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cause, that the Frenchman addresses the Chamber collectively and it is a notorious proverb, that what is everybody's business is nobody's business-consequently the duty of attention is disregarded by alland the President is a mere inefficient, helpless puppet. The Englishman, on the other hand, addresses himself to the President or Speaker, who is an impersonation, as it were, of the whole House of Commons, and is armed by them with sufficient powers to restrain disorder, to enforce at least a seemingly respectful attention, and to support his own authority as identified with the dignity of the Chair. I took my leave of the Chamber of Deputies after half an hour's endurance of M. de Galie's oratory, which he continued to inflict upon a very reluctant audience for some time after I retired.
As the limit which I originally proposed to my stay was now approaching, I was busied next day in running between the Prefecture of Police and the hotel of the British Ambassador, to present my temporary passport, and to have the original one returned and countersigned,—an indispensable operation, and attended with no small trouble and inconvenience, and in the present instance not completed till next day. I also found time to make some purchases in bijouterie at the Palais Royal. The idea of buying and selling at a Royal Palace, will at first thought appear a novel one, but it is not the less true. The Palais Royal was built by Cardinal Richelieu, and in process of time coming into the possession of Louis XIII., laid aside the name of Palais Cardinal for that by which it still continues to be distinguished. Being bestowed upon the Orleans branch of the Bourbon family, with them it continued till the death of Egalité, when it became national property, and passed by purchase into private hands. At the restoration, subsequent to the deposition of the imperial family, what remained unsold reverted to the Duke of Orleans, who generally made it his place of residence. The palace consists of two courts, one much more extensive than the other, and embellished with trees, and a jet which frequently plays. There are chairs, also, for the accommodation of loungers, at the usual charge of two sous, the revenue arising from which pertains to Louis Philippe. The whole of this quadrangle, with its galleries and arcades, is occupied with shops for jewellery, real and fictitious, books, fashionable clothes, restaurants, hells, &c. The lesser quadrangle altogether, or in a great measure, belongs to the king, as private property; and in it the heir-apparent has apartments, which he rarely occupies. The king usually becomes the purchaser when any part of this ancient appanage of his family is announced for sale. In conducting my small purchases at this place, I pursued a principle which had been with some care inculcated upon me, of never offering more than two-thirds or three-fourths of the price at first set upon any article; and I never failed to obtain what I wanted upon those terms. Books are very cheap. As an instance, I may mention that a volume of the Waverley Novels, containing an entire tale, such as the Antiquary, may be had, on beautiful paper and type, for five francs, (4s. 2d.)
Next day, Wednesday, I chanced to breakfast in the southern quarter of the city near the Boulevard Mont Parnasse, and coming home
ward, threw myself in the way of Mr. Brown's brother, with whom I strolled into some of the churches, being attracted by symptoms of a funeral before the gate of that of St. Sulpice. In this place we witnessed the solemn mummery, in true Popish style, of the burial service. The coffin, containing the body, was laid out in considerable state in the centre of the church, with a profusion of tall candles blazing all around it, to enlighten the soul of the deceased on its dark and dreary way to the regions of Purgatory; or mayhap it belonged to one of those praiseworthy mortals, whose beneficence to the Church-that is, to the priesthood-would secure its exemption from the cleansing pains of the intermediate state, and convey it at once to the bosom of St. Peter. The whole ceremony was quite loathsome to my heterodox stomach; and I may only describe it to be as unlike the simple but beautiful form in the Protestant Episcopal ritual, as the meretricious airs of a harlot differ from the modest unaffected mien of a virtuous female. The internal magnificence of this temple, desecrated though it is hourly by such and similar abominations, the grandeur of the decorations, and the fine effect of the musical part of the ceremonial, combined with the ludicrous attitudes and genuflexions of the party-coloured performers in the imposing farce, produced notwithstanding in my mind a temporary interest, which detained me for a while under its roof. After leaving St. Sulpice, we repaired to the Metropolitan Church of Notre Dame, which, as I stated before, stands on the insular portion of the city. There we lounged for a few minutes, while the usual service of the day was going on in the presence of a handful of worshippers, and then walked round to gaze upon the pictures, of which description of incentive to devotion, if devotional feeling may be excited by external objects of sense, there is enough and to spare in the Parisian Churches. The top of this cathedral is a favourite place of resort for a view of the city, but the practice has been rather discouraged of late, in consequence of an individual, ambitious, no doubt, like Empedocles of old, of a famous death, having precipitated himself over the parapet into the street.
