Letters from a Sister.
LETTER SEVENTEENTH.
The Garden of Plants—The Camel Leopard—The Library, Museum, and Cabinet of Anatomy—Manufactory of Gobelin Tapestry.
PARIS, ——.
My dear Sister:—
I do not wonder that you are surprised at my not having yet described to you the "Royal Garden of Plants." The fact is, we have been thrice disappointed in our arrangements to go there, but at last have accomplished our project, and devoted both Tuesday and Wednesday to the investigation of this famed spot, and we have seen nothing in Paris that has interested us more. It is of great extent, and affords the visiter as much information as amusement. It was founded by Jean de Brosses, the physician of Louis XIII, and much improved by the exertions of Buffon the naturalist. It contains various enclosures, some of which are appropriated to botany, and display every plant, flower and shrub, native and foreign, that can be made to grow there. Each is labelled, and bears its botanical name; and there are spacious hot-houses for such as require shelter and extreme care. We remarked here some fine specimens of the bread tree and sugar cane. Other enclosures are filled with all sorts of culinary vegetables. There are besides, nurseries of fruit trees and samples of different kinds of fences, hedges and ditches, and of various soils and manures. The enclosures are separated by wide gravel walks,
"Bounded by trees, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made."
In the centre of the garden is an artificial hill, crowned with a temple, from which you enjoy a view of the city, and may aid your sight with a spy glass, by paying a trifle to a man who owns it and generally sits there, for the purpose of hiring it, and indicating to strangers the names of the public edifices visible in the perspective. On the way to the temple, you pass under a huge and towering cedar of Lebanon, which De Jussieu the botanist planted more than eighty years ago. This superb tree was considerably injured during the revolution; and had it not been for the remonstrances and influence of Humboldt the traveller, the whole garden would probably be now in a ruinous condition—for when the allies were in Paris, it was owing to his exertions that the Prussians were prevented encamping there.
The menagerie exhibits the greatest variety of animals. The ferocious are kept in iron cages; those that are gentle, in enclosures and habitations suitable to their propensities and natures, and embellished with such trees and shrubs as are found in their native climes. Goats for instance, are furnished with artificial acclivities for climbing, and bears with dens and rugged posts. The populace often throw biscuits and fruit to the bears, in order to witness their endeavors to catch them; but this is dangerous diversion, for in doing this, a boy was not sufficiently alert in his movements, and ere he withdrew his arm, had it severely lacerated by the eager animal. On another occasion, a careless nurse, while amusing herself in a similar manner, let a child fall in, which was instantly devoured! Among the gentlest and most curious of the quadrupeds, is the giraff, or camel leopard, which was brought from Africa about two years ago, and threw all Paris into commotion. Thousands visited him daily, and belts, reticules, gloves, kerchiefs, and even cakes and blanc mangés were decorated with his image. It is said that he possesses both sagacity and sensibility, to prove which the following anecdote is related of him. As his keepers were bringing him to Paris, they were joined by a man on horseback, who continued to bear them company for several miles, until he came to another road. The giraff, which had manifested great delight when the traveller first appeared, then evinced deep distress, and even shed tears! Upon inquiry, it was found that the traveller's horse and the giraff were from the same part of Africa, and probably old acquaintances. This is a marvellous story, I must confess; nevertheless, many persons believe it. I will now tell you another less incredible, and which shews to what perfection the flower makers here carry their art. The giraff is very fond of rose leaves; and not long since, seeing a bunch of artificial roses in a lady's bonnet, and thinking them natural, he seized hold of them, and pulled with such force, that he soon had possession of hat and all. It must have been a ludicrous scene. He is so delicate, that strict attention is obliged to be paid to his food and lodging. The first consists of delicate vegetables, and the heat of the last is regulated by a thermometer; and his African attendant sleeps near to guard him and supply his wants. Leaving the quadrupeds, we proceeded to look at the birds, which are also admirably arranged. The water fowls have their pools and lakes—the ostrich its sands, and so on.
I have now detailed what we saw on Tuesday. On Wednesday we returned to the garden, and examined the Library, the Museum of Natural History, and the Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy, where, for the first time in my life, I beheld the human form, divested of its skin and flesh, and changed to a machine of dried bones and sinews, and bloodless veins! The sight made me shudder, and I felt relieved when we came away.
