dimensions of this book. We have +not even been to St. Denis, to stand among the ashes +of the French kings; we have not descended the formal +slopes of St. Cloud; we have not peeped into Corot's +little chapel at Ville d'Avray; we have not seen the +home of Sèvres porcelain; we have not scaled Mont-Valérien; +we have not taken boat for Marly-le-Roi; we +have not wandered marvelling but weary amid the battle +scenes of Versailles, or smiled at the pretty fopperies of +the hamlet of the Petit Trianon. We have not known +the groves either of the Bois de Vincennes or the Bois de +Meudon.</p> + +<p>Much less have we fed those guzzling gourmands, +the carp of Chantilly, or lost ourselves before the little +Raphael there, or the curious Leonardo sketch for La +Joconde, or the sweet simplicities of the pretty Jean +Fouquet illuminations, particularly the domestic solicitude +of the ladies attending upon the birth of John the +Baptist; less still have we forgotten the restlessness and +urgency of Paris amid the allées and rochers of the +Forest of Fontainebleau, and the still white streets of +Barbizon, or even on the steps of the château where the +Great Emperor, thoughts of whom are never very distant—are +indeed too near—bade farewell to his Old +Guard in 1814.</p> + +<p>Greater Paris, it will be gathered, is hardly less interesting +than Paris herself; and indeed how pleasant +it would be to write about it! But not here. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span></p> + +<p>Of Paris within the fortifications have I, I wonder, +conveyed any of the fascination, the variety, the colour, +the self-containment. I hope so. I hope too that at +any rate these pages have implanted in a few readers +the desire to see this beautiful and efficient city for +themselves, and even more should I value the knowledge +that they had excited in others who are not +strangers to Paris the wish to be there again. To do +justice to such a city, with such a history, is of course +an impossibility. What, however, should not be impossible +is to create a goût.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span></p> + +<h2 class="p6"><a name="index" id="index"></a>INDEX</h2> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Abattoirs</span>, the, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li>Abbaye-aux-Bois, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li> + +<li>Abélard, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li>Advocates and barristers, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</li> + +<li>Alvantes, Duchesse d', <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> + +<li>Angelo, Michael, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> + +<li>Anne of Austria, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>Antoinette, Marie, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> + +<li>Apollon, Galerie d', <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>Arbre-Sec, Rue de l', <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.</li> + +<li>Arc de Triomphe, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>-<a href="#Page_145">45</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Archives, the, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> + +<li>Arènes, the, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li>Aristocratic homes, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> + +<li>Arnold, Matthew, quoted, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>-<a href="#Page_269">69</a>.</li> + +<li>Artagnan, D', <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.</li> + +<li>Arts et Métiers, Musée de, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> + +<li>Astruc, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>Attila the Hun, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li>Aurevilly, B. d', <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Austerlitz, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</li> + +<li>Ave-Maria, Rue de l', <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> +</ul> +</div> + +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Baedeker</span>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.</li> + +<li>"Bagatelle," <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> + +<li>Bal Bullier, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> + +<li>Balloons, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> + +<li>Balzac, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Banville, T. de, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Barbizon School, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>-<a href="#Page_106">6</a>.</li> + +<li>Bard, Wilkie, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> + +<li>Barristers and advocates, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</li> + +<li>Barry, the St. Bernard dog, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> + +<li>Bartholomé, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Bartholomew, St., Massacre of, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Barye, the sculptor, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Bassano, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li> + +<li>Bastien-Lepage, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Bastille, the, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>-<a href="#Page_312">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Baudelaire, Charles, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Beauharnais, Joséphine, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</li> + +<li>Beaumarchais, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Beaumaris, Madame de, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>Beaux-Arts, Palais des, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> + +<li>Beggars in Paris, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li> + +<li>Bellini, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Bénéfices, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> + +<li>Béranger, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> + +<li>Bergère, Cité, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> + +<li>Berlioz, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li>Bernard, Saint, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> + +<li>Bernhardt, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + +<li><i>Besieged Resident, the</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-<a href="#Page_213">13</a>.</li> + +<li>Besnard, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Bibliothèque de Mazarin, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Nationale, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> + +<li>Bièvre, the river, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li>Bigio, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> + +<li>Billiards in Paris, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>-<a href="#Page_222">22</a>.</li> + +<li>Birague, Rue de, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</li> + +<li>Birds, the charmer of, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>-<a href="#Page_130">30</a>.</li> + +<li>Birrell, Mr. Augustine, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> + +<li>Blanche, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + + <li>—— Rue, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Bodley, Mr., <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> + +<li>Boilly, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li> + +<li>Bois de Boulogne, the, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>-<a href="#Page_149">49</a>.</li> + +<li>Bol, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> + +<li>Bone, Mr. Muirhead, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> + +<li>Bonheur, Rosa, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Bonington, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> + +<li>Bonnat, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Bons Enfants, Rue des, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Bookhunters, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span></li> + +<li>Bookstalls in Paris and London, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>-<a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li> + +<li>Borssom, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +<li>Botticelli, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li> + +<li>Bottin, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> + +<li>Boucher, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Bouland, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Boulevardiers, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> + +<li>Boulevards, Grands, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.