The Knickerbocker, Vol. 10, No. 3, September 1837

RANDOM PASSAGES

FROM ROUGH NOTES OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY.

NUMBER FOUR.

Paris, August, 1836.—After due deliberation respecting the various routes, viz.: first, by Southampton to Havre, and up the Seine; second, by Brighton and Dieppe; third, by steam-boat direct to Calais, or Boulogne; fourth, (the older and most frequented,) by Dover and Calais, or Boulogne; I chose the latter; and in order to be in Paris before Saturday evening, (to-day is Wednesday,) took my outside seat in the night coach to Dover. It was a fine evening, and as we rode out of London through 'the main artery of the right hand of the world,' Charing-Cross, down Whitehall and Parliament-street, over Westminster bridge, and through the villages of Deptford and Greenwich, I had the finest sunset view of the great metropolis, which I had yet seen. A glorious full-moon rose soon after we took leave of the more dazzling luminary, and of course the ride in such an evening was most agreeable. We passed through Gravesend, a bustling and noted town on the Thames, and our course lay for some distance along the margin of the river. At eleven, we stopped for supper at Rochester. The night which looked so promising, was not to be very delightful; a change came over the face of it, in the shape of a cold, thick fog; moreover, that useless and annoying animal, y'clept 'the guard,' kept us awake by a hideous bellowing with a long tin-horn; and altogether, I was abundantly satisfied with my first experiment in riding all night. Day-light came at last, just as we were entering the ancient and honorable town of Canterbury, as weary pilgrims as ever went there in the days of worthy old Chaucer. The cathedral is entirely surrounded by ordinary dwelling-houses, and the massive entrance was at this hour of course closed. We could only get a glimpse of its fine towers. At six A. M., we were set down at the 'Ship Hotel,' at Dover, and only had to pay five shillings more than the regular fare, beside three shillings to the guard, etc., for keeping us awake, and two shillings more for porters, ladders, etc., to the boat, a pigmy affair, y'clept the Britannia, on board of which we descended, after a poor breakfast at the hotel; and in a few minutes we were rapidly receding from the 'white cliffs of England.' The hills along this coast appear to be entirely of chalk, and from a short distance, the shore looks as if partly covered with snow. The castle and heights tower above the town, and the latter give it the appearance of our Brooklyn. The morning was brilliant and cloudless, and the sea scarcely ruffled. So we glided over this far-famed and much-dreaded channel as gently as we should cross from New-York to Jersey City, only taking somewhat longer time to do it. Before we had lost sight of Dover, the coast of 'La Belle France' was very distinct; indeed the two coasts may always be seen from each other, in clear weather. We had three or four baskets of carrier-pigeons on board, which were liberated at intervals, to announce our progress. They are used to communicate important intelligence, and never fail of arriving at their destination in about ten minutes.

The distance from Boulogne to Dover is forty miles. After a voyage of three-and-a-half hours, we made the bustling town of Boulogne, which is prettily situated on the open sea-coast, at the head of a small bay. On an eminence near the town, is a conspicuous monument, commenced by Napoleon to commemorate his (intended) conquest of England,(!) and completed by Louis XVIII., to commemorate Napoleon's downfall!

We sailed up between two long and excellent wood piers, filled with expecting friends, porters, police, soldiers, custom-house officers, etc., and stepping for the first time on the soil of Europe, at least of the continent, I was escorted by a companion through the eager crowd, amid the clamorous calls of the commissioners, 'Hotel du Nord? Hotel D'Angleterre? Hotel D'Orleans? Portmanteau, Monsieur?' and all in a strange tongue. What a jabbering! At a little bureau on the quay our passports were received, and we were permitted to proceed without any personal examination, the commissioner of our hotel (D'Orleans,) taking charge of our luggage, which he 'passed' in an hour, without giving us a word of trouble; but we soon found we were not to escape vexations, for the seats in the diligences, had been engaged for four days to come! This is especially provoking, in such a place as Boulogne. But repining avails not.