Not far from the Garden of Plants, at the corner of the Rue Mouffetarde, is the celebrated manufactory of Gobelin Tapestry, which derives its name from a dyer who first owned the establishment, and employed himself in coloring worsteds. Colbert, the patriotic champion of the arts and sciences, during his ministry, occasioned the rise and perfection of it in the following manner. He engaged workmen to weave tapestry in imitation of that of Flanders. The attempt succeeded, and such has been the proficiency of those who have since carried on the work, that their productions are now equal to any others of the kind. You may imagine what care and expense is required in the business, when I inform you that a single piece of tapestry frequently demands two years labor to finish it, and has cost almost three hundred pounds sterling!
The clock is striking two, and I must prepare for a ride in the Bois de Boulogne. It being a delightful afternoon, we shall no doubt find it alive with carriages, pedestrians and equestrians. Those who repair there in coaches, usually drive to a pleasant spot, and then descend to walk to and fro in the shade, for air and exercise, until the approach of the dinner hour, or some other engagement calls them elsewhere. Farewell.
LEONTINE.
LETTER EIGHTEENTH.
Ceremony of taking the Veil—Palace of the Warm Baths, a Roman Ruin.
PARIS, ——.
Oh! Jane, how we wished for you yesterday! Early in the morning we received a note from Madame F—— saying, that if the ladies of our party would like to witness the ceremony of "taking the veil," and would repair to her house by nine o'clock, she would accompany them to a neighboring convent where it was to be performed about the hour of ten. The Abbess being her friend and cousin, she had obtained her consent to our attending on the occasion in case we wished it. We wished it, you may be sure, and her kindness was eagerly and thankfully accepted. On reaching the convent its portal was opened by two of the sisterhood, who greeted Madame F—— very cordially, made their curtsies to us, and then conducted us to the gallery of a small chapel, the main body of which was filled with nuns clad in black, and seated on rows of benches each side of the aisle. In the centre of it, upon a damask chair, sat a young lady richly dressed. She wore a yellow silk frock trimmed with lace, white satin shoes, long white kid gloves, and ornaments of pearl. A wreath of orange blossoms mingled and contrasted with her dark hair, and were partly concealed by a flowing veil. Madame F—— related her history, and to our surprise we learned she was an English girl who had been placed in the convent at an early age to be educated. As might have been expected, associating so constantly and closely with Catholics from childhood, she became one herself; and when her parents came over to France for the purpose of carrying her home, they found her resolved on becoming a nun. Having tried in vain to dissuade her from it, they at length yielded to her entreaties, and were even present when she took the vows; and as they did not appear distressed on the occasion, I suppose they had finally become reconciled to their bereavement. I wonder they did not compel her to relinquish her determination. But to proceed to the ceremony. Long prayers were said, incense scattered, and a fine hymn chanted—the novice kneeling down before a table covered with a crimson cloth, and reclining her head upon it, in humble submission to that Divine Power to whom she was dedicating her heart and days! When the music ceased the Abbess advanced, and taking her hand, led her out through a side door; and while they were absent, a nun distributed among the sisterhood a number of large wax candles, which she afterwards illumined. The Abbess now re-entered with her charge, and prayers and incense were again offered, a second hymn sung, and the novice had her hair, or a portion of it, cut off; she then prostrated herself before the altar, and a black pall was cast over her, to signify she was dead to the world. On rising, she retired a second time with the Superior, and in a few minutes re-appeared, clad in the habiliments of the cloister, and went round the chapel to receive the kiss of congratulation and welcome from each of the community; after which the lights were extinguished, and every one departed, leaving her to solitude, meditation and prayer, until the vesper bell should tell the hour for rejoining her. How awful I felt while a spectator of the solemn scene; and how strange, is it not? that reflecting beings who know the fickleness of human nature—that "nature's mighty law is change," can venture thus to bind themselves for life to stay in one limited space, and pursue one unvaried mode of existence! I hope and think I love religion truly; but I am sure if I were a saint upon earth, I should never hide my light in a monastery. I ought to mention, that except the father and brothers of the new nun, no gentlemen were admitted to the ceremony; and I ought also to state that she was very pretty. Leonora says that notwithstanding the scene and place, she was constantly imagining the interference of some brave youth, to save the fair creature from her fate, by rushing in and bearing her off by force; but alas! the age of chivalry is long past, and now-a-days a hero in love would be thought a prodigy and hard to find, unless perhaps, he was sought for is a certain old fashioned fabric in the vicinity of Morven Lodge. There, peradventure, such an odd personage might be discovered.