</li> + +<li>Bourse, the, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li>Boverie, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Brillat-Savarin, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Brisemiche, Rue, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> + +<li>Browning, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> + +<li>Bruant, Aristide, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Building in Paris, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>.</li> + +<li>Buridan, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li> + +<li>Buttes-Chaumont, Parc, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> +</ul></div> + +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Cabarets</span> artistiques, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>Cabman, the singing, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.</li> + +<li>Cabmen in Paris, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>-<a href="#Page_242">42</a>.</li> + +<li>Café de la Paix, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>-<a href="#Page_243">43</a>.</li> + +<li>Cafés, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> + +<li>—— night, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>-<a href="#Page_275">75</a>.</li> + +<li>Cain, M. Georges, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> + +<li>Canals, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>.</li> + +<li>Capel Court, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li>Capucines, Boulevard des, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>-<a href="#Page_224">24</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Caran d'Ache, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>Carlyle, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>—— quoted, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>-<a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>-<a href="#Page_121">21</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>-<a href="#Page_137">37</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>-<a href="#Page_140">40</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>-<a href="#Page_281">81</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>-<a href="#Page_311">11</a>.</li> + +<li>Carnavalet, Musée, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-<a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> + +<li>Caro-Delvalle, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Carolus-Duran, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>Carpeaux, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> + +<li>Carrière, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Carriès, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> + +<li>Carrousel, Arc de, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>-<a href="#Page_121">21</a>.</li> + +<li>Cartoons in the street, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li>Cartouche, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</li> + +<li>Caxton, William, quoted, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>-<a href="#Page_191">91</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>-<a href="#Page_255">55</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> + +<li>Cazin, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Cemeteries in Paris, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>-<a href="#Page_317">17</a>.</li> + +<li>Cerrito, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Cerutti, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Champions of France, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> + +<li>Champs-Elysées, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</li> + +<li>Chanoinesse, Rue, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> + +<li>Chantilly, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Chardin, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Charlemagne, Passage, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</li> + +<li>Charles X., <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> + +<li>Charmer of birds, the, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>-<a href="#Page_130">30</a>.</li> + +<li>Chateaubriand, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li> + +<li>Chauchard Collection, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> + +<li>Chaudet, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Chauffeurs in Paris, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.</li> + +<li>Chaussée d'Antin, Rue de la, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Chavannes, Puvis de, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.</li> + +<li>Cherubini, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Chifflart, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Childeric, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li>Chopin, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Christianity in Paris, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li>Church music, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> + +<li>Churches— +<ul class="none"> +<li>Blancs-Manteaux, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> +<li>Madeleine, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> +<li>Panthéon, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>-<a href="#Page_196">96</a>.</li> +<li>Petits Pères, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> +<li>Sacré-Cœur, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> +<li>St. Elizabeth of Hungary, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> +<li>—— Etienne-du-Mont, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>-<a href="#Page_198">98</a>.</li> +<li>—— Eugène, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> +<li>—— Eustache, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> +<li>—— Germain du Pré, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— l'Auxerrois, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>-<a href="#Page_288">88</a>.</li> +<li>—— Jacques-la-Boucherie, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> +<li>—— Joseph de Carmes, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> +<li>—— Julien le Pauvre, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> +<li>—— Merry, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> +<li>—— Nicholas-des-Champs, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> +<li>—— Paul and St. Louis, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</li> +<li>—— Roch, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>-<a href="#Page_281">81</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> +<li>—— Severin, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> +<li>—— Sorbonne, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> +<li>—— Sulpice, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> +</ul></li> + +<li>"Ciel," <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Cigars in Paris, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li> + +<li>Cimetières in Paris, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>-<a href="#Page_270">70</a>.</li> + +<li>—— du Nord, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>-<a href="#Page_270">70</a>.</li> + +<li>Claque, the, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> + +<li>Clarac collection, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Claude, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +<li>Clichy, Boulevard, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span></li> + +<li>Clocks in Paris, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> + +<li>Clotilde, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li>Clouet, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> + +<li>Clovis, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li>Cluny, Musée de, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-<a href="#Page_184">84</a>.</li> + +<li>Coligny, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Colonna, Vittoria, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li> + +<li>Colonne de Juillet, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li>Commune, the, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Compas d'Or, the, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> + +<li>Comte, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> + +<li>Concierge, the, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> + +<li>Conciergerie, the, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>-<a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li> + +<li>Concorde, the Place de La, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>-<a href="#Page_140">40</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Pont de la, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.