This is the second of 'Le Trois Jours,' and the tri-colored flags are displayed from every house in town, giving the streets a gay and lively face. This is a remarkably clean and orderly place, and in this respect forms a strong contrast to its rival, Calais. It is a famous sea-bathing place, and during the summer, English residents and visitors form one third of the whole population. Indeed, the town is very À la Anglaise—more so, they say, than any other in France. But still there is enough to remind a novice that he is really in another country, in the old world. The military on the docks and in every street; the poor women, bare-footed and bare-headed, performing the labor of beasts of burthen, being in fact the public porters, and thankful for the chance of carrying your luggage for a few sous; the incessant jabbering in a strange tongue, (strange, alas! to me,) 'for even the children here,' as one sagely remarked, 'talk very good French;' the streets without side-walks, and the picturesque figures in them; the immense clumsy diligences, arriving and setting off in cautious pace; the street harpists and music-grinders, (of which we have abundant specimens,) etc. The hotels form about one-fourth of all the buildings of the town, and are all crowded. Mine host has a summer pavilion on the banks of the sea, commanding an extensive view of the English coast, etc., and very similar to that at Rockaway, (L. I.,) and to this we are sent in a barouche to dine at the table d'hÔte, in a large airy hall, which accommodates one hundred or more. The company, being mostly English, seemed rather awkward in this novel mode of dining; and there was no general conversation at the table. My neighbour stared with astonishment when he found I was not English, and still more so that I was an American, 'the first he had ever seen;' and he looked as tickled as if he had seen an ourang-outang. The shore before the pavilion is covered with little bathing-cars, which are drawn into the water by horses, and there is a handsome assembly-hall near by, for the bathers. After dinner, walked up to the 'barriers,' or ramparts, which surround an elevated part of the city, and serve both for fortification and a public promenade. The view from them is very fine.

Friday.—A rainy day, and the review and ceremonies in the church are given up. Strangers at the hotels have been invited by the mayor to a grand ball at the 'Salle du Spectacle,' or theatre, this evening. A band of music at the pavilion at dinner. Went to the theatre; great crowd, nine-tenths spectators; much like our Masonic Hall balls, except that there is no room to dance. The Élite of the town displayed their best, but the majority were English. It was to be trÈs selecte, and has been the town-talk for a week; yet my companion said, with great surprise, that of one of the prettiest of the dancers he had bought his gloves. Made an appointment to meet him at Amiens cathedral, at five A. M.

Saturday.—A most vexatious mistake of my own has lost me my seat again, and I must endure idleness and ennui, in this purgatory, twenty-four hours longer. Horrors! What shall I do? Wandered into a museum, and killed an hour. Bought 'Diary of DesennuyÉe.' Miserable trash! Changed it for Mrs. Trollope's 'Paris and the Parisians;' precious little better. The longest day I have known this two years.

August 31st.—Found myself actually mounted on the rotonde of a French diligence, and proceeding, at the pace of six or seven miles an hour, toward Paris. Splendid morning; and the roads are thoroughly sprinkled by the late rain. The diligence has been recently much modified, À l'Anglaise, and I perceived but little difference in the mode or rate of travelling. This one has two outside rear seats, or the rotonde; the banquette, over the conducteur's seat in front; and the interior, divided into three apartments. The front is called the coupÉ, and is the highest price. The conducteur is a respectable personage, who overlooks the whole team, delivers the passports, etc., and the fee to him, and the postilion, is always regular, and paid in advance. (The fees to waiters at hotels in France are always charged in the bills; so there is one annoyance well rid of.)

