Since I left the Pacific coasts of Chili and Peru last spring, I have hesitated about afflicting you with correspondence, and thinking and hoping that my voyages around the world were complete. Time and circumstances, however, have since carried me to Cuba (by the way, it is my eighth visit), and I have traversed the waters of the Gulf of Mexico to the city of New Orleans; steamed up the mighty Mississippi and Ohio rivers for the sixth time; besides visiting Canada and Niagara. Notwithstanding the thousand incidents constantly occurring, I held my peace. Having left my native village in the latter part of November, in pursuit of a more genial climate, I find myself once again on European soil, and in the capital of the French empire. So many important events have transpired since I left home that you will pardon me for once more taking up my pen, and breaking silence. Our steamer took the southern passage in crossing the Atlantic; the early part of our voyage upon the edge of the gulf-stream was delightful, until at length a famous combat arose among the great opposing elements. For five successive days we had a continuation of the most violent gales, more properly speaking hurricanes, such as our officers had never experienced, and it was with difficulty that I could recall reminiscences of equally grand and awful scenes. The good ship Hermann, although obliged to manœuvre, or lie to, as the sailors term it, for thirty-six hours, at last got the mastery over Neptune: and when we arrived in England, we found that the steamer Washington had been disabled, and obliged to return. The same gales had carried destruction along the entire coast. The then approaching holiday season of Christmas was anxiously looked for, in England, particularly by the poor, for charities are more freely exercised at that time, and the English markets and butchers’ stalls are beautiful to gaze upon. But instances are rarely if ever known, as in our favored land, of the working classes trudging home under the weight of turkeys, geese, or chickens for a Sunday or Christmas dinner. How little do we know of the miseries of the laboring population abroad, and how slightly do we appreciate, as a people, the eminent advantages which we enjoy in our own favored land!
The universal practice of giving étrennes, or presents, on New Year’s day, among the Parisians, has led to the granting of privileges to boutiques, or temporary wooden shops, along both sidewalks of the Boulevards, for one week before, and one week after the first of January; they form a continuous bazaar for more than a mile, composed of all the indescribable knick-knacks and fancy articles that the ingenious brain of a Frenchman can contrive to gratify youthful taste or fancy, dolls and cheap jewelry figuring largely. This exhibition, with the flood of humanity to the extent of some hundreds of thousands, military, foreign, and domestic, in every variety of costume of holiday attire, added to the gay equipages and liveried servants, struck me as one of the great sights of the capital.
The season thus far has been remarkably mild; we have had much rain, but no winter, and fears are entertained for the future crops should the mild weather continue. In the Jardin des Plantes, some trees indicate the putting forth of new leaves.
This being the gay season, and Paris full of strangers from all parts, opportunity is not wanting for the gratification of the most fastidious. One would judge, from the announcement of balls, concerts, and theatres (of which latter I think there are thirty-two, of all sizes), that they could not be sustained; but on the contrary they are fully attended. The work of Madame Beecher Stowe has caused a perfect furore in Paris. Authors and editors run a steeple-chase in their hasty translations, which pour from the press with exaggerated engravings to gratify the tastes of the eager purchasers. Two large rival theatres, the Ambigu Comique and the Theatre de la Gaité, conceived at the same moment the idea of dramatizing Uncle Tom. The Ambigu won the race by a few days with immense success, but the Gaité followed close after; and now may be seen the affiches everywhere, and large transparencies in front of the theatres, emblazoned in great letters, “La Case de l’Oncle Tom.” My curiosity as an American, besides my familiarity with the institution of slavery as it exists at the south, induced me to visit the Ambigu, where I found the piece well mounted, with superb decorations, but full of exaggeration. The cries of the blood-hounds in pursuit of fugitive slaves; the brutal conduct of the masters; the tender scenes of separation; the discharge of fire-arms; the sale of negroes in New Orleans, all helped to bring the ladies’ handkerchiefs into frequent use; their tears, however, were readily dispersed by some ludicrous scene not in the novel. At the Gaité the scenes are entirely changed, the state of Kentucky being the theatre of action. The sale of Uncle Tom, the flight of George and his wife, Eliza with her infant child, the crossing of the Ohio upon the ice, the arrival in Canada, the land of promise, amidst the most beautiful tropical vegetation, were greatly exaggerated; but worse than all, and shocking to the moral sense, Uncle Tom, who was a perfect black, was represented as the father of Eliza, a beautiful quadroon. One of the Parisian editors lately remarked that he was not at a loss to decide which condition was the most deplorable, that of the well-fed and well-clad negro in bondage, free from care, or that of the thousands of poor creatures in Paris, who shiver in the garret of a six-story tenement, after a hard day’s service for one franc, or twenty cents, to sustain their starving families.
