"The French, it must be allowed, understand and practise the art of living independently. They find you furnished apartments according to your own taste and means—comfortable, handsome, or gorgeous—in any part of the city or its environs. In your rooms you may either breakfast, dine, and sup, or take only your coffee there, and dine at a restaurant. This is to me, a bird of passage, and desirous of taking a bird's-eye view of things, a delightful mode of living. Paris is filled with restaurants and cafés of all sorts and sizes, where you may obtain your 'provant,' as Captain Dalgetty would style it, at what price you please, from the humble sum of a few sous up to the emptying of a well-lined purse. Ladies, gentlemen, and whole families may be seen at these places, enjoying their repast, and the utmost order and decorum prevail. Some of these cafés are magnificently furnished. I breakfasted in one yesterday the furniture and decorations of the salon of which cost eighty thousand francs. Another agreeable thing in Paris is, that you may one moment be in the midst of fashion, pomp, and all the hollowness of the flattering crowd, and the next buried in the sincere quiet of your own chamber, your very existence blotted from the memories of those with whom, the unsophisticated might have imagined, your society was of the utmost consequence. I say this is pleasant when properly understood and appreciated. All that is required of you is the superficial courtesy of life, which costs a well-bred man nothing; and in return you have a well-dissembled friendship, looking like truth, but which they would not have you to cherish as a reality for the world. The sentiments of the heart are quite too dull and too troublesome for their mercurial temperament; and hence you seldom hear of a Frenchman's having a false friend."
The professional bias which so strongly dominated among the associations in the mind of Forrest led him very early after his arrival in the French metropolis, to visit the tomb of Talma. Carrying a fresh laurel crown under his cloak, he sought out the consecrated place among the crowd of undistinguished graves, reverently laid his tribute there, and lingered long in meditation on the career, the genius, the renown of the greatest stage-actor of France, and the lessons to be learned from his life and character by ambitious successors in his art. Thus, like Byron at the grave of Churchill, did the player draw his profitable homily from "the glory," though, unlike the morbid bard, he did not think of "the nothing, of a name."
One incident occurred in the experience of Forrest in Paris which has much significance on several accounts. He had formed a very pleasant acquaintance with the manager of one of the theatres. This manager had a protégé of whose nascent talent as an actor he cherished a high estimate. The youth was to make his début, and the manager asked the American tragedian to attend the performance and give his opinion of the promise it indicated. At the close of the play, asked to state his candid impression without reserve, Forrest said to the manager, "He will never rise beyond a respectable mediocrity. It is a perfectly hopeless case. There are no deeps of latent passion in him, no lava-reservoirs. His sensibility is quick, but all superficial. But that Jewish-looking girl, that little bag of bones with the marble face and flaming eyes,—there is demoniacal power in her. If she lives, and does not burn out too soon, she will become something wonderful." That little bag of bones was the then unknown Rachel!
The next selection presented from his correspondence was written to Leggett several months later, and soon after Jackson's recommendation of reprisals if the American claims on France were not paid:
"You see I still date from the gay metropolis of France. The fascinations of Paris have held me longer than I intended; but I mean to break from them by the first of next month, and cross into Italy. I have read the President's admirable message: it breathes a spirit worthy of himself, worthy of the occasion, worthy of my country. I refer particularly, of course, to his views relative to France. His energetic and manly sentiments have had the effect here of once more Americanizing Americans, and revived within them that love of country which the pageantry and frivolity, the dreamy and debasing luxury of this metropolis serve materially to enervate. The Chamber of Deputies has not yet recovered from the shock occasioned by the unanticipated recommendations of the message. Opinion is divided as to the course which will be pursued; but from all I hear, and all I observe, I am strongly inclined to believe that when they have recovered from their bewilderment they will come to the conclusion that, in this instance at least, honesty is the best policy; and perhaps they may consider also that discretion is the better part of valor.