Next, perhaps, in importance to Notre Dame may be regarded the Pantheon, formerly the Church of St. Genevieve, but now, by a hea thenish idea, styled a temple, on the frieze of the portico of which the following sentiment describes its proposed destination" aux grands hommes la patrie reconnaisante." During the two reigns immediately succeeding the Restoration, it was applied to its original purpose as a place of worship, and divine service continued to be performed in it till the late Revolution in 1830, since which period it has reverted to its destination as a temple, and place of sepulture for such as may deserve well of their country-an honour, however, not granted immediately after death, but conferred only after a posthumous probation of ten years. The gifted Mirabeau was, I believe, the first who was declared worthy of this high distinction, and the National Assembly testified their respect for his memory upon the occasion by attending his obsequies. From this necessarily very limited enumeration, I should not exclude the church of the Madeleine, on the Boulevard of the same name, which was begun by Napoleon as far back as 1806, and was intended by him for a
Temple of Glory, wherein were to be recorded, on tablets of gold, the names of his illustrious companions in arms. The building is still in progress, and, when completed, will be one of the chief architectural attractions of the metropolis. It forms the terminating point of a long vista which extends through the Place de la Revolution, and by the Bridge of Louis the 15th to the Palace of the Chamber of Deputies, which bounds the view at the other extremity. At no great distance from the Madeleine is the elegant octagonal range of fashionable residences called the Place Vendome, the centre of which is ornamented by the famous triumphal column of Napoleon. This monument is a somewhat enlarged imitation of the Pillar of Trojan at Rome, and was erected to commemorate the success of the French arms in Germany in 1805. The shaft is of stone, with a spiral staircase in the interior, by which a landing-place near the summit is obtained. The shaft externally is covered with bronze plates-the produce of some hundred pieces of cannon taken during the campaign-on which are represented, in bas-relief, the various achievements of the French armies during that campaign, following a spiral direction from the base to the capital. On the summit stood for merly a statue of the Emperor himself, but it was thrown down at the period of the Restoration, and replaced by the white banner of the Bourbons, which continued to wave till the Revolution of 1830, at which period this, as well as every other emblem and trace of the elder branch of the Bourbon family were swept away. Napoleon has again resumed his airy station, but dressed in the ridiculous costume of a modern soldier-a cocked hat, military undress coat and breeches-exhibiting a ludicrous contrast to the classic figure which occupied the place in former days. The uniforms, armour, and weapons of the conquered nations occupy the pedestal in device.-While traversing the city, without any fixed object in view, I prevailed upon myself to enter into the Morgue, or dead-house, near one of the numerous bridges, where are deposited for a time the bodies of those who meet their death by accidents in the streets, by drowning, or any other casual way. Here they are exposed, unless previously claimed, for three days, when they are removed, and interred at the public expense. The sight is very humiliating; and it is melancholy to think that this receptacle is never without tenants. In addition to all this, it is horrible to contemplate the remains of human beings exposed naked-their clothes hanging over their head-in every stage of decay. There was only one occupant when I entered-the body of a man, who, it appeared, had died by drowning, the more usual mode of violent or intended death in Paris. He was laid upon a slanting table of black marble, in a compartment fenced off from the remainder of the room, which was crowded with people, not excepting women and children. In suspicious cases of death, the police always keep a sharp lookout at the Morgue, in unusual dress; and instances have occurred of very ingenious detections being made from want of caution in those whom euriosity may have prompted, from something like guilty knowledge, to visit the place.
In accordance with an appointment with Dr. Edwards, who was engaged to dine to-day with Mr. T., I returned early in the afternoon to
head-quarters, and thence accompanied the learned physiologist to the King's Library, in the Rue Richelieu. Though externally a plain building, this is an establishment of which the nation has reason to be proud, possessing, as it does, some hundred thousands of volumes, including nearly one hundred thousand manuscripts, in the literature of all nations and ages. The suppression of the religious houses at the Revolution tended to augment the literary stores of this establishment, which, at that time, bore the title of the National Library. Some early specimens. of typography are to be seen, which, in point of taste as regards the execution, might be pronounced little inferior to the recent productions of the press of the Didots. One venerable tome is exhibited, which had Buffered considerably from the rude assault of a cannon-ball. There, however, are no longer to be seen the spoils of the Vatican and other Italian magazines of literature, as the greater part both of printed books and manuscripts were restored to the original owners on the day of reckoning, when Paris was occupied a second time by the confederates in 1815. Had the French people nothing else to regret by the return of Napoleon from Elba-the removal of the various monuments of their military fame, which had for so many years graced their capital, and of which they were, with unaccountable generosity, left in undisturbed possession in 1814, were of itself sufficient humiliation to the national vanity. In the evening we dined with Mr. T. at a Restaurant, in the Palais Royal; the party consisted of five, including Mrs. T., for ladies as well as gentlemen, in Paris, frequent both the Restaurants and Cafés. Those of the Palais Royal are the best frequented; and that to which we repaired upon this occasion is kept by Very, one of the first, if not the very first, of his profession in the metropolis. These houses take their name from the Latin verb restaurare, and mean simply places for refreshments; and those who conduct them are styled restaurateurs. We dined sump. tuously à la Française, but notwithstanding the variety submitted to our choice in the bill of fare (carte), I could not help desiderating a chop a la Meg Dods.
