I called one day on M. Visconti by appointment, in order to be conducted to see some drawings of the Temple of Fortune at Palestrina, by M. Huyot, who has gained great credit by this exertion of his talents. A French student in architecture usually fixes himself in the office, or as they call it atelier, (workshop) of some architect of reputation. Here he pays a louis per month for his seat, for the use of drawings to copy, and for the occasional advice of his master; and as soon as he has gained some elementary knowledge, he goes to the academy with a ticket, stating his name, age, country, his master’s name, &c. At the academy, one day in every month is dedicated to a trial of skill and talent (concours). I find myself sadly deficient in English terms for the practices, and you must therefore excuse me if I introduce French ones. Precisely at eight o’clock in the morning, the professor enters and gives a programme, i. e. a statement of the nature of the building for which a design is demanded, and of the accommodation it requires; and each pupil makes a plan, elevation, and section, according to his idea of the subject. This of course is a mere sketch, but it is done to a scale. No external communication is allowed, but refreshments are sold by the porter. The sketches thus made are shewn to the professor, and then taken away to be restudied and drawn out fair against the next day of contest. In this second attempt, the leading idea of the sketch is to be strictly maintained, but such farther developments and improvements, as a more leisurely study may suggest, are not only allowed but expected. No pupil is required to make these sketches, but as his being permitted to be a candidate for the grand prix, and for the pension for travelling in Italy, depends on the number of monthly prizes he may obtain, there is sufficient stimulus for the effort.

The students are permitted to avail themselves of the advice of their master, and of their companions, and even of their assistance in the drawings. The original sketches, with the improved drawings, are then taken back to the academy, and the professor assigns the premium, which is merely a ticket, without any intrinsic value.

The contest for the grand prix occurs once a year, but no student is admitted as a candidate, unless he have gained a certain number of the monthly prizes. The method is nearly the same as in the monthly contests, but of course, the talents called into action are much greater than in the more frequent trials, and the effort necessary is likewise much greater. So also is the reward; for besides the prize, and the honour accompanying it, the successful candidate is sent to Rome to enter into a new career of knowledge and reputation. When in Italy, each student is expected to send home every year four drawings of some monument, chosen by himself. In the latter years of their residence they usually do much more; and some late very successful efforts have raised the standard so high, that the task which a man, who wishes to distinguish himself, has to execute in Italy, is now a very serious one. The best productions thus obtained are the Pantheon, by Achille le Clerc, and the Temple of Fortune, at Palestrina, by M. Huyot. The first, having probably observed several circumstances not previously noticed, was encouraged to undertake a building so well known, but in order to justify himself in this selection, he thought it necessary to enter into a minuteness and accuracy of detail, of which there had been no previous example. The result has amply justified his choice; and his researches, and the clear and perfect manner in which he has explained his views, have gained him a great deal of credit. He seems to have proved completely, that the portico was not added at a later time to a building which had been complete without it; but I will not enter into a particular account of this subject till I have seen the edifice itself. M. Huyot^[17] has made a very elaborate performance on the Temple of Fortune, and if we may sometimes be inclined to doubt whether his authorities are sufficient for the magnificent restoration which he has made, and to reject the high antiquity which he assigns to some parts of it, yet we cannot deny him the praise of a diligent and accurate investigation of the existing remains, and of great sagacity and ingenuity in combining them into one regular and symmetrical design. In fact, in many of the recent productions of the French students, there is a patient accuracy of examination, and a perfection of drawing, which I have never met with in the architectural students of our own country, and which I was not prepared for here.

I use, you see, the term student, as applied to the authors of these works, and correctly, for such they are; but candidates for the grand prix are admitted till thirty years of age, and the privilege is sometimes claimed even till the last moment. They are not therefore boys, but men of formed habits of research, and improved judgment. Yet these drawings, executed with so much care and skill, are put out of the way in the academy as if they were so much lumber: you will hear them spoken of indeed as ‘choses extrÉmement precieuses,’ and with all other expressions of praise you can imagine; but meanwhile, they are neglected or ill-treated, and the poor artist himself is sometimes not much better off.