"By the way, I was presented to Louis Philippe on the third and last evening of the usual presentations. I was accompanied by Mr. ——, of Boston. We crossed over to the palace of the Tuileries (which is nearly opposite to our hotel) about nine o'clock in the evening, passed unquestioned by the numerous guards who throng the avenues of the great court-yard, and entered the vestibule of the palace, filled with an army of servants in rich liveries, standing in form, with all the stiffness of militia officers on drill. We next ascended to an elevated mosaic pavement, where we encountered two secretaries prepared to receive the names of visitors. On entering the palace, we ascended a grand staircase, the stone balustrade of which is beautifully ornamented with lyres and snakes, under suns,—the crests of Colbert and Louis XIV. On the first landing is the Salon of the Hundred Swiss, which has four Ionic columns, and is ornamented with four statues of Silence, two sitting and two erect. We next passed into the state apartments. The first is the Salon of the Marshals, occupying the whole of the centre pavilion, and having a graceful balcony on each side. The walls are hung with portraits of the marshals of France by the most eminent artists, and it also contains busts of several distinguished French generals. In the next room, which is called the Salon of the Nobles, we found a concourse of ladies and gentlemen, comprising the orders of nobility, and all richly and appropriately attired. This apartment is set off with gold, representing battles, marches, triumphs, surrounded with ornaments and allegorical figures. The Salon of Peace, which is the next room, contains also many costly decorations; but I had less opportunity to observe these, as the crowd became each moment denser and denser, and to make our way through it demanded all our attention. This human current at last débouched in the Salle du Trône, and, diffusing itself quickly around it, its waves subsided like those of an impetuous torrent when it pauses in the valley and spreads itself out, as if in homage, at the mountain's foot. I need not tell you of the beauty of the throne, the richness of its carved work, the profusion of gold ornaments with which it is sprinkled, the gorgeousness of the crimson canopy which overhangs it, or the pride-kindling trophies which are dispersed in picturesque clusters at its sides. These things, and numerous like accessories, your fancy will present to you with sufficient accuracy.
"The king had not yet entered, but was expected every moment; and the interval afforded me an opportunity of studying the brilliant scene. The effect at first was absolutely dazzling. The plumed and jewelled company constantly moving and intermingling, so that the light played in a thousand trembling and shifting beams, which flashed in arrowy showers not only at every motion, but almost every respiration, of the diamond-covered groups, and these groups multiplied to infinity by the reflections of magnificent mirrors surrounded by chandeliers that diffused excessive lustre through the room, presented a scene to me which, as I eagerly gazed on it, almost pained me with its surpassing splendor.
"In the anxious hush of expectation, the old ladies, as if in melancholy consciousness of the decay of their natural charms, busied themselves in arranging their diamonds to the most dazzling effect of brilliancy, while the young demoiselles threw hurried glances at each other, scrutinizing their relative pretensions in the way of decorations and personal beauty. The varieties of human character found time to display themselves even in the brief and anxious period of suspense while waiting for the entrance of royalty. Pride, envy, jealousy, ambition, coquetry, were all at work. Here an antique and embroidered dandy twisted his long and grizzly mustachios with an air of perfect satisfaction, whilst his bump of self-esteem seemed demanding immediate release from his tightened peruke. There an old Spanish general talked loudly of the wars, and 'fought his battles o'er again.' From a pair of melting eyes a fair one on one hand threw languishing glances on the favored youth at her side, while the ruby lip of another curled with contempt as a lighter figure or a fairer face swept by.
"But a general movement of the crowd soon gave a new direction to my thoughts; and my eyes, from studying the various features of the splendid crowd, were now attracted to those of the king, who had just entered the apartment. For a moment all was bustle. The ladies arranged themselves along the sides of the spacious salon, and Louis Philippe, with his queen, the two princesses, and the two dukes, Orleans and Nemours, together with the officers and dames of honor, passed along the line, politely and familiarly conversing with the ladies. After satisfying our curiosity by gazing on the royal family, and having followed them to the Salon of Peace, we returned again to the Salle du Trône, where we took seats in front of the royal chair. Here I sat meditating on the gaudy and empty show for some time, when an officer suddenly entered and exclaimed, 'Messieurs, la Reine!' and immediately the queen entered. I rose and bowed, which she graciously acknowledged, and passed into the apartment beyond, called the Hall of Council. The king, with the rest of the family, attended by the courtiers, followed the queen. The ladies had now all been presented, and most of them had retired. About a hundred gentlemen were assembled at the door of the Council-chamber, and myself and friend had scarcely joined the group when the doors opened, and one by one those before us passed in. A gentleman usher at the door demanded the names of those who passed, and announced them to the court. After hearing those of sundry marquises, counts, and others announced, it at last came to my turn. My name was audibly repeated, I entered, and made my début before the King of France with not half the trepidation I experienced on presenting myself for the first time before a sovereign in New York—I mean the sovereign people—on an occasion you will recollect. The king addressed a question to me in French, and after exchanging a few sentences I bade him farewell, bowed to the queen and others of the royal family, and withdrew.
"Our plain republicans often laugh at the mimic monarchs of the stage for their want of grace and dignity. A trip to court would satisfy them that real monarchs are not always overstocked with those qualities.