A rough sketch of modern Paris

by J. G. Lemaistre

The “Hameau de Chantilly,” or Elisée de Bourbon, very near the Champs Elisées, has a very pretty, though not an extensive garden, into which, for a few sols, you gain admittance. It was hence I saw madame Garnerin ascend, about a month ago, in a balloon, unaccompanied by any one. The day was fine; and we were all much delighted with the courage of the fair heroine, who was the first female that had ventured alone on such an expedition.

She descended a few leagues from Paris, and supped, the same evening, in public, at the Hameau, where she was received with universal and merited applause.

I am particularly pleased with a garden, called “Mousseux, ou les délices de Chartre,” situate in the Fauxbourg St. Honoré, and within the gates of Paris. It formerly belonged to the duke of Orleans; but, having been confiscated with the rest of his enormous fortune, is now national property, and open every day for the use of the public. The garden is arranged in the english taste, commands an extensive view, and has all the advantages and appearance of grounds at a considerable distance from a capital. Fine verdure, trees of every kind in the must luxuriant blossom, variety of flowers, a clear sky, and birds warbling a thousand wild notes, make you entirely forget the town; and the whole seems a fairy scene produced by enchantment.

The only things in bad taste, I mean the modern antiques and drawbridges, are now falling into decay; and the artificial ruins are daily becoming real ones.

The salon or house consists of a long gallery; but it has been so much neglected during the revolution, that it is now in a very tottering and dangerous state. “Mousseux” is still a most delightful spot, and must have been exquisitely so, when kept in proper order. I doubt much, if such a garden is to be found within the walls of any other capital in Europe.

I ought to mention, that, though the town is completely hidden in the shady walks of this charming retreat, one of the best views of Paris is enjoyed from a hillock of easy ascent, situate in the centre of these grounds. There is a traiteur at the door of the garden, where dinners may be ordered; but his accommodations (as far as can be judged from the outward appearance of his habitation) I should suppose not very superiour. I have heard, however, of large and fashionable parties, who have dined here. Nothing is paid for walking in the garden.

At the further end of the Bois de Boulogne, about two miles from Paris, there is another place of this kind, which, whenever you come to Paris, I recommend your visiting. It is called “Bagatelle,” and formerly belonged to the Comte D’Artois, who is said to have built the house and arranged the grounds in the space of six weeks. The building, which is now an inn or tavern, is light and elegant; and the garden (allowing for some few exceptions) is laid out with considerable taste. Near the house there is a very pretty and very striking view of the bridge of Neuilly. The accommodations here are good, and a person fond of the country cannot pass a fine evening more agreeably, than by dining at Bagatelle, and strolling afterwards about the grounds.

Before I conclude my account of the gardens of Paris, I ought to mention two, which, are opened at this season of the year, at a late hour, and usually frequented after the opera, or other spectacles; I mean Frescati and Tivoli.

Frescati consists of a large house and small garden, situate on the Boulevard. The gate stands in the corner of “la rue de la Loi.” The apartments, elegantly painted with italian landscapes, are large and numerous, and splendidly lighted every evening. The garden was illuminated last night, for the first time this season, and is as pretty as its limited extent can permit. It is the fashion to come here about ten o’clock; and the amusement consists in walking about, chatting with your friends, eating ices and cakes, or drinking tea, punch, or lemonade, the sale of which articles constitute the whole profits of the landlord, to whom nothing is paid for admittance. Frescati is, in short, a kind of coffee house; and, notwithstanding the smell of brandy, gin, and rum, generally prevalent, is frequented by ladies as well as gentlemen. When I first came here, I supposed that these ladies were of a certain description: but I was soon undeceived; and, besides seeing at this place the most respectable families of Paris, was assured by a ci-devant comtesse excessively rigid on matters of etiquette, “que toute la bonne compagnie y alloit[76].” After this authoritative decision, it would be presumptuous to doubt the propriety of going to Frescati; and our most scrupulous countrywomen may, without apprehension of being taken either for “filles” or “parvenues,” enjoy this strange and singular amusement.

Tivoli is but just opened for the season. I have been there once. It is a large and beautiful garden, situate in “la rue St. Lazare,” in the “Chaussée d’Antin.” It was illuminated with much taste; the trees are lofty; and the whole seemed to resemble what I imagine our Vauxhall was, before it was covered in.