M. Gallois took me one morning to breakfast with M. Brogniart, who superintends the royal manufactory of porcelain at SÈvres, and to see the products. In point of execution, the finest piece I saw was a plate made at Vienna, ornamented with flowers, performed in the most beautiful manner; it might almost be taken for a painting by Van Huysum; but we only saw it in a glass case, and it may have faults which I did not notice. Some of the vases made at SÈvres are well shaped, but this is not always the case; they are often very large; some are made to imitate tortoiseshell, some lapis lazuli, some malachite; I should prefer them as porcelain. After all, the most pleasing combination of colours on the surface of a plate, is not exactly that of a beautiful drawing, and perhaps the Chinese have shown more taste and judgment, in contenting themselves with the former, than the Europeans, who have been ambitious of the latter. In the general disposition of the rooms, there is more glitter than I like, but this seems almost unavoidable from the nature of the material, and of the objects of the art; and it must be acknowledged, that many of the individual productions are very chaste and beautiful. They use a green ground made from chrome, which is an excellent colour, and sets off the gilding exceedingly well; some of the cups and vases, which are merely gilt on this colour, are among the finest things in the manufactory. They possess also an admirable dead red, which harmonizes perfectly with the gold; but apparently, this has not brilliancy enough to please the general eye, for they use but little of it. I must not forget the cameos, which are some of the happiest efforts, and in which the beautiful semi-transparency of the agate is well imitated. A table ornamented with portraits of illustrious men, and with some event in the life of each, is perhaps, the greatest work they have executed; but although the parts are beautiful, the whole is not so; and with great perversity of judgment, or of taste, the stand is made of porcelain as well as the top, thus exposing ten-fold to accident, what was already too fragile.

On another morning I breakfasted with M. Prudhom’, and he took me to M. Sommariva’s gallery, which contains modern as well as ancient paintings. Several are by M. Prudhom’, one of which, Zephyr crossing a brook, is a most charming painting, and is the happiest specimen I have seen of this accomplished artist. It seems exactly the subject for him. Zephyr is represented as a beautiful boy; his wings are visible, but not obtrusive; he has just put one foot upon the wet sand, and with a half laugh, is shrinking back from the cold. Besides the paintings, M. Sommariva possesses two works by Canova. A Terpsichore, and a most exquisite Magdalen, who occupies a room to herself, and has every possible advantage of light, and of the colour of the ground; and deserves every advantage which can be given.

After so many disquisitions on architecture, you may forgive now and then a desultory letter; I shall therefore transport you for a few minutes to the theatres, of which, hitherto I have said nothing.

I went one night to the Theatre des Vaudevilles. The style of decoration is paltry, being for the most part conspicuously paper; and as paper, not well executed, nor at all in good taste, though it must be acknowledged, it is difficult to say what is good taste in the decoration of a theatre. The place corresponding to the English pit is divided into two parts, of which the one nearest the stage is called the orchestra, and the remainder the parterre; the price of admission to the former being the same as to the boxes. This arrangement seems to me reasonable, as some of the seats in the orchestra are certainly the best in the house for seeing and hearing the actors. The orchestra is again divided, but I know not why, by a rail across the middle. There are four complete ranges of boxes, and no gallery.

The drop scene was a view of the Tuilleries from the Seine, as it appeared about a century ago; a bad painting of a bad subject. Among other pieces, for we had three in the same evening, there was a burlesque of Hamlet, in which an English actor was represented, who came to Paris to teach the French the veritable Hamlet Anglois, while his servant more successfully attempts to introduce the true English blacking. At the first appearance of the former to offer his services, the gestures, manners, and bad pronunciation have something of what one might conceive of an English coxcomb actor; in the rest of the piece he is a good automaton, but I could trace no resemblance to any thing English.

The Theatre FranÇais is you know the famous theatre, which every body sees, admires, and criticises; but I shall tell you nothing about the acting, my business, at present, is with the architecture, and that is of too solid, and too real a style, to suit well in a theatre: the stories of boxes are fitted in between columns of Greek architecture, and the disposition is, and looks to be, inconvenient.