The Parisians are emphatically a theatre-going people, and they have juvenile theatres expressly for nurses and parents with their children; of course the latter imbibe the passion early, and Sunday being their gala day, all places of amusement are naturally crowded. It would appear that all Paris is dancing at present; the imperial court dances, the ministers of war and of state dance, and the senate is preparing to dance, all of which is gratifying to the fancy dealers of the capital. The great event of the season took place yesterday, Sunday. It was the marriage of the Emperor at the cathedral of Notre Dame. The civil marriage was performed at the Palace of the Tuileries, the evening previous, by the minister of state, in presence of the family of Napoleon. After the ceremony was concluded the Countess Montijo was reconducted to her private residence in the Champs Elysées. Yesterday presented one of the most gorgeous pageants that Paris has ever witnessed. It would occupy too much time and space to attempt a description, and it would be useless to repeat what may be found in the public journals. The distance passed by the cortège from the Tuileries to Notre Dame, more than a mile, gave the Emperor, as he proclaimed in his speech to the Senate, an opportunity of presenting as he desired, to the army, and the French people, the bride of his choice, and if one could judge from the vast multitude which thronged the streets, the quays and bridges of the Seine, the windows, balconies, and every point which could be occupied, not only Paris, but the whole country was represented. The brilliant cortège left the palace at twelve M., preceded by detachments of mounted lancers, cuirassiers, guards, and divers others, followed by the imperial family and ladies of honor, in glittering state carriages with liveried coachmen and footmen, drawn by four and six horses with beautiful caparisoned harness, and a long train of foreign ambassadors, representatives and members of the Senate; then appeared the magnificent equipage of the Emperor, surmounted by an imperial crown, with sides of plate glass, drawn by eight white steeds, with plumes and gold-gilt trappings, containing himself and beautiful bride, responding gracefully to the salutations of the multitude. The same carriage was used but once before, at the nuptial ceremonies of Napoleon I. with the Empress Josephine, so much beloved by the French people. A double hedge of bayonets on each side of the line of march, composed of the regular troops of the national guard of Paris, prevented encroachment. The interior of Notre Dame was festooned with great taste and much splendor, while the exterior was enveloped in floating banners. The archbishop having performed the imposing marriage ceremonies, the cortège returned by another route, giving the masses the opportunity of seeing their imperial majesties.
The vast interior of the Place du Carrousel was one living mass of humanity, awaiting the return and appearance of the happy pair upon the balcony of the Tuileries; at length they appeared and bowed to the multitude to close the scene. While men and boys were crying the sale of effigies and medals of the Emperor and Empress, amid the anxiety and excitement of a French population, I could not forget witnessing a review of the troops by Louis Philippe, on the same ground, and his then enthusiastic reception. Time makes great changes, and what may be the fate of those in power to-day! The French are fond of pageants, and always ready for a change. As long as commerce flourishes, and the condition of the laboring classes is tolerable, things go on smoothly; but amongst the thinking and reading portions of the community, who are deprived of the liberty of speech, and the press, there must be a deep hatred of the present dynasty.
Louis Napoleon has certainly had an eventful career. An exile, a prisoner at Ham, he returned to France after the fall of Louis Philippe, under the provisionary government, and was a member of the National Assembly when I visited that noisy assemblage in the autumn of 1848. On my departure for Italy in 1847, all was quiet under the royal rule of Louis Philippe; on my return, the trees of liberty were planted throughout Paris, the public buildings proclaimed in large capitals, “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité”; the press was free and untrammelled, also liberty of thought and speech, as was seen placarded upon the bulletins. Things have changed. Liberty is crushed; her name, with those of her sisters, is scrupulously effaced from the public monuments. The constitution was declared, and there was an extensive display of two hundred thousand troops, and gorgeous decorations and fireworks upon the Place de la Concorde. I hoped that the government would become consolidated in a true republic, but I had my misgivings. The next news brought the election of Napoleon as President for four years; afterwards his power was extended for ten years; next came his famous coup d’état; then followed the proclamation of the Empire, and yesterday his marriage. The telegraph has proclaimed the joyous event to all France, and now all that is required is the confirmation by the Pope, which may probably take place next spring.
Within a week the Carnival commences. I am preparing to leave for the south of France, and Spain.
LXXXII.
Barcelona, Spain, Feb. 28, 1853.