Bar and bolt were opened, and at length we found ourselves in the presence of these popular prisoners—Popular, at least, amongst the female part of the world. I have reason to believe that[294] a few of the Miss Stanleys had formed a romantic attachment for Michael Bruce, and there are few of our adventures which would, I think, have given you more pleasure than this visit. Your heart would have been torn from its little resting-place and been imprisoned for ever. Michael Bruce! such an eye! such a figure! such a countenance! such a voice! and so much sense and elegance of manner, and then so interesting! There he sat in a small, wretched room, dirty and felonious, with two little windows, one looking into a court where a parcel of ragged prisoners were playing at fives, the other into a sort of garden where others were loitering away their listless vacuity of time.
I will not tell you what he said, for it would but inflame a wound which I cannot heal, and because part of his conversation was secret, i.e., of a very interesting and curious nature which I cannot write and must not speak of. "Oh! dear Uncle, why won't you tell? a secret from Michael Bruce in the prison of La Force!"
No, Louisa, I dare not speak of it to the winds. Captain Hutchinson was his companion, Sir Robert Wilson is in another room. The Captain has nothing very interesting in his manner or appearance. He is very plain, very positive, and very angry. Well he may be. So would you if, like him, you had been immured in a room about eight feet by twelve, in which you were forced to eat, sleep, and reside for three months. Their penance closes on the 24th, when Michael Bruce returns[295] to London. I hope you are not going there this year.
From such a subject as Michael Bruce it will not do to descend to any of the trifling fopperies of Paris.
Let me, then, give you a short account of our visit to Fountain Elephant, which if ever finished, with its concomitant streets, &c., will be an 8th wonder of the world. Its History is this: On the Site of the Bastille (of which not a vestige remains) Buonaparte thought he would erect a fountain, and looking at the Plans of Paris, he conceived the splendid idea of knocking down all the houses between the Thuilleries and this Fountain and forming one wide, straight street, so that from the Palace of the Thuilleries he might see whatever object he might be pleased to place at the extremity. This street is actually begun; when executed, which it never will be, there will be an avenue, partly houses, partly trees, from Barrière d'Étoile to the Fountain, at least six miles. Having got this Fountain in his head, he sent for De Non,[122] who superintended all his works, and said, "De Non, I must have a fountain, and the fountain shall be a beast." So De Non set his wits to work, and talked of Lions and Tigers, &c., when Buonaparte[296] fixed upon an Elephant, with a Castle upon his back, and an Elephant there is. At present they have merely a model of plaister upon which the bronze coating is to be wrought, for the whole is to be in bronze with gilt trappings. He is to stand upon an elevated pedestal, which is already completed. The height will be about 60 feet, nearly as high as Alderley Steeple. The castle will hold water; the inside is to be a room, and the staircase is to be in one of the legs. The porter who showed it was exceedingly proud of the performance, and when I expressed my astonishment at Buonaparte's numerous plans and the difficulty he must have been at to procure money, looking cautiously about him, he said, "Oh, mais il avoit le don d'un Dieu," and then grasping my arm with one hand and tapping me on the shoulder with the other, and again looking round to see if then the coast was clear, he added, "Mais il n'y est plus, ah, vous comprenez cela n'est-ce pas," and then casting a look at his Elephant he concluded with a sigh and a mutter, "Superbe, ah, pardi, que c'est superbe!"
Kitty has been dressing herself à la Française, and we have been purchasing a large box of flowers, which we hope to show you in England, if the Custom House officers will allow us to pay the duties, but we hear most alarming accounts of their ferocity and rapacity. They will soon, it is said, seize the very clothes you have on, if of French manufacture; if so, adieu to three pairs of black silk stockings and as many pocket handkerchiefs, to[297] say nothing of a perfect pet of an ivory dog which I intend to present to your Mama, and to say nothing of five perfect pets for Maria and you four eldest girls of the family of Harlequin and Punch, to be worn on your necklaces during the happy weeks. They are of mother of pearl about an inch high, the most comical fellows I ever beheld. It is necessary that I should tell you of the presents, because if they are seized, you know I shall still be entitled to the merit of selecting them. We have bought a few books. A thick octavo is here worth about four or five shillings, and the duty is, we understand, about one shilling more. One is a life of the Duke of Marlborough. Buonaparte said it was a reflection upon England not to have a life of her greatest Hero, and therefore he would be his biographer; accordingly he set his men to work and collected the materials. Report speaks favourably of it, but I have been so busied in looking and walking about that I shall not be surprised if I find that I have almost forgotten to read upon my return!