</li> + +<li>Conservatoire, the, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + +<li>Constable, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> + +<li>Coquelin, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li>Corday, Charlotte, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> + +<li>Corot, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Correggio, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Cosimo, Piero di, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> + +<li>Cour du Dragon, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> + +<li>Coustou, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Couture, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> + +<li>Coyzevox, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Curiosity shops, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap"><i>Daily Mail</i></span> in Paris, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li>Dalou, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li>Dammouse, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Dancing halls, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li> + +<li>Dante, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li>Daubigny, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Daudet, Alphonse, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Daumier, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>David, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Madame, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> +<li>—— G., <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Da Vinci, Leonardo, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>-<a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Death and the French, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li>Decamps, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> + +<li>Degas, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> + +<li>Delacroix, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Delair, Frédéric, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>-<a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> + +<li>Delaroche, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li> + +<li>Delibes, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li>De Musset, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>De Neuville, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Denis, Saint, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.</li> + +<li>Desmoulins, Camille, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Devils of Notre Dame, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> + +<li>Dexter, Mr., as a tipster, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— his conception of Paris, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</li> + +<li>Diaz, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> + +<li>Dickens, Charles, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> + +<li>Diderot and the pretty bookseller, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li> + +<li>Dobson, Mr. Austin, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li> + +<li>Dogs in Paris, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>-<a href="#Page_209">9</a>.</li> + +<li>—— cemetery, the, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> + +<li>Donizetti, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Doré, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Dou, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> + +<li>Drouot, Rue, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> + +<li>Dubois, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li> + +<li>Duel, a famous, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> + +<li>Dufayel, Maison, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>-<a href="#Page_266">66</a>.</li> + +<li>Dumas, Alexandre, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— fils, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> + +<li>Duncan, Isidora, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>Dupré, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> + +<li>Dürer, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Dutch School, the, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>Dutuit collection, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Economy</span> in Paris, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> + +<li>Eiffel Tower, the, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> + +<li>Elizabeth, Madame, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> + +<li>Elocutionist, the, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.</li> + +<li>Elysée, the, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> + +<li>—— de Montmartre, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li> + +<li>"Enfer," <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Enghien, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>English and French, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>-<a href="#Page_240">40</a>.</li> + +<li>Estrées, Duchesse d', <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> + +<li>Etoile, Place de l', <a href="#Page_142">142</a>-<a href="#Page_145">45</a>.</li> + +<li>Eustache, Saint, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>.</li> + +<li>Execution of Louis XVI., <a href="#Page_134">134</a>-<a href="#Page_137">37</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— Robespierre, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>-<a href="#Page_140">40</a>.</li> + +<li>Eyck, J. van, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Fabriano</span>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li> + +<li>Fairs in Paris, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>Falguière, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> + +<li>Fallières, President, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Fantin-Latour, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span></li> + +<li>Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Rue du, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Poissonière, Rue du, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Ferronnerie, Rue de la, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li>Fête de St. Geneviève, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> + +<li>Figuier, Rue, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>FitzGerald, Edward, quoted, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>.</li> + +<li>Flandrin, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Flinck, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li> + +<li>Flower markets, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li> + +<li>Fontainebleau, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Fouquet, Jean, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Fragonard, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>François I., <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>François-Miron, Rue, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>Françoise-Marguerite, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>Francs-Bourgeois, Rue des, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> + +<li>Frémiet, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> + +<li>French, the, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> + +<li>—— and English, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>-<a href="#Page_240">40</a>.</li> +<li>—— Revolution, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>-<a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>-<a href="#Page_121">21</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>-<a href="#Page_137">37</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>-<a href="#Page_140">40</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>-<a href="#Page_281">81</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>-<a href="#Page_311">11</a>.