From the convent we drove to what is called the "Palace of the Warm Baths." This is a relic of Roman antiquity. In it, the Roman emperors, and after their dominion ceased in France, the French monarchs, used to reside. Its foundation is attributed to Julian the Apostate. The sole remaining apartments consist of an extensive and lofty hall, and some cells beneath it. The hall is lighted by an immense arched window, and its vaulted roof for several ages supported a garden. By this we may judge how firmly and strongly the Romans used to build. I cannot, for lack of space, express to you the kind messages with which I am charged. Suffice it to know, we all love you dearly.
LEONTINE.
LETTER NINETEENTH.
Visit to Versailles—The Little Trianon—The Grand Trianon—Church of St. Louis, and Monument of the Duke de Berri—Mendon—Chalk Quarries—Tortoni's—Wandering Musicians—An Evening at Count Ségur's—Children's Fancy Ball.
PARIS, ——.
My dear Sister:—
I have really a great mind to give you a scolding, instead of a description, for your perusal. What are you all about at the Lodge, that you have not written to us for this fortnight. Papa and Mamma are quite out of patience with you, and desire me to request you will answer this the moment it reaches you. Indeed I hope you will, for they are evidently uneasy in consequence of your long silence.
Now let me tell you of our visit to Versailles. We spent Friday there, and carrying with us a cold dinner, partook of it under the trees near the Petit Trianon, having gained a keen appetite by first walking over the immense palace and its garden; of the splendors of both you are well aware. We were not much pleased with our rustic mode of eating on the grass, the premises of the table cloth being frequently invaded by insects. Like dancing on the turf, such arrangements are pleasanter in description than in reality. The Petit Trianon was the favorite residence of Marie Antoinette, and there she passed a great deal of her time, free from the bustle and formality of the court, and devoted to rural occupations. The place still exhibits evidences of her taste and innocent amusements. The grounds are diversified with grottos, cottages, temples, mimic rivers and cascades. Then there is a beautiful little music room, a labyrinth, a dairy, and a lake. The palace is a tasteful edifice, and a part of the furniture is the same that was used by the decapitated queen.
The Grand Trianon, another palace situated in the park of Versailles, is superior to this in elegance and embellishments, but not half so interesting. The parterre behind the mansion, teems with Flora's choicest gifts, and reminded me of the saying, that "Versailles was the garden of waters; Marly the garden of trees; but Trianon that of flowers." In the orangery at Versailles we were shown an orange tree which is computed to be three hundred years old! It is denominated "The Old Bourbon," and has been the property of several kings of that race. Its trunk and foliage are remarkably thick. The garden and park are five miles in circumference; and only think of these and the magnificent structure overlooking them, being completed in seven years! But perhaps did we know the number of workmen employed upon them during that period, the fact would not seem so amazing.
We rode through the wide streets of the town, visited the Church of St. Louis, where a simple monument is erected in honor of the Duke de Berri, and then turned our course homewards, stopping for an hour at Mendon, a royal chateau that Napoleon fitted up elegantly for his son; it is now unoccupied, though I believe the Duke de C—— sometimes spends a few weeks there. A noble avenue leads to the house, and from the terrace in front of it the prospect is very fine. As we traversed the grounds, guided by an old soldier, we were quite diverted at the astonishment he expressed, on discovering from an observation of Leonora's that she and her family were Americans. "Mais comme vous êtes blondes!" cried he, "et j'ai toujours en tendu dire que les habitans d'Amerique étaient rouges ou noirs!"1
1 But how fair you are! and I have always heard that the inhabitants of America are red or black.
At the foot of the hill of Mendon, near the banks of the Seine, are large quarries of chalk, that we were told merited our attention; but it was too late to profit by the information, and we hastened on to Paris.
After resting ourselves and drinking tea, we sallied forth again, and strolled on the Boulevard as far as Tortoni's, to eat ices. He is master of a grand caffé, and famous for his ices and déjeunés à la fourchette. His establishment is splendidly illuminated every night, and so thronged with customers, that it is often difficult to procure a seat. Some prefer regaling themselves before the door in their carriages; and there is generally a range of stylish equipages in front of the house, filled with lords and ladies, and beaux and belles, partaking of the cooling luxuries of iced lemonade and creams, and listening to the bands of ambulatory musicians, that here are always to be found and heard, wherever there is a crowd. They select the popular airs of the theatres and those of the first composers of the day, which are as familiar to the common people as they are to amateurs.