The road to Paris, by Montreuil, Abbeville, and Beauvais, is flat, stale, and unprofitable. There is little to be seen but wheat-fields and pastures, and here and there a bit of a hut, with the philanthropic announcement, 'Loge au pied et un cheval;' which is equivalent, I presume, to the similar English establishments' sign, 'Entertainment for man and horse.' Montreuil is an antique and strongly-fortified town, entirely surrounded by a high wall, and several out-posts. Here we stopped to dine. Abbeville, the next, is the largest town on the route, and quite continental in its appearance. It was a fÊte-day, and the whole population were amusing themselves in the streets, some with a dancing monkey, others listening to a buffoon, or improvisatrice. Then we passed through Airaines, Granvilliers, and Marseilles to Beauvais, famous for its siege in 1472 by the Duke of Burgundy, which was raised by the heroic Jean Hanchette, whose memory is still honored by an annual festival. Here we took a good breakfast, for which our night ride had created an excellent appetite. Passing then through the small villages of Puiseux, Blaumont, Sur-Oise and Marseilles, we came to Saint Dennis, the burial-place of the kings of France, and from thence proceeded through a broad, straight, dusty avenue, to the capital, without having any general view; and were set down at the bureaux of the Messageries Royal, where our luggage was slightly examined, and I was then escorted, by a young companion, to the Hotel De Lille et d'Albion, opposite the Palais Royal. Dined at the table d'hÔte, with a company of thirty, all English. Got a cab and rode over one of the bridges to find my quandam yankee doctor. Find it necessary to be in earnest now about learning French. My ignorance is rather awkward, but still it is not impossible to make myself understood; and 'necessity is the mother of invention.'

August 2nd.—Hired a guide, or interpreter, to show me the localities, and assist me in my business. In the city in general, I am disappointed. The narrow, filthy streets, with gutters in the centre, and without side-walks, and the antique and irregular buildings, do not realize my notions of gay, elegant Paris. But the extent and magnificence of the public buildings, palaces, gardens, parks, boulevards, etc., are enough to atone for the dirty streets. The general view of the city, from one of the centre bridges, (the atmosphere being wonderfully clear and transparent,) is grand and imposing in the extreme. The luxurious and superb architecture of the Louvre, Tuilleries, Luxembourg, and Palais Royal, and the immense extent, as well as the great beauty and elegance, of the gardens and parks, connected with these places, must astonish even the most sanguine.

August 4th.—Took lodgings with Dr. —— in Rue D'Enfer, opposite the garden of the Luxembourg, for three objects, namely: to have a guide to the city; to learn French from him and the talkative landlady, and for economy's sake, for I pay but seven and a half francs a week for a snug room with attendance, in a good situation, and can have breakfast (such as it is) for fifteen sous.[11]

6th. Having disposed of most of my business, I commenced 'lionizing.' First, I walked over Pont des Arts, through the Louvre and the Tuilleries, to the Garden of the Tuilleries, which, I need not say, is laid out on a scale of great extent and magnificence, and is profusely adorned with fine statues, and groups in bronze and marble. The number and variety of the noble walks in this garden are truly astonishing. And it is not less so, that the finest statuary should be so liberally exposed to the public, without the least guard or protection, and yet none of it is ever injured. Passed through Place de la Concorde, (late Place Louis XVI.;) and the Champs ElysÉes, where they were removing the lamps, etc., used in the late fÊte of the three days; and walked up the broad and noble avenue to the Arc de Triomphe, which was completed a few days since, and is one of the most conspicuous, and most admired ornaments of the capital. I will send you a printed description, which will save me a great many words. Suffice it to say, that the most extravagant epithets will not give you too high an idea of it. It is of white marble, adorned with exquisite bas-reliefs, and is so immense in extent and height, that from the Pont Neuf, about three miles distant, it is conspicuous far above the tall trees of the Champs ElysÉes, and all the surrounding objects.

Returned to the Louvre, and spent the forenoon in its celebrated MusÉe and Gallery of Paintings. This gallery is one thousand three hundred and thirty feet long, and would reach from Broadway to Wooster-street! The ceiling is oval, and is elegantly gilded and adorned. The perspective of the gallery is much like that of Thames Tunnel, and the farther end appears to be only three or four feet high. As to the paintings, I have marked in the catalogue those which particularly struck me, and no farther description would be worth while. The gallery of ancient sculpture is of course intensely interesting, and contains one of the finest collections in the world. (See Madame Starke.) Walked up to the Boulevards, which, with Rue Rivoli, Rue Castiglione, and perhaps two or three others, are the only streets which do credit to the city. The Boulevards are quite modern; and when the trees are matured, and the building finished, they will be much more beautiful than now. The Boulevard des Italiens is the handsomest. In the Boulevard Conti, is the superb church of St. Madeline, the interior of which is not yet completed. It is like the Bourse, or Exchange, on the model of a Grecian temple, and is built of white marble, surrounded with exquisite Corinthian pillars, and ornamented with bas-reliefs. In the Place Vendome, nearby, is the celebrated column (on the model of Trajan's,) erected by Napoleon to commemorate his victories. What a gigantic mind was Napoleon's! It is displayed as much in the monuments, edifices, and public works, which he planned and executed, as in his ambitious projects for the conquest of Europe. This column is made of cannon taken in his battles, and you must see it, in order to understand the difficulty as well as grandeur of such a project.