</li> +</ul> +</div> + +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Gallas</span>, the, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> + +<li>Gambetta monument, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> + +<li>Gare de Lyon, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> + +<li>—— du Nord, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li> +<li>—— St. Lazare, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> + +<li>Garnier, Charles, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> + +<li>Gautier, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Genée, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Geneviève, St., <a href="#Page_188">188</a>-<a href="#Page_192">92</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> + +<li>Genlis, Madame de, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> + +<li>Germain, Saint, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>-<a href="#Page_288">88</a>.</li> + +<li>Ghirlandaios, the, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Gibbon, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Giotto, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> + +<li>Gladstone, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> + +<li>Goat-herd, the, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> + +<li>Gold and silver, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> + +<li><i>Golden Legend, The</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>-<a href="#Page_191">91</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>-<a href="#Page_255">55</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> + +<li>Goncourts, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Goujon, Jean, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Gounod, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Grand Café, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.</li> + +<li>Grandpré, Louise de, quoted, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>-<a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>-<a href="#Page_44">44</a>.</li> + +<li>Grands Boulevards, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.</li> + +<li>Granié, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Grenelle, Rue de, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> + +<li>Greuze, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Grève, Place de, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li>Grévin, the Musée, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> + +<li>Grolier, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> + +<li>Gronow, Captain, quoted, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>-<a href="#Page_173">73</a>.</li> + +<li>Guides, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> + +<li>Guillotine, the, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>-<a href="#Page_140">40</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Habeneck</span>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Halévy, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Halles, the, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>-<a href="#Page_292">92</a>.</li> + +<li>—— des Vins, the, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> + +<li>Hals, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Haraucourt, M. Edmond, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— translated, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> + +<li>Harpignies, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Haussmann, Boulevard, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Baron, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> + +<li>Heine, Henrich, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>-<a href="#Page_269">69</a>.</li> + +<li>Héloïse, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li>Henley, W. E., <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>Henner, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Henri II., <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</li> + +<li>—— IV., <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> + +<li>Hérold, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Heyden, van der, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +<li>Hippodrome, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>His de la Salle collection, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> + +<li>Hobbema, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>Hoffbauer, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> + +<li>Horloge, the, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> + +<li>Hospital of the Trinity, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li>Hôtel de Ville, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>-<a href="#Page_296">96</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— —— Rue de l', <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— Sens, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.</li> +<li>—— des Monnaies, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-<a href="#Page_169">69</a>.</li> + +<li>Houdon, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Hugo, Victor, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>-<a href="#Page_35">5</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Georges, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Huysmanns, quoted, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li>Hyacinthe, Père, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span></li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Ile</span> de la Cité, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>-<a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> + +<li>—— St. Louis, the, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>-<a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> + +<li>Imprimerie Nationale, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> + +<li>Ingres, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li> + +<li>Innocents, Square des, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li>Institut, the, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> + +<li>Invalides, Hôtel des, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>-<a href="#Page_157">57</a>.</li> + +<li>Isabey, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Italiens, Boulevard des, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Jabach</span>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li> + +<li>Jacqueminot, Ignace, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> + +<li>Jardin d'Acclimatation, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>-<a href="#Page_207">7</a>.</li> + +<li>—— des Plantes, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>-<a href="#Page_205">5</a>.</li> + +<li>Jena, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</li> + +<li>Jeraud, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Joan of Arc, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li> + +<li>"Joconde, La," <a href="#Page_81">81</a>-<a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Joke, the one, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> + +<li>Joseph, Frère, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</li> + +<li>Josephine, the Empress, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</li> + +<li>Jouy, Rue de, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Karbowski</span>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> + +<li>Key, sign of the, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Lablache</span>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Labouchere, Mr., quoted, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-<a href="#Page_213">13</a>.</li> + +<li>Lachaise, Père, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>-<a href="#Page_317">17</a>.</li> + +<li>Lafayette, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rue, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> + +<li>Laffitte, Jacques, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rue, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>La Fontaine, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li>Lamartine, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Lamb, Charles, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Mary, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li> + +<li>Lancret, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Landor quoted, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Lang, Mr. Andrew, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>Latin Quarter, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>-<a href="#Page_181">81</a>.</li> + +<li>Latude, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>-<a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li> + +<li>Lauder, Harry, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> + +<li>Laurens, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.