We recently spent another delightful evening at Count Ségur's. We found him, as usual, surrounded by the learned and refined; and he met us with his accustomed smile of benevolence and bonhomie. There was a lively young relative of his present, and when most of his visiters had departed, she insisted on his joining her and myself in playing "l'Empereur est Mort," &c., and with the utmost amiability he complied with her wishes. The play of l'Empereur is similar to that termed the "Princess Huncamunca."
While we were at the Count's, Mr. and Mrs. Danville attended a levee at the Hotel Marine, and the girls accompanied a young friend of Marcella's, (a Miss Y—— from Soissons) to a fancy ball given by the children of Madame Clément's seminary. Miss Y—— being a pupil, had the privilege of inviting two acquaintances, and chose Marcella and Leonora as her guests. They were highly entertained. All the scholars wore costumes, and several supported the characters they assumed with proper spirit. There was a little round, rosy faced girl, of five years old, decked as a Cupid. She was entwined with a silken drapery, thickly studded with golden stars; sandals laced on her feet, and a quiver slung over her plump and naked little shoulders! In her right hand she held a gilt bow, and her curls were confined by a glittering bandeau. They danced until ten o'clock, and as none of the masculine gender were admitted, the elder Misses played the part of beaux. I should have liked to join in the frolic, I confess, though not upon condition of foregoing the pleasure we had at No. 13, Rue Duphot, Count Ségur's residence.
Papa has presented me a beautiful watch, and intends purchasing another for you. With tender regards to aunt M—— and Albert, I remain your attached sister
LEONTINE.
LETTER TWENTIETH.
Mechanical Theatre—The Boulevards—the derivation of the term.
PARIS, ——.
"Joy! joy!" cried I, on looking out of the window yesterday, and spying Arnaud returning from the post office with a letter, which, according to our wishes, proved to be from our naughty Jane. Arrant scribbler that I am, I hasten to answer it, though you must feel you do not deserve to be replied to so speedily. However, as this is the first time you have been negligent, we ought not to be relentless—so here is my hand in token of forgiveness and good will; but beware of repeating the offence.
Having finished my lecture, and knowing you are fond of listening to adventures, I will now recount a droll one that happened to us last evening. At sunset we were walking on the Boulevard du Temple, which abounds in every variety of the lower order of amusements, when suddenly a violent shower began to fall, and of course every body to scamper to some shelter. We took refuge in the portico of an illuminated building, entitled in large transparent letters over the door, "Theàtre Mecanique," and finally determined to enter and witness the acting within. We accordingly purchased tickets of the woman employed to sell them, and following her up a narrow flight of stairs, were ushered into a confined gallery, overlooking a dirty pit, the highest grade of whose occupants seemed to be that of a cobbler. Four tallow candles lighted the orchestra, where two hard plying fiddlers performed their tasks. We began to think we might be in "Alsatia!" and then the actors and actresses! what were they? Why, a set of clumsy wooden figures that tottered in and out, and were suspended by cords so coarse, as to be visible even amidst the gloom that surrounded them. A ventriloquist made these puppets appear very loquacious; and whenever they stopped to make a speech it was quite ludicrous, for they vacillated to and fro like the pendulum of a clock, for more than a minute. We would have rejoiced to get out, but the rain still poured, and we were compelled to remain. After the piece was concluded, and the fiddlers had put up their instruments, and were puffing out and pocketing the bits of candles, and we were reluctantly preparing to issue forth into the storm, up came the above mentioned vender of billets, (who it seems was manager likewise,) and calling to the musicians to resume their operations, begged us to be re-seated, in order to see the first act repeated, which we had lost by arriving too late. We availed ourselves of her politeness and honesty, but could scarcely refrain from laughing as we did so—and fortunately, during the half hour that succeeded, the weather cleared, and we were thus enabled to get home without the dreaded wetting; but the Boulevards not being paved, the walking was exceedingly muddy, and it was so long ere we reached a stand of carriages, that when we did, we thought it more prudent to continue our route on foot, than to risk sitting in our wet shoes.
As you may not know what is meant by the "Boulevards," I will tell you. They are wide roads, or streets, edged with spreading umbrageous elms, and formerly bounded the city, but now, from its increase in size, they are within it. Their appellation of "Boulevards" is derived from "bouler sur le vert," to "bowl upon the green"—being once covered with turf, and the frequent scene of playing at bowls. Here, nightly, the citizens forget the cares and labors of the day, and resign themselves to pleasure and mirth. Rows of chairs, owned and placed there by poor persons, may be hired for two sous a piece. Adieu.
LEONTINE.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
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