On another morning I breakfasted with M. Prudhom’, and he took me to M. Sommariva’s gallery, which contains modern as well as ancient paintings. Several are by M. Prudhom’, one of which, Zephyr crossing a brook, is a most charming painting, and is the happiest specimen I have seen of this accomplished artist. It seems exactly the subject for him. Zephyr is represented as a beautiful boy; his wings are visible, but not obtrusive; he has just put one foot upon the wet sand, and with a half laugh, is shrinking back from the cold. Besides the paintings, M. Sommariva possesses two works by Canova. A Terpsichore, and a most exquisite Magdalen, who occupies a room to herself, and has every possible advantage of light, and of the colour of the ground; and deserves every advantage which can be given.
After so many disquisitions on architecture, you may forgive now and then a desultory letter; I shall therefore transport you for a few minutes to the theatres, of which, hitherto I have said nothing.
I went one night to the Theatre des Vaudevilles. The style of decoration is paltry, being for the most part conspicuously paper; and as paper, not well executed, nor at all in good taste, though it must be acknowledged, it is difficult to say what is good taste in the decoration of a theatre. The place corresponding to the English pit is divided into two parts, of which the one nearest the stage is called the orchestra, and the remainder the parterre; the price of admission to the former being the same as to the boxes. This arrangement seems to me reasonable, as some of the seats in the orchestra are certainly the best in the house for seeing and hearing the actors. The orchestra is again divided, but I know not why, by a rail across the middle. There are four complete ranges of boxes, and no gallery.
The drop scene was a view of the Tuilleries from the Seine, as it appeared about a century ago; a bad painting of a bad subject. Among other pieces, for we had three in the same evening, there was a burlesque of Hamlet, in which an English actor was represented, who came to Paris to teach the French the veritable Hamlet Anglois, while his servant more successfully attempts to introduce the true English blacking. At the first appearance of the former to offer his services, the gestures, manners, and bad pronunciation have something of what one might conceive of an English coxcomb actor; in the rest of the piece he is a good automaton, but I could trace no resemblance to any thing English.
The Theatre Français is you know the famous theatre, which every body sees, admires, and criticises; but I shall tell you nothing about the acting, my business, at present, is with the architecture, and that is of too solid, and too real a style, to suit well in a theatre: the stories of boxes are fitted in between columns of Greek architecture, and the disposition is, and looks to be, inconvenient.
On returning from Rheims I observed, at the entrance to Paris, two inns, one of which has for its sign Providence, indicated by the figure of an old man, intended to represent the Almighty. The other is the Grace of God, with a painting of a man upon his knees. A Frenchman does not see any thing profane in this. On the contrary, I believe, they are intended as inducements to religious people to enter, since it is again the fashion to be religious. However, though such a fashion certainly exists, I do not think it extends very far, even taking religion in the sense of ceremonial observances, the ancient use of the word. They have other signs here you would not expect; just by me is an auberge ‘Au Duc de Wellington,’ and a ‘Grand Hotel Nelson.’ What would you think of the ‘Napoleon’s Head,’ or the ‘Marshal Soult,’ in London?
While they are fresh in my mind, I will give you some idea of the crowds and processions I have been looking at yesterday and to-day. The first were those of what is called the Fête Dieu, and according to Catholic notions, or at least according to Parisian language, the Almighty himself is carried in procession. The houses were adorned with tapestry; that is, with curtains, carpets, and all sorts of old things the inhabitants happen to have by them, hung out of the windows. In some parts, however, sheets were the usual hangings, ornamented very prettily with sprigs and festoons of flowers. The windows were filled with spectators, who scattered handfuls of rose leaves on the crowd below.