</li> + +<li>Law, John, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> + +<li>Le Brun, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Le Courtier, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> + +<li>Lecouvreur, Adrienne, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li> + +<li>Legros, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Le Nain, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> + +<li>Leno, Dan, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> + +<li>Lepage, Bastien, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Le Sidaner, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Letter-boxes, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li> + +<li>Lippi, Fra Filippo, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> + +<li>Lisle, Leconte de, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Livry, Emma, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Liszt, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>London and bookstalls, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— Paris, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>-<a href="#Page_240">40</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>-<a href="#Page_292">92</a>.</li> + +<li>Longchamp, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>-<a href="#Page_149">49</a>.</li> + +<li>Lotto, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Louis-Philippe, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li>Louis, Saint, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>-<a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li> + +<li>—— XII., <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> +<li>—— XIII., <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> +<li>—— XIV., <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> +<li>—— XV., <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> +<li>—— XVI., <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>.</li> +<li>—— XVIII., <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</li> + +<li>Louvre, Musée du, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>-<a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> + +<li>Lowell, J. R., quoted, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.</li> + +<li>Loyola, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li> + +<li>Lucas the failure, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> + +<li>Luini, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Luxembourg, the, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>-<a href="#Page_179">79</a>.</li> + +<li>Luxor column, the, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> + +<li>Lyons mail, the, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Madeleine</span>, the, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>-<a href="#Page_218">18</a>.</li> + +<li>Mainardi, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> + +<li>Malibran, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> + +<li>Manet, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Mantegna, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Marais, the, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>-<a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> + +<li>Marat, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> + +<li>Marcel, Etienne, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.</li> + +<li>Marguery, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Marie Antoinette, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> + +<li>Marius, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> + +<li>Marly le Roi, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Martin, Saint, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> + +<li>Martyrs, Chambre de, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rue des, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Massacre of Swiss Guards, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>-<a href="#Page_121">21</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span></li> + +<li>Massacre of St. Bartholomew, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Massé, Victor, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Masson, Frédéric, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> + +<li>Maupassant, Guy de, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> + +<li>Mazarin, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rue, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> + +<li>Medals and their designers, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> + +<li>Médicis, Catherine de, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</li> + +<li>—— fountain, the, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> +<li>—— Marie de, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</li> + +<li>Meilhac, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Meissonier, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> + +<li>Memling, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Méryon, Charles, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Messina, Antonello di, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Metsu, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Meudon, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Meyerbeer, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Mi-Carême, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Michel, Georges, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.</li> + +<li>Michelet, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Millet, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> + +<li>Mint, the Paris, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-<a href="#Page_169">69</a>.</li> + +<li>Mirabeau, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> + +<li>Molière, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li>Monceau, Parc, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> + +<li>Monet, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> + +<li>Money, bad, in Paris, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li> + +<li>Monnaies, Hôtel de, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-<a href="#Page_169">69</a>.</li> + +<li>"Monna Lisa," <a href="#Page_81">81</a>-<a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Mont de Piété, the, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Parnasse, Cimetière, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> +<li>—— Valérien, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Montesquieu, Rue, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Montgomery, Captain, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</li> + +<li>Montmartre, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>-<a href="#Page_275">75</a>.</li> + +<li>Montorgeuil, Rue, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> + +<li>Moreau collection, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li> +<li>—— Musée, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.</li> + +<li>Morgue, the, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> + +<li>Mottez, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Motto, Yama, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Moulin-de-la-Galette, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rouge, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>Moulins, Le Maître de, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> + +<li>Mousseaux, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Murger, Henri, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Murillo, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> + +<li>Musée de l'Armée, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>-<a href="#Page_157">57</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— Arts et Métiers, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> +<li>—— Carnavalet, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-<a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> +<li>—— Cernuschi, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> +<li>—— de Cluny, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-<a href="#Page_184">84</a>.</li> +<li>—— du Conservatoire, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> +<li>—— Grévin, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> +<li>—— Guimet, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> +<li>—— du Louvre, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>-<a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> +<li>—— de Luxembourg, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>-<a href="#Page_179">79</a>.</li> +<li>—— Moreau, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.