Odd Bits of Travel with Brush and Camera

by Charles M. Taylor

Here is the famous old cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris with which Victor Hugo has made the world familiar. This grand Gothic structure was commenced in the twelfth century, and finished in the fourteenth. We view its exterior from a position facing the fine west façade, with its wonderful rose window between the huge square towers. The three beautiful portals are ornamented with rich sculptures and imposing statuary. These doors form a succession of receding arches, dating from the early part of the thirteenth century. The central portion is a fine representation of the Last Judgment. The interior is vast and impressive with its vaulted arches and long rows of columns. The ancient stained glass of Notre Dame is represented by three magnificent rose windows. From the summit of the tower there is a glorious view of the Seine and its picturesque banks and bridges: indeed one of the loveliest views in Paris.

Another famous and beautiful edifice is the Madeleine, or church of St. Mary Magdalene, which stands in an open space not far from the Place de la Concorde. It is in the form of a Grecian temple, surrounded by Corinthian columns, and the flight of twenty-eight steps by which one approaches the church, extends across its entire breadth. The great bronze doors are adorned with illustrations of the ten commandments. Within, the walls and floors are of marble richly ornamented, and the side chapels contain fine statues, and paintings of scenes from the life of Mary Magdalene. The high altar is a magnificent marble group representing angels bearing Mary Magdalene into Paradise. This whole interior is indescribably beautiful, and to enter into its details one would require a volume. From this sublime spectacle we pass to the Church of St. Genevieve, the protectress of the city of Paris, familiarly known as the Pantheon. This also is a magnificent structure, with three rows of beautiful Corinthian columns supporting its portico. The handsome pediment above this portico contains a splendid group of statuary in high relief, representing France in the act of distributing garlands to her famous sons. The central figure is fifteen feet in height. The edifice is in the form of a Greek cross, surmounted by a majestic dome, two hundred and eighty feet high.

Within the church the spacious rotunda is encircled by Corinthian columns which support a handsome gallery, and he who ascends to the dome will have an opportunity of observing closely the wonderful painting, covering a space of thirty-seven hundred square feet, which represents St. Genevieve receiving homage from Clovis, the first Christian monarch of France, Charlemagne, St. Louis, and Louis XVIII., while the royal martyrs of the French Revolution are pictured in the heavenly regions above. In the gloomy vaults below we behold the tombs of a number of eminent men, among them those of Rousseau, Voltaire, and Soufflot, the architect of the Pantheon. In the middle of the vaults is an astonishing echo. The roll of a drum here would sound like the thunder of artillery; a board dropped upon the pavement is like the report of a cannon, and the reverberations are repeated over and over again as though these subterranean spirits are loth to resign the opportunity of speech so seldom afforded them.

The tourist in Paris rarely fails to spend at least one evening in the Jardin Mabille; that is the male tourist, who is curious to behold life in all its phrases, and whom the fame of the garden attracts as the candle draws the moth. This is a pretty spot, with bowery paths, gay flowers, sparkling fountains, arbors and sheltered corners where lovers and others may enjoy tête-à-têtes undisturbed, and refreshments may be ordered to suit purses of all dimensions. There is a good orchestra on the brilliantly illuminated stand, and here the soubrette is in the height of her glory, while the better class of the visitors are as a rule, only spectators. There is some pretty gay dancing here, but order is preserved. On certain nights fine displays of fireworks attract many spectators. But the great feature is the dance, and the proprietors generally employ some girls distinguished by peculiar grace, beauty, or other characteristics who serve as magnets to the light and pleasure-loving throngs.

But why attempt to give even a faint idea of the innumerable attractions of the city whose abundant resources bewilder the tourist whose time is limited. It teems with life. It is overflowing with beauty, passion and love. Wandering along its gay boulevards, whether in the bright sunshine, or beneath the starry vault of night, with picturesque mansions or gay shops on either side, or amid the bowery paths and bewitching avenues, the gardens, statues, music and laughter, one feels that he is in an enchanted land, where high and low, rich and poor share alike in the universal beauty and happiness.

The charming banks of the Seine offer endless attractions. Here are many beautiful bridges, from which one may have picturesque views of the lovely gardens and palaces. These bridges are handsomely ornamented with statuary, bronzes, and reliefs, and bear interesting inscriptions. Floating bathing establishments are to be seen along these banks, and swimming schools for both sexes. Here are also large floats or boats capable of accommodating at least fifty women, who wash their clothing in the Seine. It is quite interesting to watch these robust girls and women, as they pat and slap the heaps of muslin with the large paddles provided for this purpose.

When a death occurs in a family of the middle class in Paris, it is customary to drape the whole lower story of the house with black, and place the body of the deceased in the front room. Holy water is placed at the head, also candles and a crucifix, and any one may enter and view the body, or sprinkle it with holy water, and offer a prayer for the soul of the departed.

The men who pass a house so distinguished reverently uncover their heads: they also take off their hats on the appearance of a funeral, and remain so until the procession has passed.

For him who is interested in such sights, the morgue presents a curious but sad attraction. Here lie on marble slabs, kept cool by a continuous stream of water, the bodies of unknown persons who have met their death in the river or by accident. Their clothing is suspended above their heads, and any one may enter and view these silent rows. After a certain period, if not identified, they are buried at the public expense. I behold many pathetic sights here, as broken-hearted relatives find their worst fears realized and lost and erring ones are recognized. Sad, sad are the pictures to be seen at the morgue. Here is a fair young girl, of not more than twenty years, resting peacefully upon her marble bed, her troubles in this world over forever. Her body was found yesterday floating on the Seine.

“One more unfortunate Weary of breath, Sadly importunate, Gone to her death. “Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. “Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful.”