Edward Stanley to Louisa Stanley.
Tuesday Morning, July 13th.
We are in Paris still, and do not depart till to-morrow, dedicating this day in company with the Murrays to St. Denis and Malmaison, and then I think we shall have seen everything worth seeing in or near this queer metropolis. One day last week[298] we went to our old friend, L'abbé Sicard,[123] and attended a lecture in which about 20 of his young scholars exhibited their powers. The poor Abbé was, as usual, dreadfully prolix, and occupied an hour in words which might have been condensed within the compass of a Minute, and poor Massuer yawned and shut his eyes ever and anon. Clair was not there, and as we were under the necessity of going away before the Lecture was closed, we could not renew our acquaintance. Since last year he has taught his pupils to speak, and two dumb boys talked to each other with great success. I will show you the mode when we meet, but as you are not dumb it will be a mere gratification of Curiosity. Our Assignation which called us from the Lecture was to meet the Sothebys and Murrays and many others at the Buvin d'Enfer, near which is the descent to the Catacombs, where upwards of 3 million of Skulls are arranged in tasty grimaces thro' Streets of Bones, but my Sketch Book has long given an idea of these ossifatory Exhibitions. Only think, a cousin of Donald's and a very great friend of mine, a Capt. McDonald, whom you would all be in love with, he is so handsome and interesting, was shut up there a short time ago by accident, and if the Keeper had not luckily recollected the number of persons who descended and discovered one was missing, he would very soon have joined the bone party.[299] There is another Cimetière called that of Père la Chaise, of a very different description, and infinitely more interesting. It is the grand burial-place of Paris; all who choose may purchase little plots of ground, from a square foot to an acre, for the deposition of themselves and their families. Its extent is about 84 French acres, and upon no spot in the world is the French character so perfectly portrayed. Each individual encloses his plot and ornaments it as he chooses, and the variety is quite astonishing. It appears like a large Shop full of toys, work-baskets, Columns, little Cottages, pyramids, mounts—in short, what is there in the form of a Monument which may not there be found? A pert little Column with a fanciful top, crowned by a smart wire basket filled with roses, marked the grave, I concluded, of some beautiful young girl of 15 or 16. Lo and behold! it was placed there to commemorate "un ancien Magistrat de France," aged 62. The most interesting are Ney's and Labédoyère's,[124] the former, a solid tomb of marble, simply tells that Marshal Ney, Prince of La Moskowa, is below. Both were rather profusely decorated with wreaths of flowers, it being the custom for the friends of the deceased to strew from time to time the graves with flowers, or decorate them with garlands. Soldiers have been often seen weeping over these graves, and it is by them these wreaths were placed. Ney's had just received its tribute of a beautiful garland of blue cornflowers: and the other a[300] Chaplet of Honeysuckle. By both graves were weeping willows. Mr. Sotheby's friend, the poet Delille,[125] sleeps beneath a cumbrous mass of marble, within which his wife immerses herself once a week, to manifest sorrow for one whose incessant tormentor I am told she was during his life. The inscriptions were for the most part commonplace. I copied out a few of the best. I was sorry to observe not one in 20 had the slightest allusion to Religion. There was one offering which particularly attracted my attention and admiration. Over a simple mound, the resting-place of a little child, were scattered white flowers, and amongst them a bunch of cherries, evidently the tribute from some other little child who had thus offered up that which to him appeared most valuable. The exclusion of the selfish principle in this display of sentiment and feeling quite delighted me.