Returned to my room before dark; for recent examples have shown, that it is not quite safe to be out alone, late in the evening, in the streets of Paris. Several persons have been attacked and robbed, and one or two killed, in this neighborhood, within a few days.

Sunday.—Went to St. Sulpice, which is ranked as the second church in Paris, next to Notre Dame. It is Roman Catholic of course, for there are but four or five Protestant churches in all Paris! The front of St. Sulpice is very grand and imposing, but the rest is not particularly so. The interior is spacious and lofty, but far less elaborately finished and decorated than the cathedrals of England. There are large niches around the walls, enclosed with a railing, and adorned with fine paintings, an altar etc., which seemed to be private or family chapels. Several companies of children, apparently belonging to schools, were led into the church by priests in black cloth robes. These priests were reading the service in various parts of the church, and in the niches, to groups of ten or twenty; but the principal one was before the grand altar, which was richly adorned, and contrived for effect, which I cannot describe.

7th.—Went to Versailles, where there was to be a grand review, etc. The Doctor, a medical student, a New-Orleans gentleman, and myself, took a hack together, and started off about eleven o'clock. All the world had gone or were going; the vehicles of all sorts, from the superb barouche of the nobility, to the go-cart of the market folks, were innumerable. Rode along the Quai des Tuilleries and the Champs ElysÉes. Passed Saint Cloud, the favorite residence of Napoleon, and the scene of the bloodless revolution which gave him the government of France. Near the palace, is a column for telegraphs, by which Napoleon communicated with Paris. A certain light was a signal that he would see nobody. Neither lord nor lady must approach.

Arrived at Versailles at one. Review just over! The palace here is immensity personified. It can hardly be comprehended. From the magnificent gardens, the view of it is superb. These gardens will more than realize the most brilliant fairy scene of the Arabian Nights. They extend several miles in each direction; laid out with the most perfect neatness and order; and this is their only fault. There is too much trimming—too much exactness. If they were a little more like the wild beauty of nature, they would please my eye as well. Statuary, of all sorts, is liberally disposed throughout these vast grounds; noble avenues intersect each other at half-angles in the gardens and park; and in these the trees are so placed and trimmed as to form a grand triumphal arch; while the squares between are occupied by fountains, curiously devised, or by a bed of flowers.

'All the world and his wife' were there. Suddenly, there was a pressing toward one of the grand avenues. It was to see the King of Naples, who is now here on a visit to his aunt, the Queen of the French. The king and the French queen were in an open car, accompanied by two good-looking youths, about sixteen and eighteen, (the Dukes of Nemours and Orleans,) and the two princesses, rather pretty, and dressed with taste and marked simplicity. An elderly gentleman, next to the King of Naples, was said to be his minister or guardian, and he looks as if he needed one. He is a mustachioed, dandyish-looking fellow, and stared through his quizzing glass in a style quite amusing. The people took off their hats, as the car passed, but there was not a whisper of applause or enthusiasm.

On our return, just as we stopped at the park of St. Cloud, the French king's carriage came up, kept as close as a prison; and in a few minutes, the queen and he of Naples arrived, and stopped in the park to change horses; so we had a chance to scan them all very closely. The queen might have been handsome once, but she certainly is not now. She bowed repeatedly to some one by the carriage; but not a word was uttered, which appeared very strange.