On returning from Rheims I observed, at the entrance to Paris, two inns, one of which has for its sign Providence, indicated by the figure of an old man, intended to represent the Almighty. The other is the Grace of God, with a painting of a man upon his knees. A Frenchman does not see any thing profane in this. On the contrary, I believe, they are intended as inducements to religious people to enter, since it is again the fashion to be religious. However, though such a fashion certainly exists, I do not think it extends very far, even taking religion in the sense of ceremonial observances, the ancient use of the word. They have other signs here you would not expect; just by me is an auberge ‘Au Duc de Wellington,’ and a ‘Grand Hotel Nelson.’ What would you think of the ‘Napoleon’s Head,’ or the ‘Marshal Soult,’ in London?

While they are fresh in my mind, I will give you some idea of the crowds and processions I have been looking at yesterday and to-day. The first were those of what is called the FÊte Dieu, and according to Catholic notions, or at least according to Parisian language, the Almighty himself is carried in procession. The houses were adorned with tapestry; that is, with curtains, carpets, and all sorts of old things the inhabitants happen to have by them, hung out of the windows. In some parts, however, sheets were the usual hangings, ornamented very prettily with sprigs and festoons of flowers. The windows were filled with spectators, who scattered handfuls of rose leaves on the crowd below.

The leader of the procession was a child about four years old, drest in sheepskins, and carrying a cross, intended to represent St. John the Baptist. He was accompanied by another, of about the same age, typical of our Saviour; a lamb followed the latter, and consequently both the children and the lamb required attendants; the rest of the procession consisted of priests, one of whom carried the host, included in the ciborium; and of boys attached to the church, in white surplices. In one procession, for there were several, I believe one in each parish, this was followed by a number of females dressed in white, covered with white veils, and holding in the right hand bunches of white roses; a mixed crowd followed without order, and apparently, for the most part, without much reverence for what was going forward, attracted by curiosity rather than by religion. The procession stopped from time to time, when a considerable number of persons nearest to the host knelt down; the attendants swung the incense pots, and the white robed boys tossed up rose leaves in such quantities, as to perfume the air. The procession which I followed stopped at a reposoir in the ‘MarchÉ des Jacobins.’ This was a canopy, tastefully ornamented with flowers, over an altar; here mass was said, and a pigeon was permitted to flutter about, which after the service was liberated entirely. After this the people, or rather the ladies, crowded about the priest with leaves or bouquets of flowers, which they applied to the cross. Another reposoir, near St. Germain des PrÉs, was lined with crimson, and sparkled with a profusion of wax candles. I afterwards went into the church of St. Sulpice, which was hung with tapestry; and stayed there about half an hour. Even here, though the architecture is very much inferior to that of a Gothic cathedral in expression, yet united with the music, and with the people assembled for the purpose of worshipping, it assisted to produce a pleasing solemnity. During the time I stayed, the church remained about equally full, although all the doors were crowded with people entering or retiring. The Parisians at present seem to be hung on a pivot, vibrating between atheism and superstition, without knowing themselves to which party they belong. To reason on religious subjects they consider as adopting the former course; their education, whether under the old priesthood, or among the whirlpools of the revolution, alike unfits them for a fair and candid examination of the principles of their belief. They are afraid to be atheists, lest they should ultimately suffer punishment. They are afraid to believe, lest it should expose them to ridicule, but they have no idea of selecting what to believe among the doctrines of the church, and rejecting what is false. They take or reject the gold and the dross altogether, because, having at present no apparatus by which they can separate them, they do not think of the possibility of such an operation; and besides, they would be rejected by both parties; heresy is worse here than total disbelief.

At St. Sulpice, I finished my course; a heavy rain came on which lasted about four hours, but cleared up in time to afford to the king and princess, who is to be duchess of Berri, an opportunity of entering Paris in fine weather. The scene was very gay and lively, but more from the spectators, than from any object about which they were assembled.