The leader of the procession was a child about four years old, drest in sheepskins, and carrying a cross, intended to represent St. John the Baptist. He was accompanied by another, of about the same age, typical of our Saviour; a lamb followed the latter, and consequently both the children and the lamb required attendants; the rest of the procession consisted of priests, one of whom carried the host, included in the ciborium; and of boys attached to the church, in white surplices. In one procession, for there were several, I believe one in each parish, this was followed by a number of females dressed in white, covered with white veils, and holding in the right hand bunches of white roses; a mixed crowd followed without order, and apparently, for the most part, without much reverence for what was going forward, attracted by curiosity rather than by religion. The procession stopped from time to time, when a considerable number of persons nearest to the host knelt down; the attendants swung the incense pots, and the white robed boys tossed up rose leaves in such quantities, as to perfume the air. The procession which I followed stopped at a reposoir in the ‘Marché des Jacobins.’ This was a canopy, tastefully ornamented with flowers, over an altar; here mass was said, and a pigeon was permitted to flutter about, which after the service was liberated entirely. After this the people, or rather the ladies, crowded about the priest with leaves or bouquets of flowers, which they applied to the cross. Another reposoir, near St. Germain des Prés, was lined with crimson, and sparkled with a profusion of wax candles. I afterwards went into the church of St. Sulpice, which was hung with tapestry; and stayed there about half an hour. Even here, though the architecture is very much inferior to that of a Gothic cathedral in expression, yet united with the music, and with the people assembled for the purpose of worshipping, it assisted to produce a pleasing solemnity. During the time I stayed, the church remained about equally full, although all the doors were crowded with people entering or retiring. The Parisians at present seem to be hung on a pivot, vibrating between atheism and superstition, without knowing themselves to which party they belong. To reason on religious subjects they consider as adopting the former course; their education, whether under the old priesthood, or among the whirlpools of the revolution, alike unfits them for a fair and candid examination of the principles of their belief. They are afraid to be atheists, lest they should ultimately suffer punishment. They are afraid to believe, lest it should expose them to ridicule, but they have no idea of selecting what to believe among the doctrines of the church, and rejecting what is false. They take or reject the gold and the dross altogether, because, having at present no apparatus by which they can separate them, they do not think of the possibility of such an operation; and besides, they would be rejected by both parties; heresy is worse here than total disbelief.
At St. Sulpice, I finished my course; a heavy rain came on which lasted about four hours, but cleared up in time to afford to the king and princess, who is to be duchess of Berri, an opportunity of entering Paris in fine weather. The scene was very gay and lively, but more from the spectators, than from any object about which they were assembled.
The next day was the wedding of the Duke de Berri. I saw part of the procession, but had not patience to confine myself to Nôtre Dame for the time necessary to see it there. There were shouts of vive le roi! but they were very faint and feeble, compared with the acclamations of an English mob. The national guards seemed to be the principal actors, and it was the same the day before. On Sunday, passing through the gardens of the Tuilleries, I mounted on the terrace next the river, and here was the gayest and finest sight. The gardens were full of people, drest in various colours. The ladies sheltering themselves from the rays of the sun, which just then shone fully out, by parasols of all tints. Near the palace the gay crowd was motionless; farther off some persons walking about, were mixed with those sitting and standing; further still were more walkers, and the crowd gradually became thinner, till it was lost in the obscurity of the shady part of the garden, and this shade served as a foil, which enhanced prodigiously the brilliancy of the scene. The beds of flowers were in perfect harmony with the other objects, and the divisions they occasioned among the mass of people, gave opportunity for the colours of the ladies’ dresses to display themselves. Fountains also added both to the variety and brilliancy of the effect, and the whole scene was gay and splendid as the imagination of an eastern poet. Thence I walked into the Elysian fields, and here the picture was very different; all Paris seemed pouring into them. Stands were erected in various parts, whence issued little fountains of wine, and bread and sausages were distributed among the people. Groups of tumblers, actors, grimace-makers, musicians, and rope-dancers, were scattered about; and decently dressed men and women were riding on see-saws and merry-go-rounds. The crowd got possession of one of the former, and endeavoured by severe jerks to displace those who ventured to mount. Some were presently dislodged, others held more firmly; none could keep their places long, but new candidates for the honours of the sitting were never wanting; while their hats flying off, and the wry faces they made as they found themselves unable to sustain the repeated shocks, excited the merriment of the spectators.