10th.—My way to Galignani's reading-room, every morning, is through the portico of the hall of the celebrated French Institute, over the Pont des Arts, and through the quadrangles of the Louvre and Palais Royal. What a world in miniature, (and not on a very small scale either,) is this Palais Royal! A palace that would cover two or three of our squares, in the heart of the city, was converted by its proprietor, the late Duke of Orleans, into an immense bazaar; the entrance from every part being from the interior court, which is a long promenade of itself, adorned with rows of trees, fountains, and gardens. The lower floor of the palace is divided into stores, in the arcade fashion, in which are displayed every article, almost, which can be imagined or desired, for use or ornament. The jewellers are the most numerous. There are, I should think, at least three or four hundred of these shops on the first floor, and they each rent for four thousand francs per annum. The second floor is occupied by cafÉs, reading-rooms and by gambling-establishments, or 'hells,' and the upper stories by characters of all sorts, male and female. In short, there is a specimen of every thing, good and bad, in this Palais Royal; and even the bad is made so alluring and dazzling, that altogether, it is no very difficult matter for an unwary novice there to rid himself of his superfluous cash. The imposing coup d'oeil of the palace and gardens you can imagine better from the prints, than from any description.

Near the Bourse, is the Halle au BlÉ, an immense circular building, the dome of which is nearly as large as that of the Pantheon at Rome.

In my ramble to-day, I dropped into a church which I found to be that of Saint Roch, one of the most beautiful in Paris. Like Saint Sulpice, it has numerous private altars in the enclosures around the walls, which are adorned with fine paintings. Near the main altar, there is a representation of the sepulchre, made with real stones, and roughly placed in the supposed manner of the original, and a group of statuary, as large as life, representing the entombment. It is so well done, that the credulous devotees who were kneeling before it seemed to think it was reality. Near it is a representation of Mount Calvary and the Crucifixion, not painted, but contrived to produce a most singular effect.

In the aisle of Saint Roch, I met an English lady, and her three daughters, whom I had seen at Boulogne. Having travelled with the lady's husband, but not having been formally introduced, I passed without speaking to them. The lady turned and spoke to me, and politely invited me to call at her hotel. I mention this, as proving that the English are not always so tenacious about formal introductions as they have been represented.

Tuesday, 9th.—Walked before breakfast to the Jardin des Plants, where botanical students have the privilege of studying all the immense variety of specimens which are there displayed, in a garden of three-fourths of a mile long. A small hill in the centre is surmounted by a little bronze temple, from which there is a good prospect. On this hill are two or three Cedars of Lebanon, which are esteemed very rare and valuable; it is a beautiful tree, and quite oriental. Beside the plants in this establishment, there is a menagerie, a museum of botany and natural history, etc.

Visited the gallery of the Luxembourg, which is appropriated for paintings and sculpture by living artists. It was a rich treat. See catalogue. The garden of the Luxembourg is a beautiful promenade, but not equal to that of the Tuilleries. Nothing can exceed the gayety and brilliancy of the scene in these gardens at sunset, and early in the evening, when the thousands are enjoying the cool refreshing air, or admiring the fountains and statues. In the Tuilleries, a sculpture in bronze has been lately put up, representing a lion crushing a viper or serpent. It seems to attract much attention, as being emblematical of a strong government putting down all insurrectionary vipers.

Visited Notre-Dame. The interior architecture will not compare with that of York Minster, and other English cathedrals, but it has a lighter and more cheerful appearance. It is abundantly decorated with paintings, some of which are very superior. A company of priests were chanting in the choir, in the most doleful manner imaginable. Ascended by four hundred steps to the top of the towers, from which there is a fine view of Paris and the environs. The clearness of the atmosphere renders the view much better than that from Saint Paul's. The Palais de Justice, where the courts, etc., are held, is near Notre Dame, on the Ile de CitÉ. The Court of Cassation are now engaged in the trial of persons lately arrested for supposed treasonable plots. Poor Louis Phillipe! thine is a throne of thorns! Thou darest not show thyself in public, lest thy life should be forfeited! Who does not envy thee! And yet, I have never learned that the king has merited these attempts on his life. The government, in spite of some severe laws, has been as liberal as the character of the people would justify.