The next day was the wedding of the Duke de Berri. I saw part of the procession, but had not patience to confine myself to NÔtre Dame for the time necessary to see it there. There were shouts of vive le roi! but they were very faint and feeble, compared with the acclamations of an English mob. The national guards seemed to be the principal actors, and it was the same the day before. On Sunday, passing through the gardens of the Tuilleries, I mounted on the terrace next the river, and here was the gayest and finest sight. The gardens were full of people, drest in various colours. The ladies sheltering themselves from the rays of the sun, which just then shone fully out, by parasols of all tints. Near the palace the gay crowd was motionless; farther off some persons walking about, were mixed with those sitting and standing; further still were more walkers, and the crowd gradually became thinner, till it was lost in the obscurity of the shady part of the garden, and this shade served as a foil, which enhanced prodigiously the brilliancy of the scene. The beds of flowers were in perfect harmony with the other objects, and the divisions they occasioned among the mass of people, gave opportunity for the colours of the ladies’ dresses to display themselves. Fountains also added both to the variety and brilliancy of the effect, and the whole scene was gay and splendid as the imagination of an eastern poet. Thence I walked into the Elysian fields, and here the picture was very different; all Paris seemed pouring into them. Stands were erected in various parts, whence issued little fountains of wine, and bread and sausages were distributed among the people. Groups of tumblers, actors, grimace-makers, musicians, and rope-dancers, were scattered about; and decently dressed men and women were riding on see-saws and merry-go-rounds. The crowd got possession of one of the former, and endeavoured by severe jerks to displace those who ventured to mount. Some were presently dislodged, others held more firmly; none could keep their places long, but new candidates for the honours of the sitting were never wanting; while their hats flying off, and the wry faces they made as they found themselves unable to sustain the repeated shocks, excited the merriment of the spectators.

I dined at Chaillot, and returned in the evening to view the illuminations. These long continued straight lines are admirably adapted to display crowds and illuminations. From the BarriÈre de l’Étoile, at the extremity of the Champs ElysÉes, to the palace of the Tuilleries, all was one continued blaze. The lampions, used on these occasions, give a very strong light; they are pots of tallow, about two inches deep, and six in diameter, with a wick of hemp about one inch thick: they were disposed in festoons along the great avenue of the Elysian fields, and in pyramids in the gardens. On entering the Place Louis XV. the view was superb; on the right were the Chambre des DeputÉs, the dome of the Invalides, and at some distance, rising alone against the dark sky, the star of the Legion of Honour. Before us was the Tuilleries and its gardens, and the temple which had been erected for the purpose round the basin of water. The terraces presented a single row of illumination along the cornice, exhibiting the crowds which peopled them. On the left were the Garde Meuble and the Admiralty. At first, before daylight was entirely lost, the illumination of the dome of the Invalides being redder than the twilight, gave a silvery look to the building, which had a peculiar and a very beautiful effect. The portico of the Chambre des DeputÉs had the steps covered with lampions, and green candelabras (either formed by green lamps or by a transparency,) between the columns. The result was, that the columns were seen dark against the illuminated inside of the portico, without any cutting lines or strong contrasts, but with a sort of tenderness of tint, which gave to them the appearance of semi-transparency. Something of the same sort was exhibited in the Garde Meuble, but less beautifully. The perpendicular lines of the architecture were no where illuminated. Taken singly, none of these objects are equal to some of the best illuminations exhibited in London: but taking the whole together, nothing we have had, or can have, can be compared with it. On entering the gardens of the Tuilleries, the first object was the great basin, which was encircled by lampions on the edge of the water, and thickly surrounded by people, who were shewn to great advantage by the disposition of the lights, and all their varied colouring was reflected in the water. As we approached the Tuilleries, the temple erected round the smaller basin increased in consequence, and hid the palace, which was not highly illuminated. The open part of the gardens was terminated by a colonnade of lampions, and from this point the effect produced by the light thrown on the company on the terrace, from the line of lampions disposed on its cornice was very brilliant and beautiful. These exhibitions have been concluded with a review in the Champs de Mars. There is a raised slope round this place, made by the sovereign people themselves for their own convenience, which gives one a fine opportunity of seeing what passes, and also shews off the spectators to great advantage. The king rode twice round the plain in an open carriage, accompanied by the duchesses of AngoulÊme and Berri, and the troops saluted him with vive le roi!

