A rough sketch of modern Paris

by J. G. Lemaistre

LETTER III.

The fête of the 18th of brumaire in honour of the preliminaries, and of the anniversary of the consular government.—Apathy of the people.—Fireworks.—Accident which happened to an english gentleman.—Postscript. The death of the gentleman last named.

Paris, november the 10th, 1801 (19 brumaire.)

MY DEAR SIR,

Having in my last letter attempted to describe the objects which particularly attracted my notice on my first arrival, I shall in this endeavour to satisfy the curiosity which you will naturally feel, relative to the splendid fête celebrated yesterday in honour of the peace with England, and of the anniversary of the consular government.

The rejoicings may be said to have begun on the preceding evening; as the cannon were fired, and the theatres thrown open to the public, with the single exception of the italian opera, where was also represented a musical piece, the words of which were in honour of the occasion. I wished very much to have been present at one of the performances given gratis to the people; but I was dissuaded from going there, by the advice of some french friends, who assured me, that the attempt would be attended with considerable danger. I therefore contented myself with visiting the only spectacle[6] where money was received.

The company of italian actors usually occupies the Théâtre Favart, but at present performs in a very beautiful little play-house belonging to “la Société olympique,” situate in the street which was formerly known as “la rue de Chante Reine;” but which, in honour of Bonaparte, (who resided there while a private man) is now called “la rue de la Victoire.”

The entrance to this theatre is strikingly elegant and novel, consisting of a circular piazza, in the middle of which is a grass plot. The building is well proportioned; and the chandelier, by which it is brilliantly lighted, extremely beautiful. The music seemed good; but the female performers relied entirely on the charms of their voice; for I never remember to have seen, on any other stage, such an assemblage of ugly women as this presented. The audience consisted of the best company at Paris; and I had the pleasure of seeing there madame Bonaparte, who sat in the stage box, accompanied by mademoiselle Beauharnois, her daughter, and by madame le Clerc, the consul’s sister. Bonaparte was also said to be present, but being in a loge grillé, could not be perceived.

Madame, as far as I can judge from the distance at which I saw her, has a mild, amiable countenance, which is universally allowed to be the just picture of her disposition. Her person is elegant, and her appearance altogether much like that of an english woman of fashion.

Mademoiselle Beauharnois[7] is a fair girl of sixteen or seventeen, and, without being remarkably beautiful, is extremely interesting. Her manners are modest; and her dress simple, and in good taste. Madame le Clerc[8] is a very pretty little woman, and much admired at Paris.

Excuse this digression, into which I was led by naming the preparatory rejoicings of the preceding evening. I proceed to the fête itself. The 18th of brumaire, that long expected day, began in clouds of rain. The Parisians were au désespoir. Every body predicted, that the vast preparations, which had been made for this jubilee, would be thrown away; that the illumination would fail; in short, that the whole would be an “affaire manquée[9].”

Those who ventured into the streets, notwithstanding the torrents of rain, heard, on every side, “quel mauvais temps! quel malheur! vraiment c’est terrible—c’est affreux. La fête auroit été si belle, si ce diable de pluie n’avait pas tombé[10].”

The morning passed away without the faintest hopes of better weather, and in mutual condolences on the loss of the beau spectacle, which had been promised for this day. The rejoicings were to begin at four o’clock. About three the weather suddenly changed, the clouds dispersed, the sky became serene. It happened that this took place precisely at the moment, when the first consul appeared at the window of the palace, and every body agreed, that the favourable change was solely produced par la bonne fortune de Bonaparte[11].

Indeed, it is not without some reason that this prejudice is entertained by the public, and that Bonaparte has, on more occasions than one, appealed to his good fortune. Great and transcendant as are the talents of that extraordinary man, they are not more remarkable than the singular concatenation of fortunate circumstances, which have uniformly attended his progress through life. Possessed of the former, unaccompanied by the latter, he would have probably become a distinguished character, but he never could have reached that summit of grandeur, where he is at present so securely seated.

I return to my subject. The signal for the commencement of the fête was the departure of a balloon, in which monsieur and madame Garnerin ascended, at half past four o’clock, through a clear sky, which no longer bore any marks of the tempestuous weather of the morning. After the balloon had attained a certain height, a parachute was sent down, and the live animal which it contained reached the ground in safety. I was fortunate enough to dine this day with a family[12] who reside in what was first called “la Garde-meuble,” then “la place de Louis XV,” for some time the seat of so many legal murders, under the appellation of “de la Revolution,” and now styled, in honour of the present government, “de la Concorde.” As the principal rejoicings were to take place in this spot, I could not have been better situate. We dined in a back room; and during the short time which we passed at table (for a french dinner seldom exceeds an hour), the lamps had been lighted. Never shall I forget the splendid sight, which appeared to have been almost produced by magic, and which burst on us in returning to the salon (or drawing room), the windows of which command an extensive view of the place de la Concorde, of the bridge of Louis XVI, of the palace or hospital of les Invalides, of the Thuilleries, of the palace of the Corps Législatif, formerly called “de Bourbon,” of the river, and of several buildings in the Fauxbourg St. Germain. All these striking objects were now one blaze of light. My eyes were so dazzled with the scene which presented itself, that it was some time before I could take a distinct view of each particular beauty. The public edifices I have named, all of which are of the finest architecture, covered with innumerable lamps, arranged with the greatest taste, and which being of different heights, seemed to rise the one above the other; and the majestic domes splendidly illuminated, and extending the blaze of light as far as the eye could reach, formed altogether a coup d’œil, which may be conceived, but which cannot be described. I had scarcely recovered from the surprise and admiration, which this sight produced, when the pantomime, intended to represent the horrors of war, and the happiness of peace, began under the colonnade where it was my good fortune to be seated.