The BibliothÈque du Roi contains eight hundred thousand volumes, the largest library in the world. I noticed a work on the topography, etc., of France, alone, in two hundred and nine large folio volumes! Connected with the library, is an immense collection of prints, and of antique medals, cameos, gems, etc. I saw the armour of the Duke of Sully, Henry IV., and several of the French generals; manuscript original letters of Racine, MoliÈre, Bossuet, Boileau, Voltaire, Fenelon, Rousseau, etc.; manuscripts written in the third, fourth, and fifth centuries, beautifully illuminated; manuscripts in Turkish, Arabic, Coptic, Egyptian, etc., and paintings from the ruins of Thebes, probably done before Christ.

The papers announced a review of the troops before the Tuilleries, by the king, and the King of Naples, but it was changed to the Champs ElysÉes, and the King of France was not present. He is said to be very courageous himself, and it is only the urgent entreaties of his family and his ministers which keep him so close. He wished to have the review on the 29th, but they would not permit him. Just as I was leaving the Garden of the Tuilleries, the king arrived in a coach-and-six, preceded by a courier, and escorted by a party of dragoons. He looked out of the carriage and bowed, and I had a good opportunity to see him. The face was quite natural, and very much like the prints.

This afternoon I visited one of the most curious and interesting sights in Paris, the manufactory of the celebrated Gobelin Tapestry, where those copies of the Cartoons of Raphael, exhibited in New-York, were made. The operation appears perfectly simple, and yet I cannot understand it. The picture to be copied is hung on the wall behind the loom; the weaver sits with his back to it, and works on the back of the tapestry. It is done entirely by hand, and of course it is very slow work, six years being spent on one piece. There are about ten or twelve rooms, some of them containing two or three looms. Several of the pieces now on the looms are very beautiful, and they are, therefore, very expensive. None but kings and millionaires can afford them. Annexed to the tapestry rooms, there is a manufactory of carpets, of a most princely description, uniting the thickness and durability of the Turkey carpets, with the softness and elegance of the Wilton. The colors and patterns are really superb. The carpets are always made in one piece. These, also, are such as the most wealthy only can buy.

The Pantheon, once called the Church of Saint Genevieve, is a sort of national monument. It is an elegant building, in the form of a cross, supported within and without by Corinthian pillars. The dome is particularly lofty and beautiful. On the walls, are four gilt tablets, on which are inscribed the names of two hundred and eighty-seven citizens, killed in the revolution of 1830. The crypt is fitted for the purpose of receiving monuments of distinguished persons. Our guide, with a lantern, escorted us to this subterranean region, where we 'meditated among the tombs.' Suddenly he came to a statue, and raising the lantern to the face, discovered to us features expressing a scornful sneer, which made me start. It was a statue of Voltaire. While there, another party came in, preceded by the guide and lantern, and dodging every now and then from behind the pillars of the crypt, it seemed like being in the regions of the dead. In the evening, went to see the celebrated Taglioni, at the AcadÉmie Royale de Musique, being her first appearance for some time. The house was as full as it could be packed, and I could hardly get a peep; but I saw such dancing as I never beheld before. It is most appropriately called the 'poetry of motion.' Visited an exhibition of Sevres porcelain; should like to send home a set, but it rather exceeds my purse. The Hotel des Invalides, is the largest building in Paris, if not in the world. It is an asylum for maimed and superannuated soldiers. The chapel connected with it, and especially the dome, is much admired, and is considered the finest thing of the kind in Paris. The old soldiers of Napoleon are here to be seen in their cocked hats and military dress; some with one arm, others minus a leg. They are all well taken care of, and have nothing to do. Near the Invalides, is the Ecole Militaire, and the Champs de Mars, where one hundred and fifty thousand men have been paraded.

