The French, when left to themselves, are very peaceable in their pleasures and the utmost public decorum is observed; their sobriety contributes much to this; but if there were in London an establishment similar to that of the Palais Royal, it would become a perfect pandemonium and would require an army to keep the peace. The French police keep a very sharp look-out on all political offences, but are more indulgent towards all moral ones, as long as public decorum is not infringed, and then it is severely punished. But they have none of that censoriousness or prying spirit in France which is so common in England to hunt out and criticise the private vices of their neighbours, which, in my opinion, does not proceed from any real regard for virtue, but from a fanatical, jealous, envious, and malignant spirit. Those vice-hunters never have the courage to attack a man of wealth and power; but a poor artisan or labourer, who buys a piece of meat after twelve o'clock on Saturday night, or a glass of spirits during church-time on Sunday, is termed a Sabbath-breaker and imprisoned without mercy.
In the Palais Royal the three most remarkable temples of dissipation are Very's for gastronomes, Robert's faro bank for gamesters, and the Café Montausier for those devoted to the fair sex. The Café Montausier is fitted up in the guise of a theatre where music, singing and theatrical pieces are given; you pay nothing for admission, but are expected to call for some refreshment. It is splendidly illuminated, and is the Café par excellence, frequented by those ladies who have made the opposite choice to that of Hercules, and who, taking into consideration the shortness and uncertainty of life, dedicate it entirely to pleasure, reflecting that
Laggiù nell' Inferno,
Nell' obblio sempiterno,
In sempiterno orrore,
Non si parla d'amore.
Of course, this saloon is crowded with amateurs, and the Prussians and English are not the least ardent votaries of the Goddess of Paphos; many a vanquished victor sinks oppressed with wine and love on the breast of a Dalilah: this last comparison suggests itself to me from the immense quantity of hair worn by the Prussians, as if their strength, like that of Samson's, depended on their chevelure. There is a very pretty graceful girl who attends here and at the different restaurants and cafés with an assortment of bijouterie and other knick-knacks to sell. She is full of wit and repartee; but her answer to all those who attempt to squeeze her hand and make love to her is always: "Achetez quelque chose." Her name is Céline and she has a great flow of conversation on all subjects but that of love, which she invariably cuts short by "Achetez quelque chose."
10th August.
I have been to see the Museum of sculpture and painting in the Louvre, but what is to be seen there baffles all description:
Se tante lingue avessi e tante voci
Quanti occhi il cielo o quante arene il mare
Non basterian a dir le lodi immense.
The Apollo Belvedere, the Venus de Medici and the Laocoon first claimed my attention, and engaged me for at least an hour and a half before I could direct my attention to the other masterpieces. I admire indeed the Laocoon, still more the Venus, but the Apollo certainly bears away the palm and I fully participate of all Winkelmann's enthusiasm for that celebrated statue. The Venus is a very beautiful woman, but the Apollo is a god. One is lost, and one's imagination is bewildered when one enters into the halls of sculpture of this unparalleled collection, amidst the statues of Gods, Demi-Gods, Heroes, Philosophers, Poets, Roman Emperors, Statesmen and all the illustrious worthies that adorned the Greek and Roman page. What subjects for contemplation! A chill of awe and veneration pervaded my whole frame when I first entered into that glorious temple of the Arts. I felt as I should were I admitted among supernatural beings, or as if I had "shuffled off this mortal coil" and were suddenly ushered into the presence of the illustrious tenants of another world; in fact, I felt as if Olympus and the whole Court of Immortals were open to my view. No! I cannot describe these things, I can only feel them; I throw down the pen and call upon expressive silence to muse their praise.
Of the Picture Gallery too what can I say that can possibly give you an idea of its variety and extent? Here are the finest works of the Italian, Flemish, and French schools, and you are as much embarrassed to single out the favourite object, as the Grand Signor would be, among six or seven hundred of the most beautiful women in the world, to make his choice. The only fault I find in this collection is that there were rather too many Scripture pieces, Crucifixions, Martyrdoms and allegorical pictures, and too few from historical or mythological subjects. Yet perhaps I am wrong in classing the Scripture pieces with Martyrdoms, Crucifixions, Grillings of Saints and Madonnas; there are very many beautiful episodes in the Scriptures which would furnish admirable subjects for painters. Why then have they chosen disgusting subjects such as Judith sawing off Holofernes' head, Siserah's head nailed to the bedpost, John the Baptist's on a trencher, etc.? But the pictures representing Martyrdoms are too revolting to the eye and should not be placed in this Museum.
It is reported that the Allies mean to strip this Museum [of sculpture and painting]. No! it cannot be, they never surely can be guilty of such an act of Vandalism and contemptible spite. I am aware that there is a great clamour amongst a certain description of English for restoring these statues and pictures to the countries from whence they came, and that it is the fashion to term the translation of them to Paris a revolutionary robbery; but let us bring these gentlemen to a calm reasoning on the subject.