On Wednesday the playhouses were opened gratis, but I did not go to see what sort of a scene was produced. A Parisian crowd seems in general very tractable; but the efficient cause of good order is in the soldiers, who are seen everywhere. This habitual submission to the military does not appear very favourable to public liberty; and in estimating the chance of a permanently free constitution in France, it is not enough to consider merely the conduct of the rulers, or the sentiments of the leaders of different parties; the manners and habits of the people form an important item. This acquiescence in the interference of the military in every concern may, I suppose, be traced to the ancient government; and we may perhaps attribute to it, in some measure, their ready submission to the despotism of Napoleon. The principle of liberty is not very strong in this country, but I think it exists, and is taking root. The friends of liberty have learned moderation, and that is a valuable lesson. They would be well pleased now with a constitution as free as that of England, with which twenty years ago they were not satisfied. Perhaps they are hardly yet convinced that a constitution can have no strength, and consequently no value, without the habitual attachment of the people. Let us hope that the present will last long enough to create such a habit. It has doubtless many defects in theory, and more in practice; but it may be better suited to the actual state of France than a more perfect system, and it will form a foundation on which they may stand to attain their further objects, without any violent revolution, an event which almost invariably leads to despotism.

I have concerned myself very little with politics, but it does not appear to me that the French are in general at all sulky after their defeat. “What could we do against all Europe?” They have no affection for the Bourbons: it is not in human nature that they should; but they would be very unwilling to do any thing to excite a fresh war. “Ah monsieur, la France Était si florissante, tout allait si bien avant l’expedition À Moscou.” “C’etait un grand homme, il a fait beaucoup de belles choses, mais son ambition a gÂtÉ tout, il nous a tous perdus.”—These are sentiments you hear everywhere. They ask me what is thought of Bonaparte in England. I tell them that he is considered as a man of great talents, but that his immoderate ambition rendered his existence dangerous to every country in Europe. For the most part they perfectly agree with me; but after all, I am persuaded they regret him. The dazzling splendor which he spread around the throne of France, his personal activity, his firm and vigorous administration, and the employment of his revenues to public purposes, gratified the imagination, and form altogether a striking contrast with the present sovereign. Yet I believe Louis is not disliked, and his personal character has certainly made him friends since his return. All this seems perfectly natural; and if we except in favour of England, a somewhat deeper feeling of national honour, and a higher sense of liberty, it is what might take place in any country of Europe, without injury to the character of the people. They did not dislike the Bourbons, but after twenty-five years of absence, it is not wonderful that they did not feel much attachment to them. Neither did they much like Napoleon, but they were pleased with the military glory which the nation attained under his auspices. At last they were alienated and disgusted with the mad expedition to Moscow, the enormous waste of human life consequent upon it, and the severe conscription to supply that waste; and received the Bourbons with pleasure. After a time, the changes actually introduced excited an apprehension that further and more important changes were in contemplation, affecting the individual interests of almost every class in the community. Alarmed at this, they rejoiced at the return of Napoleon, merely as a means of putting down a government from whose progress they dreaded much personal evil.

Independently of submission to the military, the habitual dependence of the people on the government to accomplish every object of public utility, is unfavourable to their liberty. Whatever is of advantage to more persons than one, is to be done by the sovereign, or not at all; and even when an individual is to profit from it, it is a chance if he will do any thing for himself, if he think the government ought to do it for him. The French themselves tell a story to ridicule this propensity, of which they are very sensible. A soldier had enriched himself with plunder, but his shoes were full of holes, and his feet blistered in consequence. “Why do you not buy yourself a pair of shoes?” said one of his comrades. “Ah non, c’est le roi qui doit faire cela.” Perhaps for “roi” you should read “empereur,” but that is of little consequence.