Having got my passport countersigned by the British Ambassador, and subsequently recorded at the Prefecture de Police, I had arranged to take farewell of my kind friends and the metropolis of France next day. I found myself assailed, however, by solicitations, so urgent, to prolong my stay two days longer, that it was impossible not to comply; and the sacrifice, if it could be considered such, was amply repaid by a visit which I was thereby enabled to make, in company with the younger Mr. Brown, to the Cemetery of Père la Chaise. This celebrated burying place occupies a large piece of ground on the east of the city, which formerly belonged to the Society of Jesuits, whose superior, in the time of Louis XIV., has bequeathed his name to the spot. It extends to about a hundred acres, and presents much inequality of surface, which contributes greatly to the effect it produces on the mind. The higher points possess a commanding view of the city and surrounding country, and, in being laid out, everything appears to have been retained that could contribute to the embellishment of the place itself, and the whole is secured from unauthorized intrusion by walls. This Necropolis, as
well as the other minor dormitories in the neighbourhood of Paris, owes its existence to a decree of the revolutionary government, which forbade interment in churches and towns, and enjoined all communities to establish other burying-grounds for themselves at a distance from their habitations. This decree was followed and supported by another, ordering the removal of all those already existing in the city; and it occurred very fortunately that there was no difficulty in finding a fitting receptacle for the mouldering remains of mortality, which thus unavoidably underwent disentombment. The southern quarter of the city, including some of the finest buildings, and several streets, chanced to lie over ground which had been completely excavated in the process of quarrying the stones for building. These subterraneous quarries were applied to the purpose, and form the catacombs-one certainly of the most interesting and curious monuments of Paris. I had neither the leisure nor the courage to visit them. The surface of Père la Chaise is tastefully laid out with walks, and appropriate trees and shrubs, cypresses, yews, and weeping willows, being interspersed with fruit trees, the remains of the orchard of the worshipful order to which the property originally belonged. The place is literally covered with funereal monuments of every dimension, denomination, and order of architecture, the humble memorial of wood raising itself amongst chapels, pyramids, obelisks, vaults, altars, urns and tombstones, many of which are inclosed with fences, and the intervals planted with shrubs and flowers, which impart an air of sombre gaiety to this field of skulls. "'Tis here all meet"—from the lowly poor, who are gratuitously buried in separate trenches, which are not allowed to be disturbed for five years, or who, for a moderate consideration in money for the privilege of interment, may retain their right for ten years; to the dignitaries, civic, military, or ecclesiastical, who, at a higher rate of purchase, obtain permanent rights, and are entitled to make vaults and monuments at pleasure. No distinction of rank or religion is observed; only the Jews, I believe, have a corner appropriated to those of their persuasion. Upon an area, from which an enchanting prospect is obtained, stands a chapel for the celebration of the funeral service. It would be a fruitless task to attempt an enumeration of the distinguished personages whose remains are mouldering in the Cemetery of Père la Chaise. I observed many names which may already be regarded as pertaining to history, Massena, Davoust, Lefebre, and a host of other worthies of the Revolution and the Empire, who have all of them monuments of various degrees of magnificence. In setting out upon this visit, I had scarcely a notion beyond a desire to look upon the place honoured as the grave of the unfortunate Ney. And I was not disappointed, though I could not help feeling regret, that the Prince of the Moskwa, justly styled by his great master "the bravest of the brave," should lie undistinguished by either memorial or inscription. The spot is merely inclosed to preserve it from casual intrusion-for his memory, kept alive by sympathy for his fate, is too much cherished to admit of the slightest possibility of outrage being intentionally offered to his grave. In roaming about to discover this spot, for I would not accept of the services of a guide, I stumbled upon what might be considered as the burying-place of our