Over the Ocean; or, Sights and Scenes in Foreign Lands

by Curtis Guild

There were, we were informed, over eighteen thousand different monuments in the cemetery, ranging from the simple cross or slab to the costly mausoleum, such as is raised over the Countess Demidoff,—the most expensive and elaborate monument in the grounds,—which is reached by elegant flights of steps, and consists of a broad platform, supported by ten splendid white marble Doric columns, upon which rests a sarcophagus, bearing a sculptured cushion, with the arms and cornet of the deceased resting thereon. This monument stands upon the brow of a hill, and occupies one of the most conspicuous positions in the cemetery. But let us follow our guide, taking a glance at a few of the notable features of the place; for that is all one can do in a single visit and in the three hours' stroll which we make through the most attractive parts.

You can hardly walk a dozen steps without encountering tombs bearing names familiar and celebrated in military, scientific, religious, or literary history; and the opportunity one has to study the taste in monuments, obelisks, urns, mausoleums, pyramids, and sarcophagi, may be inferred from the fact, that upon these tributes to departed worth, and mementos of loved ones, no less than five millions sterling, or about twenty-five million dollars in gold, have been expended since the cemetery was first opened. The paths and walks of the old portion of Père Lachaise are rough, and in sad contrast with the newer part, and suffer much in comparison with the broad, spacious, well-rolled avenues of our own Mount Auburn and Forest Hills, or the natural and artificial beauties of Greenwood Cemetery.

We first took a glance at the Jewish division of the grounds, which is separated from the rest by a wall, where the monument of Rachel, the celebrated actress, was pointed out to us, and also those bearing the name of Rothschild and Fould. We then walked to that most interesting monument, generally the first one of any note visited by tourists, an actual evidence and memento of the truth of that sad and romantic history which is embalmed in the memory of youth, the monument of Abélard and Héloise. This is a little open Gothic chapel, in which is the sarcophagus of Abélard, and upon it rests his effigy, and by his side that of Héloise.

The monument is built from the ruins of Paraclete Abbey, of which Héloise was abbess, and its sculptured figures and decorations are very beautiful, although suffering from decay and neglect. A bunch or two of fresh violets and forget-me-nots, which we saw lying upon the breast of the recumbent figure, showed that sentimental visitors still paid tribute to this shrine of disappointed love.

As we advanced farther into the grounds, monuments bearing well-known names, distinguished in science, literature, and art, met the eye on every side. Here is that of Arago, the astronomer; Talma, the great actor of Napoleon's time; Bernardin de St. Pierre, the author of Paul and Virginia; David, the celebrated painter; Pradier, the great sculptor; Chopin, the musician; Scribe, the dramatist; Racine, the poet; Laplace, the astronomer; and Lafitte, the banker. Then we come to the names of some of those military chiefs that surrounded the great soldier of the first empire, and helped him to write the name of France in imperishable records upon the pages of history.

Here rests Marshal Kellermann; here rises a granite pyramid to Marshal Davoust, who won his laurels at Eylau, Friedland, and Auerstadt, the great cavalry action of Eckmuhl, and, except Ney, who was the most prominent in the tremendous battle of Borodino, and the disastrous retreat from Russia; here Suchet, who commenced his career with Napoleon at the siege of Toulon, sleeps beneath a white marble sarcophagus; Macdonald and Lefebvre are here; and a pyramid of white marble, bearing a bass-relief portrait, rises to the memory of General Masséna, "a very obstinate man" and "the favorite child of victory"—him whom Napoleon once told, "You yourself are equivalent to six thousand men." Passing monument after monument, bearing names the birthplaces of whose titles were victorious battle-fields, we were guided by our conductor to a little square plat of ground enclosed by a light railing; it was gay with many-hued flowers in full bloom, filling the air with their fragrance. The old guide stopped, and reverently taking off his cap, turned to us, saying,—

"Hommage, monsieur, à le plus brave des braves—à Maréchal Ney."

I involuntarily followed his example. "But where," asked I, looking about on every side, "where is his monument?"

"His monument, monsieur," said the old fellow, drawing himself up as erect as possible, and dramatically placing his hand upon his left breast,—"his monument is the memory of his brave deeds, which will live forever in the hearts of the French people."

Such a reply, coming from such a speaker, astonished me; and I almost expected to see the staff change to a musket, the tattered cap into a high grenadier "bearskin," and the old blouse into the faced uniform of the Garde Impériale; there was such a flavor of Napoleon Bonaparteism in the response, that that of the garlic was for the moment forgotten, and we considered the reply increased the value of the speaker's services to the extent of another franc.