</li> +<li>—— de l'Opéra, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Musées des Jardin des Plantes, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> + +<li>Music in Paris, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Hall, the, in Paris, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> + +<li>Musical trophies, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + +<li>Musset, Alfred de, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Mystery plays, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Napoleon</span> and the Arc de Triomphe, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— —— end of the Revolution, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>-<a href="#Page_281">81</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Madeleine, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Old Guard, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Panthéon, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— statue of Henri IV., <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Vendôme column, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.</li> +<li>—— at St. Sulpice, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> +<li>—— his coronation, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>-<a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— early palaces, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— interest in art, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— iron bridge, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— relics, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>-<a href="#Page_157">57</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— second funeral, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— tomb, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— two Arcs, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> +<li>—— in two pictures, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> +<li>—— meets Josephine, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> +<li>—— relics at the Carnavalet, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li> +<li>—— III., <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— rebuilds Paris, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.</li> + +<li>Néant, Cabaret de, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Necker, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Newspapers in France, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>-<a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> + +<li>New Year's Eve, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>New York, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> + +<li>Ney, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span></li> + +<li>Night cafés, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>-<a href="#Page_275">75</a>.</li> + +<li>Nodier, Charles, on the book-hunter, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li> + +<li>Notre Dame, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>-<a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Offenbach</span>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li>Olivier, Père, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> + +<li>Olympia Taverne, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.</li> + +<li>Opera, the, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> + +<li>Ostade, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Paganini</span>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + +<li>Pailleron, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> + +<li>Painting, modern, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> + +<li>Paix, Café de la, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>-<a href="#Page_243">43</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rue de la, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Palais de Justice, the, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>-<a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</li> + +<li>—— des Beaux-Arts, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> +<li>—— Royal, the, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>Palma, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Panthéon, the, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>-<a href="#Page_196">96</a>.</li> + +<li>Pari-Mutuel, the, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> + +<li>Paris and balloons, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> + +<li>—— —— beggars, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— Christianity, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— economy, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— its aristocratic quarters, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— billiard saloons, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>-<a href="#Page_222">22</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— bird's-eye views, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— cemeteries, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>-<a href="#Page_317">17</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— civic museums, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-<a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— clocks, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— dogs, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>-<a href="#Page_209">9</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— early history, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— fickleness, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— flats, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Mint, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>-<a href="#Page_169">69</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— mobs, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— newspapers, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>-<a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— restaurants, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Royal Academy Schools, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— royal palaces, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Salons, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— sculpture, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— stations, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— statuary, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— two Zoos, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— views, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— waiters, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— late hours, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— London, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>-<a href="#Page_240">40</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>-<a href="#Page_292">92</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— the play, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— post, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— ship, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> +<li>—— as Méryon saw it, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.</li> +<li>—— fairs, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +<li>—— from Notre Dame, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— the Eiffel Tower, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> +<li>—— in the small hours, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>-<a href="#Page_275">75</a>.</li> +<li>—— pleasure of entering, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>-<a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> +<li>—— under siege, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>-<a href="#Page_213">13</a>.</li> + +<li>Parisian, the, his provinciality, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> + +<li>Pascal, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li>Passy, Cimetière de, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Pasteur, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li> + +<li>Pater, Walter, quoted, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>-<a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li> + +<li>Pawning in Paris, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> + +<li>Peacocks, the, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>-<a href="#Page_204">4</a>.