On the banks of the river, facing the Place de Concord, is the Palace of the Chamber of Deputies, or Palace Bourbon. The Hall of Sitting is in the form of an amphitheatre, the seats raised above each other. It is very elegant, and even gay, in its decorations. The front benches are inscribed Ministres. The session of the chamber does not commence till winter. We were also shown the other apartments of the palace. Next to this is the Palace of the Legion of Honor, and farther on is the Hotel des Monnaies, or Mint. This afternoon, at five o'clock, stepped into an omnibus, in order to be at PÈre la Chaise at sunset. It is on an eminence near the barriers of the city. The street which leads to it was filled with women, who were making and selling those yellow wreaths, (of which I send you a specimen,) for the visitors to decorate the tombs of their friends. Great numbers of these were placed on the tombs, some fresh, and others faded and dried. The cemetery is on the same plan as that at Mount Auburn, or rather Mount Auburn is on the plan of this. There are no less than thirty thousand tombs here, displaying every variety of taste and whim in the style and pattern, and filling a space of some hundred acres, the walks through which form quite a labyrinth, insomuch that the guides charge three francs to go through it, which I did not choose to pay. I found the tombs of Abelard and HelÖise, MoliÈre and La Fontaine (which are side by side, and very simple, and covered with names of visiting scribblers,) Rousseau, La BruyÈre, La Place, (the author of MÉcanique Celeste,) Moreau, Volney, (a plain pyramid,) and several other distinguished names. Many of the monuments are very splendid, particularly that of General Foy, and others which I cannot recollect. The inscriptions are as various as the monuments. Some are very simple: 'À mon pÈre;' 'À notre cher ami;' 'À notre petite Julie,' etc. Many of the monuments are little chapels, with altars, candles, chairs, etc., and some even with paintings; having an iron door, of open work, so that you can look in and see the taste and superstition of the founder. It requires a whole day, at least, to take even a passing view of all the monuments. The view from the highest ground in the cemetery is very fine.

12th. I had sent a note to Prince Czartoryski, desiring to know if it was his pleasure that I should call on him. This morning I received a polite and elegantly-written note, in French, saying: 'Le Prince Czartoryski prÉsente ses complimens À Mr. ——, et s'empresse de le prÉvenir qu'il aura le plaisir de l'attendre chez soi, demain À 11 h. dans la matinÉe.' Ce 10 AÖut, 1836. 25 Faubourg du Roule.'

I did not receive it till the day after that designated, but still I went. There did not seem to be even a porter or a servant on the premises. An old man escorted me up stairs, and knocking, the door opened where a good looking gentleman was writing. I was at a loss to know whether he was the prince or not, but he seemed to expect me. 'Monsieur ——?' 'Oui, Monsieur.' He escorted me to the next room, and took my card into another. In a few minutes, a noble-looking man, about fifty-five, came out, and taking my hand, was 'very glad to see Mr. ——;' 'walk in;' and so I was seated on a plain gingham-covered sofa, with the Prince Czartoryski. The apartments, furniture, etc., are plain almost to meanness, and the prince's pantaloons themselves looked as if they had been washed five or six times; a fact which I consider highly creditable to him. He has decidedly one of the finest, noblest countenances I ever saw. It is expressive at once of dignity, energy, and benevolence. It indicates a contempt of every thing mean.

I must confess I felt rather awkward in this my first tÊte-À-tÊte with a prince. It was so hard to have to say 'your highness' at every sentence, that I finally dropped it entirely, and answered yes, Sir, or no, Sir. He evidently expects this form, but does not insist upon it. He inquired about the condition of his countrymen in the United States; if they had obtained employment; if they conducted themselves well; what gentlemen had interested themselves for them. He had not heard of Mr. Wilder, and told his secretary to take down his name. He asked if any association for the Poles existed in New-York, and if one could not be formed; if the Americans were not rather partial to Russia, and thought she had done right. This I answered very warmly, and said that, on the contrary, our country had watched with astonishment the conduct of the other powers of Europe in not interfering in behalf of Poland. That the wrongs of Poland were a favorite theme for our school-boys and school-girls.

After a conversation of half an hour or more, I took leave, the prince inviting me very cordially to call on him when I returned to Paris. The morning papers state that 'the government (of France) yesterday made an application to Prince Czartoryski for three hundred Poles to go to Spain'—for which 'party,' I did not notice.

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