I must confess, that this farce appeared to me ridiculous, and equally unworthy the great nation which gave the fête, and the important event which it was intended to celebrate. Sham combats, falling towers, wounded heroes, devils with torches, allegorical emblems of Discord, &c., followed by cornucopias, dancing peasants, cars of triumph, and lastly, by an illuminated temple of peace, which rose on the ruins of that of war, formed the principal entertainment. I think you will agree with me, that such a spectacle was better calculated for the stage of Sadler’s Wells in London, or the Ambigu-comique at Paris, than for the principal object of a great and national festival. Simple and plain as is this reflection, it did not seem to strike any of the french spectators, and the wisest of them looked on without disgust, and almost with admiration, on that which, instead of commemorating the most important event which Europe has seen for many years, appeared to the eye of reason only suited to entertain the dotage of age, or the simplicity of infancy.

If the pantomime were not very deserving of praise, it forms a single exception; and I can assure you, with great truth, that every other part of the fête was truly magnificent. As no carriage was allowed to roll that evening (a laudable precaution, taken on all such occasions at Paris), and as the fireworks were to take place on the river, at some distance from the house where I dined, it was necessary to pass on foot, through the vast crowd which filled la place de la Concorde, the walks of the Thuilleries, the bridges, the streets, &c. Yet such was the order that was preserved, and such the tranquillity of the people, that, accompanied by my wife and one gentleman, I made my way, I suppose, through nearly a million of people, without the least accident, and with certainly not more crowding than is daily experienced at a private fashionable ball in London. What astonished me most, indeed, the whole day, was the dead calm which prevailed among the spectators. They looked on, walked about, and seemed entertained with the shows which were exhibited; yet no cries of triumph, no shouts of joy, expressed the public satisfaction. The apathy which prevails in this country on all public events, and which has succeeded to the fever of popular violence, is strikingly apparent on all occasions, but on none more than this.

During my walk, I passed through the garden of the Thuilleries. The alleys were brilliantly decorated with rows of lamps, suspended on frames constructed for the purpose; and the palace was itself, if possible, still more resplendent. The whole had the appearance of an enchanted castle. From a house on the quai Voltaire, I saw the fireworks to great advantage; and they appeared to me, accustomed only to such as are exhibited in England, extremely beautiful. What pleased me most in the display, was a contrivance, by which the fire seemed to rise from the water; an ingenious and elegant idea, by which the inventor probably meant to represent allegorically, by the union of opposing elements, the reconciliation of two nations, always the rivals, and so long the enemies, of each other. There was a temple of commerce on the river, and little boats, with pendants of different nations. All this I consider as forming a second act to the pantomime exhibited on the place de la Concorde, and which I have already ventured to condemn. Both appeared, to an english eye, insignificant, if not ridiculous.

The fireworks appeared to me as perfect as possible; but there was some discontent expressed by the persons near me, that what is called a bouquet, with which they were to have concluded, was not displayed. This disappointment was attributed by some to a want of skill in the manager, and by others to an order of government, arising from a fear of danger to the adjoining buildings.

I cannot pretend to determine this important question; but I must be permitted to say, that if the parisians were not satisfied with this day’s amusement, they must be very unreasonable indeed in their pursuit of spectacles.

I returned home about eleven at night, much delighted with what I had seen; and though Mrs. ⸺ and myself were again obliged to pass through this mighty crowd, we neither of us experienced the slightest hurt, or the least incivility.

I was in hopes to have been able to add, that the day passed over without the most trifling accident; but I have, unfortunately, just received the melancholy news, that Mr. ⸺, an english gentleman, fell from a scaffolding, where he had placed himself to see the fireworks, and is so dreadfully wounded, as to render the hopes of his recovery highly improbable.

I understand, that the accident took place very near the Thuilleries, and that the first consul, with laudable humanity, sent every proper assistance to our unfortunate countryman, who is now attended by the physician and surgeon particularly attached to the family of Bonaparte. Most ardently do I hope, that their skill and care may be attended with success; but I am told, this is more than they expect themselves.

Adieu, my dear friend. I am sorry to send you so imperfect an account of one of the finest sights, perhaps, ever exhibited in Europe; but I do not excel in description at any time, and what I have attempted on this occasion, would baffle the ablest pen.

I am, &c.

POSTSCRIPT.

The unfortunate Mr. ⸺, mentioned in this letter, languished three weeks in agony, and at last expired, in the arms of a young and beautiful wife, who had accompanied him in this ill fated journey, (the sole object of which was the sight of a festival, which had to him so tragical a conclusion), who attended him, with exemplary patience and unceasing care, during his illness, and who, after receiving his last breath, herself conveyed his remains to his native country. To add to the calamity of this unfortunate and amiable woman, she had not a friend, or even an acquaintance, of either sex, at Paris; and in the discharge of the painful and pious offices I have mentioned, her only assistant was Mr. Peregaux, her banker, who, I am told, afforded her every consolation in his power.—Though I did not know this lady, her story made a deep impression on my mind, and for some days I could not divest myself of the melancholy it created.