</li> + +<li>Père Lachaise, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>-<a href="#Page_317">17</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Lunette, Le, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> + +<li>Perugino, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Picard, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Picpus, Cimetière de, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Pigalle, Rue, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Pinaigriers, the, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> + +<li>Planquette, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Pointelin, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> + +<li>Pol, Henri, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>-<a href="#Page_130">30</a>.</li> + +<li>Police of Paris, the, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li>Pompadour, Madame la, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>Pompeii, treasures of, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> + +<li>Pompes Funèbres, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + +<li>Pont au Change, the, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Alexandre III., <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> +<li>—— de la Concorde, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.</li> +<li>—— Neuf, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> + +<li>Porte Maillot, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> + +<li>—— St. Denis, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>-<a href="#Page_256">56</a>.</li> +<li>—— St. Martin, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li>Post, the, in Paris, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> + +<li>Pot, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>Potter, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Poussin, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +<li>Préfecture de Police, the, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li> + +<li>Print shops, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span></li> + +<li>Procope, Café, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li> + +<li>Prud'hon, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></li> + +<li>Puget, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Quai</span> des Célestins, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> + +<li>Quasimodo, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> + +<li>Quatre-Septembre, Rue du, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Rabelais</span>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</li> + +<li>Rachel, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Racine, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> + +<li>Raeburn, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> + +<li>Ramly, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Raphael, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Ravaillac, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</li> + +<li>Reason, Goddess of, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> + +<li>—— the Cult of, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>-<a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> + +<li>Réaumur, Rue, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Récamier, Madame, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Religion advertised, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Rembrandt, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> + +<li>Renan, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li>Renaudon, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> + +<li>Renoir, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> + +<li>Republic, Third, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.</li> + +<li>Republican palace, a, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</li> + +<li>Republics in statuary, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li>République, Place de la, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li>Restaurants, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>-<a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>-<a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li>Restoration, the, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>-<a href="#Page_125">25</a>.</li> + +<li>Réveillon, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li>Revolution, the, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>-<a href="#Page_139">39</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>-<a href="#Page_311">11</a>.</li> + +<li>—— of 1830, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li>Revue, the, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> + +<li>Richelieu, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Rue de, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> + +<li>Riding schools, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> + +<li>Rivoli, Rue de, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Robespierre, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>-<a href="#Page_140">40</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.</li> + +<li>Robinson, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Rochefoucauld, Rue, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li>Rodin, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> + +<li>Roland, Madame, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> + +<li>Roman remains in Paris, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li>Romney, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li>Rossini, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Rothschild collection, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> + +<li>Rougemont, Cité, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + +<li>Rousseau, J. J., <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li> + +<li>Rubens, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Rude, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Ruggieri, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.</li> + +<li>Ruisdael, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Sacré-Cœur</span>, the, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>St. Antoine, Rue, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>-<a href="#Page_299">99</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Bartholomew, Massacre of, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> +<li>—— Cloud, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> +<li>—— Denis, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— Rue, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> +<li>—— Dominic, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.</li> +<li>—— Francis, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> +<li>—— Geneviève, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>-<a href="#Page_192">92</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> +<li>—— Germain, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.</li> +<li>—— Honoré, Rue, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>-<a href="#Page_286">86</a>.</li> +<li>—— Martin Priory, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— Rue, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> +<li>—— Merry, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> +<li>—— Peter, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> + +<li>Sainte-Beuve, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Chapelle, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li> + +<li>Saints-Pères, Rue, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> + +<li>—— the mothers of, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li>Salis, Rodolphe, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li> + +<li>Salons, the, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> + +<li>Samson, the headman, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</li> + +<li>Sand, George, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li>Sargent, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> + +<li>Sarto, Andrea del, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Scheffer, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> + +<li>Scribe, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>Sculpture in Paris, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>-<a href="#Page_110">10</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li>Seine, the, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> + +<li>Sens, Hôtel de, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.</li> + +<li>Sévigné, Madame de, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.</li> + +<li>Sèvres, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Sewers, the, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li>Shaftesbury Avenue, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Shaw, Mr. Bernard, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> + +<li>Sicard, the Abbé, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>Siege of 1870, the, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-<a href="#Page_213">13</a>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span></li> + +<li>Sisley, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li> + +<li>Soitoux, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li>Solario, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Sorbonne, the, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>-<a href="#Page_181">81</a>.</li> + +<li>Steinlen, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Sterne, Laurence, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li> + +<li>Stockbrokers in Paris, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li>Stoppeur, the, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> + +<li>Street life in Paris, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>-<a href="#Page_243">43</a>.</li> + +<li>Streets, favourite, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li>Student life, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li> + +<li>Suresnes, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> + +<li>Swiss Guards, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>-<a href="#Page_121">21</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Tabarin</span>, Bal, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li> + +<li>Tailors, political, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li>Talma, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li>Temple, the, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li> + +<li>Tennyson, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> + +<li>Terburg, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>Terra-cottas, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li>Thackeray, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> + +<li>Thames, the, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> + +<li>Thaulow, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Theatre, the first, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li>—— the, in Paris, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>-<a href="#Page_234">34</a>.</li> + +<li>Theatres, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>.</li> + +<li>Thémines, the Marquis de, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> + +<li>Thiers, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</li> + +<li>—— collection, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.</li> + +<li>Thomas, Ambroise, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li>Thomy-Thierret collection, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> + +<li>Tiber, the, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li> + +<li>Tintoretto, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Tissot, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Titian, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.</li> + +<li>Tortoni, Café, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>-<a href="#Page_173">73</a>.</li> + +<li>Tour d'Argent, the, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>-<a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Saint-Jacques, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li>Traffic, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li>Trajan, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>.</li> + +<li>Triomphe, Arc de, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>-<a href="#Page_145">45</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li><i>Tristan und Isolde</i>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> + +<li>Troyon, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> + +<li>Tuileries, the, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>-<a href="#Page_131">31</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Uccello</span>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> + +<li>Uzanne, Octave, on the booksellers, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Valois</span>, Rue, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> + +<li>Van de Velde, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Dyck, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li> + +<li>Vasari, quoted, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li> + +<li>Véber, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> + +<li>Velasquez, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> + +<li>Vendôme, Place, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.</li> + +<li>Venus of Milo, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> + +<li>Verdi, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Vermeer, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Veronese, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li> + +<li>Versailles, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Vestris, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> + +<li>Viarmes, Rue de, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.</li> + +<li>Victor Hugo, Avenue de, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> + +<li>Vierge, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.</li> + +<li>Views in Paris, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>-<a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li>Villebresme, Vicomte de, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.</li> + +<li>Ville d'Avray, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>—— Hôtel de, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>-<a href="#Page_296">96</a>.</li> +<li>—— —— —— Rue de l', <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.</li> + +<li>Vincennes, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Vinci, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>-<a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li>Virgin, the, and the Bird, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>-<a href="#Page_44">44</a>.</li> + +<li>Voisin's, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> + +<li>Vollon, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Volney, Rue, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li>Voltaire, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> + +<li>Vosges, Place des, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Waiters</span>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li> + +<li>Wallace, Sir Richard, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> + +<li>Watteau, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> + +<li>Waxworks in Paris, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> + +<li>Weenix, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +<li>Weerts, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li> + +<li>Weyden, Roger van der, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> + +<li>Whiff of Grapeshot, the, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>-<a href="#Page_281">81</a>.</li> + +<li>Whistler, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> + +<li>Wiertz, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.</li> + +<li>Willette, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li> + +<li>Winged Victory, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li> + +<li>Women in Paris, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>.</li> + +</ul> +</div> +<div class="left25"> +<ul class="none"> +<li><span class="smcap">Ziem</span>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> + +<li>Zola, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li>Zurbaran, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li> +</ul></div> + +<p class="center p6">ABERDEEN: THE UNIVERSITY PRESS</p> + +<div class="footnotes p6"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>Yet for Vasari there was further magic of crimson in the lips and +cheeks, lost for us. <i>Pater's note.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>I have since learned that this is the same dog, Barry by name, +who has a monument on the St. Bernard Pass, and is stuffed in the +Natural History Museum at Berne. But I know nothing of his connexion +with Paris.</p></div> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WANDERER IN PARIS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 37937-h.txt or 37937-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/7/9/3/37937">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/9/3/37937</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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